February 20, 1998
Puerto Natales, Chile - {Residencial La Casona}


This morning, we finalized our plans for the area.  The highlight of
Patagonia lies in the national parks. Torres del Paine, the most
popular, is about 71 miles or 3.5 hours north of here.  A little further
north is Glacier national park near Calafati.


We rented backpacks. We found a nice North Face and Lowe back pack to rent
for $3 per day each.  Currently, we only have one day pack that we
bought in Belize.


Rented a fuel bottle for hiking at an outrageous price.
Dropped off and later picked up our laundry.
Shopped for camping food.
Exchanged two books at the book exchange.



later that evening...


Our guide book went out on a limb, and gave high recommendations for a
particular restaurant in town called "La Ultima Esparanza".  Since it
rarely does this, we decided to check it out.  The restaurant was very
nice with a semi formal atmosphere, white cotton table clothes, and
waiters wearing bow ties.  Being on the sea, we had to order seafood
which was their specialty.  The waiter told us they had fresh abalone,
fresh king crab, conger eel and a few others.   As an appetizer, Sharon
ordered a sizzling cast iron bowl of scallops bathed in a garlic chili
butter sauce.  I ordered abalone, and received a platter of three huge,
very fresh abalones, each measuring about 2x1.5x1.5 inches.  They were
delicious.  As a main course, we ordered their fresh king crab platters.
We haven't had _fresh_ king crab, which only seems to be available in
polar regions, since we were in Alaska.  What a treat... Each plate
contained at least two large king crabs worth of legs already removed
from the shells.  It was a huge delicious portion that was difficult to
finish.   Had we known there would be so much, we certainly would have
held back on the fresh baked bread, and strange delicious butter that
went so well with our wine.  With our appetizer and main course, we
drank two bottles of a nice fruity '96 Chilean sauvignon blanc from
Santa Emiliana.  It was too bad the wine went so well, since we ended up
having to order a second bottle which infringed and changed our
ambitious plans for the next day.  However it was well worth it...



February 21, 1998
Torres del Paine (National Park), Chile - {camped Hosteria las Torres}


Sharon said several times she still feels like she's on the boat.  The
land is moving underneath her.



We left at 3:00pm to drive the 70 miles of gravel road to Torres del
Paine.  First half was pretty good gravel.  The second half was washboard
gravel however the scenery was beautiful.  Sharon was flying on the
gravel and dirt.  Although she still didn't particularly like gravel,
she handled it much better on the lightened R80G/S.


Half way, we drove through a particularly gusty pass.   While the whole
way was windy, in one flat valley, we encountered a side wind that would
occasionally gust.  If one dropped their attention for a moment,
there was a good chance they'd end up in a ditch.


We saw several packs of a half dozen guanaco.  They are a wild camelid
that roam free throughout Patagonia.  They are light reddish brown and
white in color.  They are larger than the other Andean camelids like the
llamas and alpacas.


We drove by several rhea (very similar to an ostrich) in groups as large
as a dozen.  They are called Nandus in Chile.


Each of the lakes we saw were a different hugh of blue depending on the
mineral content.  Very little life lived in these lakes.  They were so
cold that algae didn't grow.  In one, the water was an unnatural deep
blue.  At another lake, they were turquoise, with the rock shoreline
white from where evaporated water left a white powder mineral.



February 22, 1998
Torres del Paine (National Park), Chile - {campamento Torres}



We woke up late, had a late breakfast, and then packed our back packs
for hiking.  We planned to hike up from the Hosteria Las Torres
campground up to campamento Torres.  Ken, the dentist from California we
met on our boat hiked over to our campground along with Angelica, the
accountant from Germany we also met on our boat.  They said Hello,
checked out the bikes, and then headed on with their hike.  Since most
of the people on our boat were headed to this National Park, it's likely
we'll see more.  Yesterday, we ran into our cabin mates Tim and Jo at
the park entrance.


We parked our bikes in front of the Hosteria where we saw a Royal
Enfield parked with a trailer.  Since these '50s vintage motorcycles are
currently made only in India now, they are rare to see.  Warner who we
had met in Nasca, Peru told us about a rider on an Enfield who made it
to the Christmas party in Ushuaia.  I assumed this was the same world
traveller.  I left a note on this motorcycle in case we might be able to
meet up.


A few days later, the Enfield drivers had written a note in return which
they left on our motorcycle.  They were a couple from Holland who had
already been across Africa on this bike.  They were not the Enfield
riders who had been in Ushuaia during Christmas.  Unfortunately, we
never met up.


We hiked over the foot of the mountain into a river valley.  Behind us,
as we hiked higher, we could see views of turquoise and deep blue
colored lakes off in the distance.  Each lake was slightly different in
color.  In the far distant, snow capped and glacial creviced mountains
were visible.


We haven't gotten much exercise sitting on the bikes.  Machu Picchu
which was over a month ago, was the last strenuous hike we did.  Near
the end of our four hour hike in, Sharon told me her toe was rubbing,
and her achilles tendon ached.  She asked me to tell her all my problems.
I told her "My right knee ached and so I'm limping a little. My achilles
tendons ache, my calf was sore, my hips felt bruised from the waist
strap of the pack, and my feet were getting tired.  However I'm having a
good time and I love the view."  She said, "I think you have more
problems than me."


