I woke up early, the lake had a thick carpet of mist laid on it and the fresh sunlight was crawling down the western slope of the valley, quietening the frog chorus.
We got on the trail in record time, and it was a beautiful start - walking through the plain between the horses and goats, a huge flock of birds floated silently overhead. We crossed the river, got on the track easily and started our ascent.
The steep trail was littered with roots and wound through the trees in ridiculous fashion, but I was in great walking form somehow. My legs seemed to have been warmed up by the running the previous evening, or maybe after five days were just getting into it. Kev was slowing up though, and not surprisingly either - his rucksack was not designed for anything like the load he had.
When we eventually got to the first lake it was all worth it. We couldn't get to it, but the bright azul water nestled in the mountainous forest was indescribably beautiful. I couldn't even try.
On the way to the next lake we came across an Argentine couple hiking the same direction. They were on a three day trip from Cochamo. They were nice, but walked painfully slow and I couldn't stand staying with them. It was mentally difficult too, as we really were running low on food and had to find civilisation tomorrow or we'd be walking on empty bellies.
The trail was now gaining a lot of altitude again and was tricky and muddy, but would open out into terrific vistas with bouldered waterfalls and soaring peaks. The peace was broken by the rallying shouts of gauchos on a mission and the clattering of hooves.
An eight-strong train of pack-horses came through, covered in rucksacks and at breackneck speed. Soon enough we got to the next lake, which had an accessible beach. Walking along it's south edge was beautiful, with rocky pools and streams trickling underfoot all the way along.
When we got to the western edge, where the beach is, we found the gauchos who'd stormed past with all the backpacks sat around cooking up an asado (barbecue) and watering the horses.
We chatted and it turned out they were ferrying luggage and cooking for the group we'd seen on our second day. We had no idea how we'd got ahead of them or when, but we had to be proud of still being ahead after getting so lost and carrying all our stuff all the while.
We brewed up a coffee and I had a quick naked swim and wash in the lake before we had a spaghetti lunch, which was a refreshing change.
The trail was now losing altitude but was still tricky and technical. We knew as we descended into Cochamo valley we'd meet lots of tourists - hikers and climbers, and would have to face sharing nature with them. We passed a couple of small groups of hikers over the next few hours, all keen to know how close they were to the upcoming lake.
Then the insanity echoed through the trees.
The usual rhythmic clatter of horse hooves was off kilter and panicked. And rapid. A scared panting and huffing bore towards me with it, disturbingly loud. But the worst was the maniacal scream - almost laughter, but definitely inspired by pain.
The noises burst out of the trees at me and a gaucho on an out of control horse was writhing around hitting himself, and howling desperately. I jumped off the track and the horse reared up on it's hind legs as it passed me, as the gaucho was trying to halt him. The man looked into my face with wide, pained eyes while he rushedly delivered his deathly important message, punctuated by yelps and barks - but before he finished the horse bolted again, and I hoped Kevin (who was some way behind) would get out of the way in time.
The only words I had managed to pick out of the panic reliably were:
"MUY FUERTE!"
Very strong... How ominous.
I was totally confused, but had nothing else to do but carry on. A few bends later there was a 20cm hole in the floor, only just off the track, with a fierce hurricane of bees over a metre high in a noisy, collective rage.
I was too close to it already, and as the first ones left the swarm to hunt me I ran forward to get past them. As I passed the broken hive the swarm came with me and I was enveloped in the most intense buzzing I could imagine, and searing pain stabbed into my bare legs.
I started yelping and howling, hitting myself as I ran, writhing in my skin. I shed a backpack to get more speed, and was cackling, nearly laughing as I thrashed around. I was still surrounded while I ran, the pain was spreading and my mind fevered, so I dropped the other backpack and focused my mind for a sprint.
I don't know how far or for how long I ran, but when I stopped I was still yelping and couldn't help but hitting my now bee-less legs through a crazed smile. Meekly skulking back I found Kevin looking confusedly at my backpack on the floor, and then me - my fists were clenched and I was babbling wildly, hitting myself and barking.
