Hiking Mirador Las Torres in Chilean Patagonia
"You can't hike the trail, you'll never make it," the park ranger, a young woman decked out in hiking boots, khakis and a dark grey vest, said, as Greg and I stood at the base of the trail, clenched the straps on our heavy backpacks and sighed.
Several hours earlier, we woke in our hotel room in Puerto Natales after sleeping in. The mid-morning sun cascaded through the window. Our legs burned from the previous two days of hiking in Patagonia. After procrastinating for a bit, stretching our limbs, and then eating breakfast, we embarked for Torres del Paine National Park. Puerto Natales’ asphalt roads transitioned to gravel. Pot holes depressed into the road. A cloud of dust whipped into the air. Through the haze, Patagonia’s mountains rose.
Torres del Paine is one of the most famous National Parks in Patagonia, boasting Andean Condors, Pumas and Guanacos, turquoise lakes and waterfalls, and some of the wildest mountains in the world. For the past two days, we drove the hour-and-a-half drive from our hotel to the park’s west entrance. On our third and final day to the park, we planned on hiking Mirador Las Torres, located at the park’s east entrance. The 880-metre trek up a mountain leads to a turquoise lake and three 2,000-metre-high granite towers, which is where the park gets its name (Torres del Paine translates to Towers of Paine). The roundtrip hike is roughly 20 kilometres and can take up to eight hours to complete.
After the hour-and-a-half drive from our hotel, we reached the west entrance by 11:30 AM. We checked our map of the park, figured out the route to the eastern side, and started driving. The gravel roads weaved, bumped and veered away from the mountains. Dust hurled into the air behind us. Our eyes peered and peered at the clock on our rental car’s dashboard. After another hour-and-a-half, we arrived at the parking lot near the Mirador Las Torres trail. I glanced at the dashboard. One o’clock. My body tensed.
We headed into a wooden lodge located at the base of the trail, grabbed chicken sandwiches, and then headed out for the hike. Outside the lodge, a wooden sign pointed in the direction of the Mirador Las Torres trailhead. We embarked down a flat, gravel road. Grins formed on our faces. The midday sun warmed my skin. A few minutes later, a curved, glass building loomed in front of us. Torres del Paine’s mountains poked above the flat roof.
“What do you think that is?” Greg asked.
“No idea,” I said.
“Do you think if we just keep following this road, we’ll find the trailhead?”
“Not sure. We could try. We’re already running kind of late though, so maybe we should go in that building and see if anyone can point us in the right direction. It’s almost mid-afternoon and apparently this hike is pretty long, so we should try and get precise directions to the trail or we won’t make it there before dark.”
Inside the building, which offered snacks, washrooms and seating areas, a lady stood behind a concrete, sloped counter. Trail maps, sign-in forms and outdoor gear pamphlets lined the counter top. A floor-to-ceiling glass wall rose behind her. The tips of Torres del Paine’s three granite towers jutted into the sky behind her. Warmth filled my chest. My heart raced. We approached the lady.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Where does the Mirador Las Torres trail start?”
“The trail starts behind this building,” she said, as she slid a piece of paper in front of us, “but, before you can start the hike, you need to fill out this sign-in form.”
I pulled the paper toward me, picked up a pencil and started filling in the information. In my peripherals, the lady frowned.
“Just so you’re aware, the last 45-minute stretch of the trail, which is a steep ascent toward the towers, closes every day at 4:00 PM. It typically takes four hours to reach that point and it’s already 1:30, so you only have two-and-a-half hours to climb up there. You’d better get moving if you want any chance of making it in time.”
My shoulders tensed. Sweat pooled in my armpits, as I scribbled our information onto the sign-in form.
“Thanks for the insight,” I said. “We’ll get moving.”
We handed the form back to the lady, headed through the back door of the building and spotted the official Mirador Las Torres trail. Our hiking boots stomped along the gravel. Our pace quickened.
“Man, I kind of wish we woke up earlier this morning and got here sooner,” Greg said.
“Me too. I had no idea the east entrance was so much farther than the west entrance from Puerto Natales. We were exhausted, too. We’ve done so much hiking over the last few days already.”
“Do you think we’ll make it in time?”
I smirked.
“We’re going to find out.”
As our quads started to burn, a voice shouted at us. We froze. A young woman stepped outside of a smaller, second building beside the trail. She glared at us.
"Where are you two going?" she asked.
"We're going to do the hike," I replied.
"You can't hike the trail, you'll never make it," the park ranger, a young woman decked out in hiking boots, khakis and a dark grey vest, said, as Greg and I stood at the base of the trail, clenched the straps on our heavy backpacks and sighed.
"What do you mean?"
"They close the last part of the trail at 4:00 PM, and it takes about four hours to make it there, so I can't let you go."
"Are you serious?" Greg asked.
"Yes."
Greg and I stared at each other. My shoulders slumped. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My feet pulsed inside my hiking boots.
"What're we going to do?" I asked.
Greg sighed.
"Maybe we could come back tomorrow and do it."