Our campground turned out to be nice, with plenty of space, complete
shade from tree canopy, and several (4) streams and rivers flowing
nearby.  Since there is no way to get a vehicle up here, there are no
car campers with televisions, music boxes, and bright gas lanterns.


The glacial rivers surrounding us makes the water and surrounding air
temperature colder than normal.   In Alaska, we made the mistake of
camping next to a glacial stream that dropped the ambient air
temperature by 10 degrees of what it was 100 meters away.  Here we had
no choice.


When setting out, we have to remember to carry more fuel than normal to
compensate for the near freezing starting temperature of the water.
Since dunking one's hand is such a bone chilling experience, the
incentive to wash anything is low.  However, If my clothes get to the
point where when I throw them against the wall of the tent and they
stick.  I'll wash 'em.  Fortunately, we did all of our laundry right
before we left Puerto Natales.


While setting up camp, and making dinner we wore almost all of our
clothes that we packed in.  I wore a short sleeve shirt, a long sleeve,
fleece, PVC rain jacket, fleece hat, leather lined gloves.  Sharon was
similarly dressed.


Usually we don't zip our sleeping bags together because it's too hot.
However tonight was pretty cold.  We zipped our sleeping bags together.
It's much warmer, and feels more roomy.



February 23, 1998
Torres del Paine, Chile - {Campamieto Torres}


Last night it got down to about 5 Celsius, or 39 Fahrenheit.  By
morning, Sharon was bundled up wearing two shirts, her fleece, her wool
gloves, socks and pants with her mummy bag tied up around her so that
only her nose and eyes were visible.  We had separated the two bags
around 2:00am because I was getting too hot.


We both slept until after 9:30am.  It was too cold to get up.  Because
we we are in a shaded wooded valley between mountains, direct sunlight
is spotty, and the sun doesn't pass over into the valley until around
10:30am making for a cold morning.  I filled our water bottles from the
freezing glacial streams that several separate local sources said were
safe to drink from, added some iodine, and then set them in the sun to
warm up.


After a breakfast of cream of wheat (Samolina), and some excellent
coffee, we started on our hike up the morrena Acareo to the three
towers.  It was a steep one hour hike up through a boulder field,
however well worth the view from on top.  The three white towers which
are often pictured in pictures of the park are best seen from this spot.
Below these towers was an ice field, or glacier, with several waterfalls
pouring turquoise water into a turquoise colored triangular lake below.
We sat in the bleachers, or boulder field on a big boulder for two
hours, taking in the view and having our lunch of Edam cheese, bread,
peanut butter and crackers.



February 24, 1998


We hiked back through the river valley down to our base camp where we
had left our motorcycles by the Hosteria de Los Torres.  The weather had
significantly changed.  The first two days of hiking we had beautiful
weather.  It was sunny with an occasional cumulus cloud.  Locals had
said this is very unusual weather, Other hikers had said they had
beautiful weather here for the last ten days.  Today, it was overcast,
and the wind blowing in strong gusts.


While hiking back down the valley, Sharon turned around, and saw me
typing away on my palmtop as we hiked, and said "You Geek."  I told her
I was running a spell checker on one of my journals which is a boring
slow task best done when one's mind is occupied with some other non
mental taxing task.  Hey, I'm multi- tasking, parallel processing here...
snicker.  She called me a geek again....


We set up our tent in the fiercest wind we've ever camped in.  We had a
gusty wind at what I would guess gusted up to 40mph or more.  We set up
our tent using the protection of surrounding trees.  We put in all of
the optional stakes, and used the storm lashing points to hold
the tent down.  We lined the sides of the tent with 10 pound rocks to
hold the ground cloth from blowing under, and to keep the stakes from
being pulled out.   While the tent was secured well, I just hoped the
tent wouldn't tear.


Other tents in the campground didn't fair so well.  Some had collapsed.
A ranger had come through and tipped some picnic tables on the collapsed
tents to keep them from blowing away.


We both took a nice hot shower in this campground that charged 2000 per
person ($4.35).



February 25, 1998


This morning, the mountain peaks which were bare rock face the night
before except for a small snow field, were now covered with snow.  It had
snowed during the night up in the mountains, and rained on us.


Throughout the morning, we heard low rumblings off in the distant.  The
kind similar we've been hearing camping near active volcanoes.  We had
heard the day before we arrived that two Spaniards were killed in an
avalanche while climbing the towers. Our first day in the park, we were
awakened by a helicopter who kept making passes over recovering the
bodies.   The low rumbling was so common now, I figured that avalanches
must happen all the time.



Our plan now was to hike "The W", which is the most interesting areas of
the park.  It's called this because of the shape the trail makes on a
map.  People that we run into are either doing a day hike, "The Circuit"
or "The W".  The circuit takes an extra couple of days and closes the
top of the W across the North East plains.  The first leg of the W we
had just completed yesterday.  The middle part of the W is a hike up to
the Frances Glacier, while the third leg of the W is to hike up near
gray glacier and gray lake.   While I secretly wanted to continue on the
W to complete the circuit, Sharon and I agreed to do just the W, and I
decided I wouldn't mention completing the circuit until we saw how
things went.  Since I was porting the food in my pack, I carried the
burden of this extra food which was potentially dead wait.