A few kilometres later we passed the El Arco refugio, which was busy - full of campers even though it was still light and early in the evening. The steep, densely forested trail from here was impossible to find a spot to camp in, explaining the rush. We had to hope we could get to somewhere amenable before it got too dark.
We passed more and more sweaty hikers coming the other way, all desperately demanding how far they had left to go. The question irritated me - it depended on where they wanted to go. I asked each time where they were trying to go, but none knew. A few pulled out a free tourist map which wasn't even to scale (let alone topographical), and pointed to a hut symbol. They were talking about the full El Arco refugio, and I didn't have the heart to tell them it was full. I imagine there was quite a spoon that night.
Later on the track did open out and we could see across valleys in all directions, with pink clouds hanging on mystical peaks and huge birds of prey strung silently in the sky. We found a network of bushy meadows and hid ourselves from the trail, where we found an old gaucho hut and some fire pits.
We knew the next day could be a challenge - we had food for this evening and the morning, but no more. We had something like twenty kilometers to do, which under nice conditions without any issues should be fine, but walking hungry with no chance of respite didn't sound fun if anything unexpected happened.
We had:
One beef stock cube
One-third of a kilo of rice
Half a salami
Five spoons of milk powder
Two spoons of coffee
One teabag
Two portions of oats
One spoon of jam
Assorted spices and herbs
One sachet of sugar
Kevin had the perfect plan though. He made us up a three-course-meal on our capmfire: Stock and herb soup starter. Rice, spice and salami main. Rice pudding dessert.
We had used absolutely everything except some oats, jam and coffee for the morning, but we felt full and the ritual of all the courses had an immense psychological effect, making us feel plush and decadent in desperate times.
Laid out that night, with burning red legs still teeming with poison, knowing there'd be no more food for twenty kilometres, and in dire need of clean clothes - I should have been glad it was nearly over.
But I wasn't.
I wanted to see Chile properly, but I knew there wasn't a society that could beat the wild Chile I'd come to know - and I wouldn't see the Milky Way in a while. A shooting star streaked across the sky, longer and brighter than I've ever known and I wished upon it.
We got on the trail in record time, and it was a beautiful start - walking through the plain between the horses and goats, a huge flock of birds floated silently overhead. We crossed the river, got on the track easily and started our ascent.
The steep trail was littered with roots and wound through the trees in ridiculous fashion, but I was in great walking form somehow. My legs seemed to have been warmed up by the running the previous evening, or maybe after five days were just getting into it. Kev was slowing up though, and not surprisingly either - his rucksack was not designed for anything like the load he had.
When we eventually got to the first lake it was all worth it. We couldn't get to it, but the bright azul water nestled in the mountainous forest was indescribably beautiful. I couldn't even try.
On the way to the next lake we came across an Argentine couple hiking the same direction. They were on a three day trip from Cochamo. They were nice, but walked painfully slow and I couldn't stand staying with them. It was mentally difficult too, as we really were running low on food and had to find civilisation tomorrow or we'd be walking on empty bellies.
The trail was now gaining a lot of altitude again and was tricky and muddy, but would open out into terrific vistas with bouldered waterfalls and soaring peaks. The peace was broken by the rallying shouts of gauchos on a mission and the clattering of hooves.
An eight-strong train of pack-horses came through, covered in rucksacks and at breackneck speed. Soon enough we got to the next lake, which had an accessible beach. Walking along it's south edge was beautiful, with rocky pools and streams trickling underfoot all the way along.
When we got to the western edge, where the beach is, we found the gauchos who'd stormed past with all the backpacks sat around cooking up an asado (barbecue) and watering the horses.
We chatted and it turned out they were ferrying luggage and cooking for the group we'd seen on our second day. We had no idea how we'd got ahead of them or when, but we had to be proud of still being ahead after getting so lost and carrying all our stuff all the while.
We brewed up a coffee and I had a quick naked swim and wash in the lake before we had a spaghetti lunch, which was a refreshing change.
The trail was now losing altitude but was still tricky and technical. We knew as we descended into Cochamo valley we'd meet lots of tourists - hikers and climbers, and would have to face sharing nature with them. We passed a couple of small groups of hikers over the next few hours, all keen to know how close they were to the upcoming lake.
Then the insanity echoed through the trees.
