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Patagonia: The Kingdom of Wind
September 7, 2003
Pages »1  2

Our first view of the Towers of Paine
Courtesy of Sean Waters

Adventures are funny old things. You spend all your spare time dreaming them up, then, once you're in the middle of them you quickly start wishing you were somewhere else. It's a love/hate relationship, a fatal attraction, and our mountaineering expedition to South America this past summer fit the bill perfectly.

I was brought up reading the sagas of the great British expeditions with their stiff upper lips, dozens of 'little brown men of the empire' and the inevitable sea voyage en-route to their destinations. To me the idea of sailing the Chilean fiords down to the wonderful looking granite towers of the Torres Del Paine in Patagonia seemed irresistibly romantic. Bonnington and Whillans of Himalayan fame had sailed to Patagonia in the 1960s to claim the first ascent of the Central Tower of Paine and it was their route we were keen to climb.

Think Patagonia and you think impossibly inhospitable landscapes, swept by hurricane force winds and lashed with rain, so the flat calm sea under wide blue skies that greeted us as we boarded the good ship M.V Magellan had us pleasantly surprised and more than a little wary. Steaming south towards Puerto Natalas our suspicions were confirmed as the weather began to live up to its reputation and the clouds slowly lowered over the glowering mountains. At the same time the scenery became increasingly spectacular, the walls of the fiords closing in around the ship and the huge glaciers cascading into the sea.

After four days on board and a drunken 'Fiesta Finale' we arrived in Puerto Natalas, a somewhat dirty, frontier town on the edge of the barren pampas. This was to be our last town and we raced around buying three weeks worth of food and base camp equipment, negotiating the obligatory climbing permit hassles, and prying as much knowledge from the locals as we could. We also did plenty of last minute fattening up and drank coffee by the bucket load.

"That first view was like a physical blow and I literally took an involuntary step backwards."

I'll never forget my first view of the Towers. I'd been asleep on the bus and when I stepped off, there they were, three colossal granite teeth piercing the distant Patagonian sky. That first view was like a physical blow and I literally took an involuntary step backwards. What were we thinking trying to climb those?

Slowly, over the next few days, as we lugged loads up the beautiful Rio Ascensio valley to our basecamp, the Towers became more familiar. We stopped often to gaze in gob-smacked wonder up at the soaring walls and crack systems that seemed to go on and on forever, impossibly aloof. Finally we deposited our last load at Campamento Japonese, our basecamp, a wonderful spot, set in open, sun-dappled, beech forest with its own babbling brook. More importantly we finally had a climbing permit in our hot little hands and free license to go and scare ourselves.

The approach to the Towers' west side is a three hour walk up and out of the beech forest and into the Valle del Silencio, literally the Valley of Silence. Walking up the moraine leads into an amphitheatre surrounded by a sea of granite. The incredible west faces of the North, Central and South Towers of Paine are faced by the colossal east faces of the Cerro Fortaleza and Cerro Escudo. It is an awe inspiring place, a place where the wind is king, and it was up here that the dramatic race for the first ascent of the Central Tower was played out in 1963.

The British team had been in position for five weeks waiting for an attempt on the Tower. During that time the wind had never ceased its howling refrain and destroyed any tents they erected above the bush line, frustrating all their efforts to start climbing. Out of nowhere an Italian team turned up, intent on the same objective, and the race for national pride was on. The professional Italian climbers looked very disparagingly at the British slobs festering in their piles of empty beer bottles, but it was the Poms who got creative, building a square canvas and wooden box hut and carrying it high up under the Towers. This was the precursor to the famous 'Whillan's Box', to be used so successfully in the Himalaya during the 1970s. Capable of withstanding the ferocious winds, this cunning ploy allowed them to camp high up in relative comfort, waiting for a break in the weather.

Using any short weather windows to push the route, the Brit's fixed ropes to the mountain and left them behind as they descended. After seven long weeks, a longer fine spell finally arrived and the team headed off for a summit push. Swiftly ascending the fixed ropes to their previous high point, Bonnington and Whillans headed up into virgin territory while the Italians, realizing that they had slept in on the one fine day for weeks, raced to catch up. It was too late however, and after a fantastic effort, British boots were the first to stomp on the summit of this incredible spire. The Italians did manage to salvage some national dignity by nabbing the first ascent of the impressive South Tower.

We decided to make use of some moderate weather shortly after our arrival to carry a load up to the base of the Towers. From the moraine a long approach gully stretches up for a thousand meters to the saddle between the North and Central Towers, with some delicate icy slabs along the way to keep things interesting. Arriving at the top of the gully at 12:30, it seemed like reasonable climbing weather, a very elusive commodity in Patagonia. Reluctant to waste it, we hauled out the ropes for a fast attempt on the North Tower. It was wonderful to finally pull the rock shoes on after months of planning, and an easy rope length quickly led us to Col Bich, the saddle between the Towers and a perfect accelerator tunnel for the increasing wind. From this beautiful, airy perch the solid orange granite of the walls on either side looked breathtaking.

We climbed out of Col Bich with the enormous Central Tower looming behind us, the stomach clenching drop of the east faces to our right and the wind screaming around our ears. This is what we had come for. After several hard pitches the terrains eased a little and we are able to move simultaneously, still roped together, and cover lots of ground quickly until just below the top. The last rope length proved to be a beauty, thirty meters of almost blank wall with the only protection a rusty piton at 25m height. Despite the cold gale blowing us around, we had huge grins on when we rolled onto the summit. Unable to stand up for fear of being blown out, we unrolled the New Zealand flag for a patriotic picture and then battled our way back down through the wind. After eighteen hours we staggered back into base camp feeling tired but very happy.

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By Sean Waters;
Courtesy of New Zealand Adventure, www.pacificmedia.co.nz