We don't like to do things the easy way, so of course we got a late
start increasing our chances of hitting rain, and wind, and not making
it to our final destination.


As I was walking through the gusty wind with rain and overcast sky I was
feeling sorry for all of those poor saps who hiked for the past ten days
with beautiful sunshine, blue skies, and no wind.   They had missed
experiencing real Patagonia, which we were now seeing in abundance.


Several times we were hit by severe gusts that caused us to drop to the
ground with our heavy packs to save from getting blown over, and
possibly rolling down the side of the mountain.


Usually we could see and hear the wind coming, and so brace ourselves
before it hit full force.  In some places, a minute after the blast, it
might return to dead silence with no wind.   A ranger had told us that
we could see wind gusts in excess of 70km/h, which I would guess we were
experiencing today.


As we passed by a pile of horse shit, Sharon says "be thankful we didn't
have to drop down to the ground then."  A few minutes later, a bad gust
hit, and Sharon dropped, to the ground, butt first, into a pricker bush,
and instantly let out a shriek.  She was not a happy camper.


We made several stream and river crossings.  One particular bad one had
a fast flowing deep stream of water that flowed through a boulder field.
Since  it had been raining off and on the last 24 hours, I'm  sure it
was harder to cross than normal.  Gusts of wind came blasting down the
mountain , picking up water from the stream, sometimes 20 feet into the
air spraying it further down.  When it was really bad,  we could see it
coming, and so braced ourselves.  The worst fear was not seeing it, and
getting caught while balancing on rocks while crossing already tippy
with the weight of the packs.  More than once we had to drop down
grasping the boulders and using them for shelter as the gusting wind
blew over.


We spent some time looking for a crossing such that we wouldn't have to
take off our socks and boots and long pants to cross this glacial
stream.



After 6 hours, this hike was wearing us out.  The fierce head wind,
overcast sky, rain, and late start normally would wane on our moral.
However, we were both excited by the scenery, and doing some serious
hiking.  We buffed ourselves up with thoughts like, "We took the hard
route hiking into the wind and up hill...  coming the other way is much
easier."


I said, "I bet I can spit across the lake", which at this point looked
like it was more than mile.  I was trying to make light of the wind.
Sharon said, "I bet you could."   We were tired, and rather than get
depressed we became a bit more goofy in conversation, which served to
lighten moral.


Sharon said "[If] adventure is when you would rather be telling the
story than living it.... this must be adventure."


We had planned to camp out at the campamento Italiano in the Valley of
the Glacier Frances, however the late start, and slow pace was holding
us from even making it to our fall back which was the Refugio.


We found an off the map campsite where we were the only ones who camped.
We didn't realize it at the time, but we were an hour away from the
Refugio, and three or more from the campamento Italiano.  We set
up camp here since the sun was setting.


It was a beautiful camp sight with a view of Lake Nordjeskol (sp?),
and the now snow covered mountains.  It was near a small glacial stream
flowing through a rock bed providing an excellent and attractive water
source.


We quickly set up the tent, and made dinner before the last bit of sun
disappeared.  Sharon and I peeled 5 large cloves of garlic which she
cooked in butter and olive oil.  The aroma made me whine for some red
wine.  To this she added some tomato sauce, clams and black pepper
making a wonderful clam red sauce which we ate on pasta topped with a
sprinkling of parmesan.


This made all of my aches of carrying in 8+ day heavy food pack go away.
Macaroni and cheese would certainly be a lot lighter, but no where near
as fulfilling in taste and enjoyment.  I wanted to write down the dinner
we had for future camping dinners...


Red Clam Sauce Pasta
--------------------
1T of olive oil
2T of melted butter
Add 5 large cloves of chopped garlic
Saute all of the above
Add 213 grams (1 cup?) of Italian spiced tomato sauce
Add one can (tuna fish size) of minced clams with juice
1/2t of ground black pepper.
Heat until ready to eat (but don't cook clams so long that they're rubbery)
Serve over spaghetti noodles with parmesan cheese.



Instead of some red wine which we left back at the bike, we had some
wonderful glacial stream water that would put Evian to shame.




February 26th, 1998
Torres del Paine, Chile - {campamento Italiano}


The morning was beautiful with blue skies.  We made some coffee, cream
of wheat, and had some fresh bread with butter and raspberry jam.
As we were packing up, we met Claudio and Catherine, the Swiss couple on
XR650s that we had last seen in Puerto Natales.  They were hiking in the
opposite direction and were completing the circuit, however skipping
the most interesting valley detours of the W.   They again, made the
offer that if we stopped by their place after they return in
October, we could leave the R80G/S there when we drove through Africa.



As we hiked along the Lake Nordenskojl (sp?), the wind whisked so strong
over the lakes that it sheered a mist from the water making the gust
visibly white.  At one point the sun shined through making what appeared
to be a rapidly moving rainbow that flew over the lake.  It was a very
cool effect.