The usual rhythmic clatter of horse hooves was off kilter and panicked. And rapid. A scared panting and huffing bore towards me with it, disturbingly loud. But the worst was the maniacal scream - almost laughter, but definitely inspired by pain.
The noises burst out of the trees at me and a gaucho on an out of control horse was writhing around hitting himself, and howling desperately. I jumped off the track and the horse reared up on it's hind legs as it passed me, as the gaucho was trying to halt him. The man looked into my face with wide, pained eyes while he rushedly delivered his deathly important message, punctuated by yelps and barks - but before he finished the horse bolted again, and I hoped Kevin (who was some way behind) would get out of the way in time.
The only words I had managed to pick out of the panic reliably were:
"MUY FUERTE!"
Very strong... How ominous.
I was totally confused, but had nothing else to do but carry on. A few bends later there was a 20cm hole in the floor, only just off the track, with a fierce hurricane of bees over a metre high in a noisy, collective rage.
I was too close to it already, and as the first ones left the swarm to hunt me I ran forward to get past them. As I passed the broken hive the swarm came with me and I was enveloped in the most intense buzzing I could imagine, and searing pain stabbed into my bare legs.
I started yelping and howling, hitting myself as I ran, writhing in my skin. I shed a backpack to get more speed, and was cackling, nearly laughing as I thrashed around. I was still surrounded while I ran, the pain was spreading and my mind fevered, so I dropped the other backpack and focused my mind for a sprint.
I don't know how far or for how long I ran, but when I stopped I was still yelping and couldn't help but hitting my now bee-less legs through a crazed smile. Meekly skulking back I found Kevin looking confusedly at my backpack on the floor, and then me - my fists were clenched and I was babbling wildly, hitting myself and barking.
A few kilometres later we passed the El Arco refugio, which was busy - full of campers even though it was still light and early in the evening. The steep, densely forested trail from here was impossible to find a spot to camp in, explaining the rush. We had to hope we could get to somewhere amenable before it got too dark.
We passed more and more sweaty hikers coming the other way, all desperately demanding how far they had left to go. The question irritated me - it depended on where they wanted to go. I asked each time where they were trying to go, but none knew. A few pulled out a free tourist map which wasn't even to scale (let alone topographical), and pointed to a hut symbol. They were talking about the full El Arco refugio, and I didn't have the heart to tell them it was full. I imagine there was quite a spoon that night.
Later on the track did open out and we could see across valleys in all directions, with pink clouds hanging on mystical peaks and huge birds of prey strung silently in the sky. We found a network of bushy meadows and hid ourselves from the trail, where we found an old gaucho hut and some fire pits.
We knew the next day could be a challenge - we had food for this evening and the morning, but no more. We had something like twenty kilometers to do, which under nice conditions without any issues should be fine, but walking hungry with no chance of respite didn't sound fun if anything unexpected happened.
We had:
One beef stock cube
One-third of a kilo of rice
Half a salami
Five spoons of milk powder
Two spoons of coffee
One teabag
Two portions of oats
One spoon of jam
Assorted spices and herbs
One sachet of sugar
Kevin had the perfect plan though. He made us up a three-course-meal on our capmfire: Stock and herb soup starter. Rice, spice and salami main. Rice pudding dessert.
We had used absolutely everything except some oats, jam and coffee for the morning, but we felt full and the ritual of all the courses had an immense psychological effect, making us feel plush and decadent in desperate times.
Laid out that night, with burning red legs still teeming with poison, knowing there'd be no more food for twenty kilometres, and in dire need of clean clothes - I should have been glad it was nearly over.
But I wasn't.
I wanted to see Chile properly, but I knew there wasn't a society that could beat the wild Chile I'd come to know - and I wouldn't see the Milky Way in a while. A shooting star streaked across the sky, longer and brighter than I've ever known and I wished upon it.
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How did Kevin not get stung?? xx
ReplyDeleteI have no idea! It's up to your imagination.
DeleteI have three theories:
Maybe they were still chasing me when he went past.
Maybe I pissed them off by running.
Maybe he has a secret allegiance with all of bee-kind.
I vote the 3rd theory. (It's a trap!) xx
Delete