"Ahhh," I said, "I doubt we'll want to do that. It took three hours to get here, and tomorrow we need to drive back to Punta Arenas to catch our flight the next day, so that'd be a six-hour drive from here after that massive hike."
We both groaned. I turned to the lady.
"Is there any way we can do some of the hike?" I asked.
The lady pondered for a moment. My heart raced. She frowned, gazed up toward the three towers, and then smirked.
"Yes, you could hike up to the valley. That shouldn't take long."
She contemplated for another moment. My stomach clenched.
"There's a lodge about halfway through the trail. If you don't make it there by three o’clock, they won't let you through. If you do somehow make it there in the next hour-and-a-half hours, you’ll have until four o’clock to reach the last 45-minute ascent. If you don't make it there by four, they won't let you through."
Greg and I grinned. My chest warmed. The sun shimmered across Torres del Paine’s peaks.
"Sounds good."
We blitzed from the park ranger, trekked past a hotel, crossed over a turquoise river on a two-person-max bridge, hopped back onto the gravel trail, and then headed up the mountain.
After a few minutes of gentle incline, the trail steepened. Our calves and quads burned. Large, orange rocks lay across the trail. Our hiking boots kicked up dust. As we climbed higher and higher, the hotel and welcome centre grew smaller and smaller. The large turquoise lakes, mountains and grass-covered fields in the distance rose into view.
For the next while, we climbed and climbed and climbed up the side of the mountain. The sun cascaded across the landscape. As we reached the top of a long uphill portion of the trail, we stopped for a short break. I tore off my Patagonia down jacket, shoved it into its inner pocket and attached it to the karabiner on my backpack. Our legs ached. Sweat formed beneath my backpack’s shoulder straps. I sipped my water, absorbed the view, and then checked my watch. Two o’clock. My body tensed.
“I hope we reach that lodge soon. We’re getting close to three o’clock. I feel like we’re moving pretty quick, but maybe you do really need more time to do this hike.”
After almost an hour, the trail dipped downward, edged along a massive cliff with a river at the bottom and weaved toward a forest. Our legs loosened, as we headed downhill. When we entered the forest, a lodge came into view.
"Greg," I said, "I think that's the lodge!"
"Damn, how are we on time?"
I checked my watch.
"It's 2:59, man. We actually made it with one minute to go," I said and laughed. "Let's just keep walking past it. We'll take a break once we've cleared the gate ahead. I think that’s what closes at three.”
"Agreed," Greg said.
"There's also a sign there that says the final ascent is about three to four kilometers from here. Think we can do that in an hour?"
"Easy. The trail looks like it's mostly flat for the next while."
As we strode past the lodge, the trail ventured beneath the forest's trees, winded along a river and, for the most part, remained flat for the next few kilometers. After a while, we ran into a group of hikers heading back down the trail. They smiled, stopped in front of us and sipped from their water bottles.
“How far are we from the last forty-five-minute ascent?” I asked.
“From here, you likely still have an hour to go,” one of the hikers said.
“An hour? We need to make it there before four o’clock.”
“I guess that’s possible, but you’ll have to motor.”
The other hiker grinned.
“It’s well worth it.”
My chest tingled. Greg and I smirked. After bidding farewell to the hikers, we continued along the trail. The terrain started to ascend again. Our tired legs quavered, as we pushed onward. I glanced at my Apple watch, which stated we’d traveled another four kilometers since we left the lodge. I gazed toward the top of the trees, scanned between the leaves for the three granite towers and sighed. The leaves rustled above us. The sun peeked between them. The trail continued through the dense forest. We trekked up and up the trail, as more hikers passed us on their way down.
At around 3:45 PM, we emerged into an opening. A large, snow-capped mountain loomed in the distance. Boulders slumped down the side of the mountain we were on. I gazed up at the sky beyond the boulders. The tops of the three Torres del Paine towers jutted into the sky. A wooden sign read, "Mirador Las Torres 45 Minutes." I gawked at the tops of the towers, the sign, and then the tops of the towers again. My heart raced. My cheeks reddened.
The trail tightened, steepened and weaved among the massive boulders, as we started the last 45-minute ascent. My breaths rasped. The air grew thinner. The breeze blew colder. More and more and more hikers descended down the slim trail. We stopped to let them pass each time. As we hoofed up higher and higher between the boulders, the peaks of the three towers protruded more and more. When we reached the end of the trail, I pulled my Patagonia coat out of its pouch, wrapped myself in it, and trekked on. My arms shivered. My breaths quickened, as we trudged closer and closer.
A moment later, a turquoise lake glimmered beneath the late afternoon sun. Three granite towers jutted into the sky above it. Snow sprinkled across their jagged peaks. My eyes widened. My mouth drooped. I dashed across the boulders, climbed onto a large rock at the edge of the lake and gazed across the water. The clouds’ shadows danced along the towers, as they drifted across the blue sky. I glanced at my watch, shook my head and grinned, as I remembered the long drive to the park’s east entrance, the conversation with the park ranger, and the first glimpse of the towers from the welcome centre. The sun grazed the edge of the tallest tower’s peak. My chest warmed.
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