We arrived in the refugio after an hour hike.  We stocked up on some
giant chocolate bars that we've developed a craving for while hiking.
They had other food supplies, however all at double or triple the
grocery store prices in Puerto Natales.


We hiked on up to the campamento Italiano which was a little over two
hours further.   Along the way we had a wonderful view of the Glacier
Frances, however because of the clouds and rain we didn't take any
photos.


We spent some time choosing our camp sight. Picking one that was
sheltered from the most wind, rain, and run off streams which could lead
to flooding.


I built up a shallow drainage ditch reinforced with layered flat rocks
along the high ground area of the tent to stream water away from flowing
underneath.  Sharon accused me of having fun playing civil engineer in
the dirt.




February 27, 1998
Torres del Paine, Chile - {campamento Italiano}


During the night, it was pitch black such that I couldn't tell whether I
had my eyes open or not.   This was likely due to the overcast sky, and
the tree canopy.  The wind howled through the trees most of the night
and into the morning.  The cold sounding wind outside slowed us from
getting up.  Finally, we got out of our sleeping bags, and made some
breakfast of coffee, buttered toast and oatmeal.  By the time we cleaned
up our dishes, it had started to rain.


We hopped back in our tent to wait it out.  We had planned to hike up
the valley to the where the buena vista was.  It rained continuously all
day, and so we hung out in our tent waiting.  Fortunately, we were armed
with entertainment.  We had Jack London's "The Call of the Wild" loaded
up on Sharon's palmtop computer which we uncompressed and read out loud
to each other.  Later, while Sharon napped, I worked on getting caught
up with my journal.  At 3:00pm, we were using our flash light to read by
since the light was too dim.  By 4:30pm, our flashlight batteries pooped
out, and we struggled to read on.  We still had 1/5 left to read when it
just became too dark.



Around 8:00pm, our neighbors came by to warn us about the river and
streams.  Apparently they had hiked to check them out.  They said the
Frances river had risen so much that the small bridge was washed away,
and the larger suspension bridge was now looking threatened.  They came
by to tell us that tomorrow morning they were going to attempt to cross,
and thought there might be some safety in numbers if we wanted to join
their party.  Not intending to be here today, they had run out of food,
and so could not afford to stay to wait it out.


I put on my rain gear, and went out to take a look at the river
Frances.  The river had significantly risen, and was gushing much
faster.  When we arrived, it looked dangerous to attempt a cross.  Now
it was impossible.  The river was solid white water, and I continuously
heard boulders tumbling underneath the opaque rapids.


One of the nice camp sights we had considered, and nixed because it was
so close to the glacier fed river and likely cold, was now an island
surrounded in white water.  The stream along side had become a river.


I went over to our neighbors and told them if they thought it was too
dangerous, we had enough food that we could spare a couple meals if they
wanted to consider waiting.   They thanked me for the offer, and decided
to wait and see how the river was tomorrow.



February 28, 1998


When we woke up, it was to a pleasant surprise,  No longer would I have
to walk down to the river, a 100 feet away, for water, but now two
streams, less than one foot from our tent now flowed.  It was like
having indoor plumbing installed in one's kitchen.


After making and eating our hot breakfast in the rain, we checked out
our prospects.


Last night, there was a well constructed strong suspensions bridge that
still had about 7 feet between it and the river below.  By morning, all
traces of the bridge were gone having been swept down the river.  The
only sign that something existed here yesterday was the worn path that
led straight off a cliff into the river.


The water was a white water torrent, impossible to ford.  Like the night
before, from our tent which was 100 feet away, we  continuously heard
and felt the boulders being pushed down the river below the surface of
the opaque wild flaming water.  The river sounded like a huge waterfall
or continuous running freight train rushing by.


Since the suspension bridge was now gone, there was now no other way to
head in this direction we had been intending to go.  We still had not
seen this pass, and planned to do so if the rain subsided.  However like
yesterday, it rained all day.


We moved our tent to the only patch of land that didn't have a stream
running through it in the whole campground.  Unfortunately, it was 3
feet down hill of a huge pile of horse shit which I later covered with
rocks.  After a hot lunch, and reinforcing the banks of the stream that
threatened to channel water under our tent again. We hopped back into
our tent and into our sleeping bags which we had zipped together for
warmth.  We finished reading "The Call of the Wild" to each other, and
then read half of the second book in the series of the wizard of oz
which we just happened to have on Sharon's computer.


By 7:30pm, we were feeling warm and cozy in our sleeping bags.  It had
been raining continuously for 36 hours, and sporadically before that.


Just then, a man dressed in a one piece fluorescent orange water proof
suit, carrying a transceiver, came up to the front of our tent.  He told
us that there was a rescue boat waiting at lake Nordenskojl (sp?). that
was leaving in half an hour.  It was a twenty minute hike to the boat
which meant we had 10 minutes to pack.


