Damn generator was thumping away all night about 4 metres from our tent! While supposedly to heat the regugio for the few fortunate souls able to afford the extortionate rent from the bitter cold and wind raging outside, we were promised that it would be powered down at 11pm. By midnight I’d had enough of shivering in the dark and used the excuse to go find a pair of pants in my bag (inside the hut..) to go and cause a scene. No use – more empty promises and indifference to my situation – so we sucked it up and waited for sunrise. Actually, I waited for sunrise as Jess seemed to sleep right through it all and woke up quite refreshed. Dammit!
A quick breakfast of porridge and after packing all the gear (oh yeah, the tent we hired has the wrong fly with a different shape to the tent itself and just doesn’t quite fit. Flapping in the wind for a while I eventually pulled a MacGyver and lashed together some sticks as a makeshift pole to hold it together) we set out again back down the valley to join the main trail through the park. A beautiful and clear but bitterly cold morning, we could now see the extent of the surrounding valley that we’d trekked up during yesterday’s storm.
A few hours later we start to come down out of the snow and across the open grassy plains towards Lago Nordenskjol. We passed through some small woodland forests and along a few small mirror lakes before reaching the milky turquoise (blue-green?) waters of Nordenskjold.
After lunch the path begins to take a few small but tiring up & down sections and the general forest greenery gives way to rocky outcrops and small shrubbery. The 22km section we’ve committed to walk today is beginning to wear down on Jess and she starts to fall behind little by little.
She stuck out through like a real trooper and eventually we come across the French Valley and begin the short walk up the valley towards Campo Italiano where we will pitch for the night (Last night was Campo Chileno – seems they name the sites after whoever got there first??). Mindful of the Kiwi’s advice and also the fact that the campsite is completely devoid of other travellers, we decided to hijack the lunch shelter and set up camp inside the shed itself. Hoping no one else comes along wanting to use the area we figure at least this way we’re out of the wind and rain and dramatically reduce the risk of tree branches invading our dreams.
I convince an unwilling Jess to follow me further up the valley (minus our packs this time) to see if we can make the French Valley Mirador, a lookout point another 5km uphill. After a few hours scrambling over rocks and past the snow line once again we finally glimpse a view of the Torres themselves, turning pink as the sun begins to drop on the horizon. A tired shuffle back down the valley towards camp and we settle in for the night with the sound of glaciers rumbling and avalanches crashing down the slopes not so far away.
