Mt. Torre, some wind and my new nemesis
Trip Start
Oct 19, 2007
1
100
126
Trip End
Ongoing
El Chaten,
Argentina
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I check into my room and pack my small bag for the 3 hour or so hike to Mt.
Close up of me and obscured Mt. Torre
Torre. It`s more windy than Chicago here and I have to pack layers because the weather is completely unpredictable sort of like a girl on the rag. I start the trek by myself and I see a sign at the beginning of the trail that says "If you see a Puma consider yourself lucky". Hmmmm, why, because you actually got to see a Puma in the wild or because if you see it that means it didn`t tear your head off from behind? I start pondering things concerning life and other existential musings. I come to the realization that I am hurrying through this trek as fast as possible like it`s a race or something but there is nobody to race (well at least nobody who is aware that this is a race) except myself or nature I suppose, but this is stupid. I remind myself of the extremely cliched and overused but very relevant adage that Life is a journey not a destination. I do everything so fast; I finish work assingments faster than anyone I have ever met, I eat faster than anyone I have ever met, I was one of the fastest test takers in school (I even finished the Law exam of the CPA test in 1hour and 45minutes, the proctor actually let me leave after some sweet talking even though there is a rule you have to stay for at least 2 hours for each part of the test), I trek fast, I walk fast (usually), and I simply want to finish everything as quickly as possible in life (hah hah, yes and even doing chicks, but if you saw the chicks I do you`d want to finish quickly also). Today is a good example, If I see someone up ahead I walk even faster to pass them as though it`s a competition. I even passed up this decent looking girl who actually talked to me but who I left behind because she was going too slow for me to deal with. I have to make everything into a competition and this is another personality flaw I need to work on. I think of Ferris Bueller and his famous quote "Life moves pretty fast, if you don`t stop to look around once in awhile you might miss it". Now, I am pretty happy with myself in terms of living up to this quote by taking this trip but I need to apply it to the present situation. I realize it`s just a movie and it`s not a quote from some newage sage like Ralph Waldo Emerson, David Thoureau, or Walt Whitman but I think everyone probably needs to stop and contemplate that quote for a minute and think about how their life may possibly be moving on without them. The scenery the nature provides here is pretty sweet and after about 2.5 hours I reach the overpass to Lake (Joe) Torre which sits just below Mt.
Lake Torre with Mt. Torre obscured by clouds
Torre. The wind is so strong as it swoops over this pass that on my first try I can`t make it and the wind simply pushes me about 30 feet back (no kidding, the strongest wind I have ever come across (even stronger than my Uncle Lon`s who always had me pull his finger when I was little and who seemingly could cut wind at will), believe me, I was completely stunned by this event). I cuss out the wind for a quick second, then I cuss out myself for being such a pussy, then I catch my breath and then finally I lower my head and go sprinting into the wind head on and it straightens me up and slows me down to a crawl but I finally power through, get over the pass and onto the depression located just after the pass where the wind isn`t whipping around so bad. I am in total disbelief that wind could be that strong even though I was told that it has been known to knock people over and roll them for 10`s of meters. I feel as if I am in some strange beautiful far off land that could kill me at any second. I sort of lose the path since there really isn`t one anymore as far as I can tell and I end up climbing up these boulders while getting blown all over the place (not in a good way either). I get to the top and I am standing in front of Lake Torre which is simply amazing as it is green and surrounded by mountains (except for the boulder patch that I am standing on) and nobody is around and I am standing there in probably 60mph winds in one of the most desolate places I have ever known and I look up at the supposedly stunning Mount Torre only to see that the top of it is encircled by fucking clouds. Stupid water vapor and its condensing. I get off the boulders since this is extremely dangerous as they are jagged and I am being blown every which way. I have to lean into the wind to keep from falling and I end up crouching down behind some large boulder as an extremely strong gust approaches. I think I find the path but I follow it and it just leads me up onto another section of boulders. I have now totally lost the path. Man, I am like the exact opposite of that Indian who tracked Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. I am back up on boulders and I look around to see where the path is as I thought it was supposed to encircle part of the lake but I don`t see it anywhere and then I almost get knocked over. I have to be careful because if I fall and land on one of these jagged rocks and break a leg there won`t be anyone here to help (one reason they say never to trek alone). I keep walking around trying to find the path or at least a hot recently deceased chick and I eventually crotch down behind this big boulder and have lunch. I eat some samiches and a pack of cookies and I filled up my bottle along the way with glacial water which is the purest water I have ever tasted (since it tasted like nothing). It`s fun climbing on these rocks and just chilling and looking at all the mountains but also dangerous and when the wind picks up even more I say fuck this, I`m out.
I head down some embankment and I have no idea where the path is as I am completely lost at this point but my mind is capable of performing some logical calculations and I come to the conclusion that all I have to do is find the river as the path back follows the river. I walk through this really hilly forest for awhile with ghostly trees and I finally hear the river and I ultimately find the path back, whew. I hit up the local brewery as soon as I get back and I see on the menu that they have Irish Car Booms, hah, obviously a mistranslation of Irish Car Bombs, this cracks me up to no end. I run into two of the Swedes I met in Montevideo (the one who stole the chick I didn`t really want returned home already). This is quite unbelievable as I have to be a good 3,000km from Montevideo. What da chances man!
Back at the hostel I am studyng a map for this trek I want to make tomorrow to The Fitz Roy and I realize that the people in this hostel suck. There are a lot of poser mountain climbers talking about weather conditions and they think they are too good for everyone. Yeah, I hope the Fitz Roy claims some more lives in the upcoming week fags. The hotel owners prepare a barbecue and I get in on the action and I end up sitting at this table with 10 people all of who speak Spanish as a first language except for me and this other American sitting directly on my left. The thing is though he speaks fluent spanish somehow even though he looks like a Mongaloid with rabies and a penchant for humping people`s legs. Whenever I try to make conversation with the people at the table this fucking dickhole has to make a disparaging comment in regards to how bad my spanish is. He always has to make some belittling comment like "Oh what language is that, Spanish?" What a fucking tool. I have no idea what his problem is. I mean I know my Spanish isn`t as good as his but at least I am making an effort to talk to everyone. Maybe it`s because the dude is fat, ugly, bald and out of shape. Maybe it`s because we are both Americans and this is the one thing he has on me, the fact that he can speak Spanish extremely well. Nevertheless, it doesn`t make me any less fucking pissed after one of his comments. I mean, I can`t even try to make friends with these people because he has to butt in and comment after everything I say. I come so close to absolutely whooping the shit out of this guy. This is by far the maddest I have been since I left or possibly in years. I seriously almost take my left elbow and jack it into his throat but what I end up doing is eating as fast as possible and going to bed in order to avoid the situation. I know what you are thinking, sure you almost whooped his ass, you didn`t do anything, you didn`t even say anything to him. Well, that`s true but I know me and you don`t. How I work is in these type of situations where I get really pissed is that I won`t say shit and then I`ll just snap and go to town. Doesn`t happen very often but when it does I go pretty nuts. The only times I can remember is in college when I punched Fisher, tried to get into a fight with that rugby fucker at that bar, got in a fight with that dude in the burrito joint (not much of a fight since I threw two punches and missed both times because I was so wasted) and by far the best example was the Dallas Cowboy game. I mean there have been other fights and stuff but those were like in groups in highschool and don`t really apply to this situation. So believe me when I say that I was as close to whooping the fucking shit out of this guy as Bill Clinton was to fucking Monica Lewinsky. I guess in the long run I did the right thing but even as I write this months later I sort of wish I just gave him a quick jab to his snot locker.
Fin.
River I had to follow - El Chaten