We didn't feel like we needed rescuing, nor did we particularly want to
be rescued.  I asked if there would be a boat tomorrow morning giving us
more time to decide. As I was asking, I thought this is a big deal to
get a rescue boat on this lake that normally has no access.  I figured
it would be wise to accept a rescue when it is offered.  We had enough
food and fuel to comfortably hold out for another six days.  However,
there was no telling when the rain would let up, and then we would also
have to wait for the rivers to go down before we could cross.


We packed up in the rain and broke camp in record time.  Another orange
fluorescent rain suit dressed ranger appeared on the scene.  We and two
Chilean trek guides were the last who were left in this campground.  The
four of us plus the two rangers were off hiking ten minutes after they
arrived.  We picked up three more hikers at the campground 5 minutes
down the trail.


We hiked down to the boat moving faster than we ever had, stepping
through streams rather than attempting to maintain dry footing.


Down at the lake we met up with another ranger with  a rubber inflatable
boat and outboard engine.  We loaded up our packs onto the boat, and
then climbed aboard.  The boat sped across the lake, and 30 minutes
later we were across.  The scenery was spectacular.  The mountains were
partially obscured by misty clouds that clung to crevices in their
surface.  Waterfalls spilled off the mountains every where.  From this
point of view, it was obviously impossible to go back the way we came.
All of the little streams we had crossed had turned into big rivers.


The normally clear lake was filled with wood debris, I looked for our
washed away suspension bridge, but saw no sign.


When the boat landed on the other side, we hopped into the foot deep
water, and walked up shore.  About 500 meters up a trail, a van was
waiting for us.  We loaded up, and the van drove us for a half hour to a
refuge near the administration site which was equipped with 18 beds
upstairs.   A little later, another load of people arrived filling the
refuge over capacity where people would have to sleep on the floor by
the bathroom.  The refuge was warm, dry and crowded.  Around the wood
burning iron furnace that glowed a dim red, was an icicle forest of
socks, pants, shirts, etc. all strung up hanging to dry.


The second group that was dropped off here were people rescued from just
before the refuge two hours East down the trail from where we camped.
They had tried to get to the refuge but were blocked by one of the small
streams that had turned into a river.  We were all on the same island
surrounded by two rivers with no way to cross.  One young Israeli couple
had an unfortunate accident while trying to cross.  The woman had
slipped in, and was carried down the river.  Her boyfriend slipped in
after her, and the two of them were carried by the current down to the
lake.  Apparently their packs helped them stay afloat since they were
slow to take on water and remained buoyant for a short while.  However
hypothermia immediately set in. One of the Israelis told me he thought
that they might not have survived if it weren't for the group of four
Canadians they had met 30 seconds before falling into the river, who
loaned them some dry warm clothes immediately afterwards.   The Israelis
were a bit embarrassed about the whole incident, and seemingly were
reluctant to talk about it.


March 1, 1998


Sharon didn't sleep well in this room of 18 people. Near her were three
loud snoring people.  Although she told me I wasn't one of them, I
hadn't noticed.


No busses were running, so everybody just hung around the refuge and
dried out their belongings.  We had been dropped off at the main
administrative sight which was a 40km (24 mile) or 1.5 day hike along
roads back to the area where our motorcycles were parked.


It had rained for 48 hours, and looked like it continued to up in the
mountains where we had been camped.  Here, however, the sun came out by
late afternoon, and there was a strong wind.  We hung up some of our wet
clothes and our wet back pack.  Several people set up there tents to
dry.  However with the gusty wind on this plain, it was a trick to keep
them from taking off.   One of the tents did take off, and went flying
clear over the two story refugio.  One person inside the refuge got out
his camera and was snapping pictures from the second story window at the
tent that was flying like a hot air balloon, as the Spanish owner
frantically chased every which way after it.



In the late afternoon, Sharon and I went over to the restaurant which
was attached to a hosteria, and supply store.  We went over with Nick,
Lisa, and Paul, some British campers who were in a similar situation to
our own.  For the next three hours, we ate french fries and drank beer.
It cost Sharon and I 7000 pesos ($15) for 5 cans of beers and 2 plates
of fries.  While this park has pockets of comfort, they are not cheap.


When we went back to the refuge, the remaining people had left.  The
caretaker of the refuge said a bus had come by 10 minutes before.


With so much room to ourselves, it wasn't so bad hanging around.



Note: The Hosteria at the administration costs 40,000 pesos ($87) per
night which entitles one to a room with two bunk beds and a private
bathroom.  very basic.  27,000 pesos for the same two bunk beds but with
shared bathroom.  The Hosteria Los Torres where are bikes were stored
had rooms for US$134 or US$119 per night (Breakfast included). One is
certainly paying for the location.  The private refugios are nice, but
one shares a room with 6-8 others sleeping in bunk beds and pays about
7000 ($15) for this pleasure.  The Administration refugio we stayed in
was much more basic, but only cost 2000 pesos per person.


March 2, 1998


The park is in a state of closing down.  Several bridges are gone,  or
under water, some roads are washed out or eroding from the overflowing
lakes, and still the rain comes.


The rangers wanted to clear us out of the park, and so offered us a ride
in their service pickup truck.  Lisa, Nick and Paul were dropped off
where a bus was waiting to take hikers back to Puerto Natales.  However
our motorcycles were parked at the Hosteria de los Torres.


We were told yesterday that the bridge between the park's main gate and
Hosteria de Los Torres was under water.  While this wasn't quite
accurate, it's affect was the same.  The river had overflowed for
several hundred meters cutting off access to the bridge, trapping our
motorcycles inside the park.  The park service was running a little
rubber dingy over the flooded river which allowed up to three people and
their packs to cross at a time.  While they were primarily evacuating,
they took us in since we had motorcycles trapped inside.  Initial
estimates by the rangers would be that it would take 5-7 days for the
river to go down enough such that the bridge leading out of the park
would be usable.  This of course assumes that the rain stops.  The next
day, this estimate was changed to 10-15 days.


We thought we might as well do some more hiking since we were trapped in
the park, however given that so many paths were closed due to streams
turning into uncrossable rivers, mud puddles turning into shoulder high
mud bogs, bridges out, boat services and busses suspended, our options
for hiking were extremely limited.   Fortunately, we still had some
books on computer, and work to be done on the motorcycle.


While hiking back to our motorcycle, we met an American who had been
hiking the circuit where he got caught by the rain along the backside.
He ended up crossing water that was up to his armpits, which scared him
enough such that he considered himself lucky to still be alive.  Two
days later, he was anxious to get back to Puerto Natales and looked like
he was still on an adrenaline rush as he told his story.


We hitched a ride for the remaining one hour hike back to our bike from
some rangers who had a pickup truck stranded on our side of the river.
Our motorcycles were still there however the cover on the R100GS was
missing, and the motorcycle had tipped over and was suspended at a 45
degree angle being supported by the left side pannier.


Since the bike had been tipped over for who knows how long, I pulled out
the plugs and ran the electric starter just in case some gasoline might
have spilled in the cylinder causing a hydro-static lock which could
break a rod.  While I've only heard of this happening on a Harley, I
didn't want to take a chance.  The left plug smelled of gas. However,
nothing shot out when I ran the starter, so I assume it wasn't
necessary.


The plugs were really black soot covered, indicating the engine has been
burning way to rich.  This is likely due to a clogged dirty air filter
which is filled with dirt and sand from the dirt roads and desert
crossings we've been doing lately.  I don't have any oil foam filter oil
to recoat the filter after I clean it, and so will have to wait.  The
Norwegian beemer rider that we met two weeks ago said that he used
vegetable oil in a pinch since that's pretty sticky oil.   That'll be a
last resort...



We camped in a high and dry camp sight protected from the wind, and
close to the hot showers, that now spray mud colored water.  As usual in
Patagonia, we storm lashed the tent down.  Now that we were in our home
for the next week, Sharon whipped together a wonderful multi- course
lunch/dinner.  As a first course, she made a potato onion soup topped
with Parmesan cheese and fresh made croutons.  We drank our liter of red
wine we had left on the bike.  This was such wonderful _camping_ food,
that I wrote down the recipe for future camping dinners.



French style cream of onion soup packet
800ml of H2O
1t of Olive oil
generous amount of powder milk
1/2t of garlic powder
1/2t of ground black pepper
bring to a boil
3/4 cup of instant mash potatoes
cook for 2 minutes and thicken
top with parmesan cheese and croutons.
eat with fresh bread and butter and vino tinto


In between courses, I went out looking for some more wine from the
refugio and the Hosteria.   Prices were 2-4 times going rate in a liquor
store back in Puerto Natales.  Since the selection was only table wines
from the three main Chilean wine producers, it was hard to pay the
prices they asked.


As a second course, Sharon made a dish we discovered we like camping
since it packs dense, is full of protein, carbohydrates, and is very
filling.  The dish is basically rice flavored with a dry soup packet,
and mixed with a can of tuna fish.


750ml of water, 250ml of rice, soup packet for two (beef flavored
broth is best), can of tuna fish.



March 3, 1998


The park has a radio phone which they can speak to Puerto Natales 90
miles South of here.  Today, we heard that Puerto Natales didn't have
power, and so the radio phone communication in the park was not working.



The snow on the mountains is accumulating at an alarming rate.  While we
are sitting here waiting, the snow and glaciers are advancing.  Reminds
me of Gary Larson's Far side cartoon where the cave man is caught off
guard frozen in his outhouse as the rapid glacier advanced.


I was beginning to entertain the thought that we may not get our bikes
out this season.  People who worked in the park said they thought it's
looking like an early winter.  With the rains coming and snow still
falling, it didn't look like the rivers were going to go down any time
soon.  Sharon and I talked about leaving our bikes here, and returning
in 10-15 days to see if we could cross our bikes.


It rained all day.  In the afternoon, we got tired of hanging out in our
tent for yet another rainy day, and went to the refugio where we talked
with Dallas and Judith.  Dallas and Judith were from Denver, Colorado
and Houston, Texas respectively.   They had rented a car in Rio
Gallegos, Argentina driving it here, and were also trapped by the main
bridge being out.  Since there were few backpackers left due to the
evacuation, we quickly got to know all who were left.



During a lull in the rain, we went back to our tent and made dinner.
After dinner, one of the camp workers who usually collects money at this
time walked up to us.  I handed him our camp fee, and he said, that he
hadn't come for that.  He told us that we were the only ones in the
entire campground.  He told us that there would be a wood boat tomorrow
that we might possibly be able to get our motorcycle out on.  We could
ask tonight around 10pm when the owners of the boat were scheduled to
arrive which we did.


We met the three owners of the boat who came by.  They looked like local
fisherman.  They looked as if they were pure indigenous in blood.  They
had long wide plump faces, not like the Mapuche, Inca, or even Mayan,
but looked more like the indigenous races of Northern North America
(Alaska, Canada, Greenland).  I believe that in Southern Patagonia there
are several indigenous groups from the first human land bridge crossings
(25th century BC), where the Mapuche, Inca, Mayan, etc groups are from
the second (10th century BC).  They were friendly, polite, and spoke
Spanish as if it were their native tongue.


They had heard rumor in advance that there were two motorcycles that
would like to cross.  They were uncertain whether they could take them
in their boat, and so asked to see them.   They asked several times of
the weight of the bike to which I told them.  Asking more than once, I
think they were feeling me out to whether I was sure of the weight, or
whether I might be fudging a little.  They asked if the aluminum
panniers were removable to which I told them they were.  They asked if I
thought the three of them and myself could lift this into the boat.


Obviously they hadn't done this before, nor had I.  On firm ground, I
think the four of us could pick up a 500lbs motorcycle.  However with
poor footing over water, and having to lean into a boat I wasn't sure,
but given the alternative choices, I answered with a meek "yes".  They
asked how much is it worth to me to get the bikes across.  This of
course is a silly question that only an idiot would honestly answer.
Given that we're stuck waiting in this closed down park while it's
raining every day for potentially 2 weeks or more with the possibility
of not getting our motorcycles out this season, and possibly waiting
until next year continuing our trip by public transportation in the mean
time, their services would be worth a couple thousand dollars to me if
there is no other alternative.


This was not a good question to form an initial offer.  I asked them
"How much will it cost?"  They didn't know.  They hadn't given it a
thought.  Nor, I later found out, had they ever done this before or were
sure what was involved.  They then suggested we go to the hosteria and
talk to the person, Pepe,  who had originally requested they come over
and help evacuate guests staying in the $130 per night hosteria.


Pepe translated their question to me.  "They want to know how much is it
worth to you?" Since Pepe didn't seem to gain anything by this
transaction.  He could see my hesitation, and so said, "I will speak to
you in English... You have to think what this would be worth to you in
your own country, not Peru or Ecuador".   Ever since we entered Chile,
we have found prices so expensive that our sense of a fair price among
Chileans has often been skewed.  Thinking $20 per bike, which might be
generous in Ecuador, I said "$10 per bike".  Pepe said "no, no.  not
wanting to mention the offer to them as of to fear insult".  I offered
$20 per bike at which he then went in the back room to talk with the
three Indians who owned the boat,  When Pepe politely asked me to wait
outside, I immediately understood that he may not be neutral in this
transaction.  When they came out, the counter offer was $100 for
transportation of ourselves and the bikes.  Pepe said the fee is
primarily for insurance for their boat should something happen and that
I would have to take all responsibility for what happens to the bikes.


Having no remotely reasonable alternative, I had no grounds to negotiate
on.  Waiting 10-14 days in this campground would cost much more than
$100 in food and lodging not to mention the affect on moral from waiting
in a tent in the rain.  Of course I accepted.  But I didn't feel good
about it.



March 4, 1998
R100GS 27600
R80G/S 38001


At 6:00am, it was 44 degrees Fahrenheit in our tent, and it felt much
colder outside.  The three indians had asked us to be at the boat launch
at 8:00am which given that dawn was at 7:00, we had to break camp and we
had 7km of a potentially formidable road to traverse. We negotiated
8:30am, however were late in leaving, and didn't get on the road until
about 8:20am.  The road had numerous puddles, mud holes, streams,  and
ruts that hadn't been there before.  I rode Sharon's bike through some
of the mud holes while she walked around.  By 8:50am, the three Indians
passed us in a truck heading towards the bridge.   I waved as they
passed, and they stopped.  I apologized for the time since we were now
20 minutes late, to which they grinned since they were even later.  It
was silly of me to be worried about our arrival time.... The rest of our
ride through the mud went with much less stress since the time
arrangement was now meaningless.



When we arrived at the bridge I began to take off the panniers and top
boxes off of both motorcycles.  Meanwhile, Sharon got out some bread and
jam and fed ourselves breakfast while I worked.


I took a look at the boat that was to be our ferry, and was not overly
pleased.  It was an old well worn small wood row boat just large enough
to take one motorcycle over lying on it's side.


While I disassembled the bikes, some guests from the expensive hosteria
were driven up in a van to the bridge for crossing.  The first set
looked like they belonged to a funeral procession for they didn't say a
word, didn't make eye contact, nor did they seem aware of anything other
than where their friendly guide was directing them.  They must have had
a bad time.


In the second group, a very outgoing German traveller who looked to be
in his 70's talked to us.  With much confidence, he suggested that we
just push the bikes through the water along the road.  And if not now,
maybe by late afternoon, since he thought the water was receding
quickly.   For as far as we could see, it looked like the water might be
shallow enough.  To ride the bikes through was out of the question, but
I figured if the water didn't go above knee level then I might be able
to push them through with some aid.  Any deeper, and I might have to do
some engine disassembly, take out the battery, or may lose control of
the bike in the river.


I decided to explore this option, as the thought of putting the bike in
that little boat which could potentially capsize gave me my strongest
incentive to look for an alternative.  With the aid of a strong stick, I
walked out. feeling the depth below the opaque water.  At first step, I
was instantly reminded that this was glacial run off river water. by the
coldness.  After 100 meters, the water was approaching my knees which
was my decided cut off point.  Even if it was shallower I realized that
the option of walking the bike may not be a possibility just due to the
coldness of the water.  My feet were going numb from the cold.  Waders
would be a necessity.  After having only walked less than a quarter of
the 400-500 meters through the water, I turned around and resigned to
crossing by boat.


I emptied the float bowls on the carburetors so that gas wouldn't leak
into the cylinders when the bike was turned on it's side.


When it was time to load the motorcycles, We first had the problem of
how to get them in.  They had been loading people from the side of the
far end of the suspension bridge that was partly under water.  They
removed some of the wood railings from the bridge so that we could lift
the bike over the side.  They laid strong wood planks over the benches
of the boat, and then several wood planks between the bridge and the
boat to act as a sort of ramp .  When all this was put in place, the
_captain_ paused, and said "Do you think this looks ok?"  What he was
really saying was, "remember YOU take all responsibility should your
motorcycle fall into the water."   Not having another choice, I decided
to go for it.  We pushed and lifted the motorcycle, all the while having
to watch the balance of the boat.  I unfortunately ended up in the most
vulnerable position should the boat tip.  I could see the boat rolling
over pinning me under the motorcycle under the water.  If one person got
out or into the boat, they really had to pay attention to the balance.
With the motorcycle in there, it felt more like stepping into a canoe.


While loading, the auxiliary side light mount crunched, terminating it's
useful existence.  It had only been used once in 9 months, and so I
don't consider it much of a loss.  When the motorcycle laid completely
on it's side, I realized I forgot to do something about the battery
which was down pouring out battery acid through the overflow tube.  The
row boat captain wasn't concerned, however I was concerned I'd have a
dead battery by the time we reached the shore.  Chances of me getting
some proper molar sulfuric acid out here is slim to none.   I decided
the risk in uprighting was worse than letting the battery do it's thing.
Fortunately it stopped pouring out before it was completely drained.


After loading the R100GS, the captain, asked me again about the weight
saying that if it was more than the stated amount then he wasn't sure he
would make it across to the other side.  I assured him that I had told
him the correct weight, according to my BMW manual plus additional
luggage.


He and another then took the boat and the bike across while I followed
close with the rangers in the rubber dingy.  On the other side, We
attempted to load this onto the steep grass bank by laying wood planks
to sort of roll and lift the bike off.  Scootch would actually be a more
accurate term...  At one point as we were getting started, one of the
helpers stepped out of the boat disturbing the precarious balance.  The
boat began to tip over it's starboard side.  I grabbed the side just in
time to keep the bike from falling in.  Another ten degree and the bike
would have been completely submersed upside down.


The R80G/S was easier handling and had fewer problems.  It was lighter,
and the second time around we were all better at getting it situated.
I plugged the gas blow off tube, and the battery fluid drain tube with
some golf tees I had in my tool box for just such a situation.  With
these in place, no fluids leaked out when the bike was tipped on it's
side.


On the third trip, we transported all of our luggage including the
removed aluminum panniers and top box.  After unloading the boat, I paid
the captain 5 $20 bills.  He pocketed the money without counting in
front of me.  They wished us good luck, and then went over to the other
side of the river to have some long over due lunch.


As we were repacking our bikes on the shore, a television crew appeared
taking video of the river.  They were easily identifiable as a
television crew since not only did they wield a large camera, but had
badges that said "TV".


The flooding at Torres del Paine made national Chilean news.  According
to today's paper, 100 people were rescued from the park.  The front page
has pictures of rescuers with ropes tied across the river, and a rescue
victim wearing repelling gear sliding over the river hanging from a
pulley.  This being done at campamento Chileano, In the first part of
the W that we had done on the way to the Torres a couple days ago.


At least three bridges are out.  The main suspension bridge crossing the
Rio Frances, the bridge by the refugio crossing rio _______ on the way
to the Torres, and the set of bridges crossing rio ______ near the park
entrance.   Many of the stream crossings are no longer crossable.  Rumor
has it that parts of the park will be reopened tomorrow, however only a
couple day hikes will be open.  I feel sorry for people who fly out here
on vacation just for this.



We drove back to Pueto Natales.  We used our electric vests and hand
grips fighting the cold wind and rain.  It would be nasty without them
pumping in the heat.



----


Dave Thompson



thompson@pdnt.com      www - http://sdg.ncsa.uiuc.edu/~mag/Thompson


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