Line
Line
Line
Line
Line
Line
Expeditions
Picturing Our World
Learning Our World
Exploring Our World
Members Story Index
Line
Line
Line
Line
Line
Line
Join OWJ
My OWJ
Recommend OWJ
About Us
Contact Us
Where People and the Planet Connect
Produced by FusionSpark Media

Home / Exploring Our World / Member Stories (31) / Individual Traveler (10) / South America (2) / Environments: Mountains (2)

 

In the winds of Patagonia

A photographers journey through Torres del Paine

 Email the author

 

Send to a friend

Image Gallery

Patagonian Sunrise


 

Hiking day was looking clearer, but the peaks were still obscured in a mist. The sun was breaking through in the East as I positioned myself for the first exposure of my time in Patagonia. A sleek, healthy horse gave subject to the Paine Massif, sloping in to mist as the sunrise lit the morning aglow. I was finished with my staple breakfast of oatmeal, buttered toast and tea for the coming hike before any of the other travelers had stuck their head out for a look at what the day would bring.

The camera is a tool. The film an open book, waiting for words of wisdom and mystery to be written. Never knowing when or where the light will paint upon its pages the story which unfolds in my minds eye. I was a beast of burden. Lugging around one third of my body weight for the sake of eating, sleeping and capturing fleeting light as it chases me around the globe.

I ditched the first two causes of this weight at Camping Torres, forty minutes below the towers. The sudden loss of weight on my back was balanced out by the increase of the final pitch. Thousands of boulders blocked the view of the three towers which give the park its name. Cleopatra hid her Needles well.

The terrain demanded my full attention. With eyes fixed on the boulder at hand, I mechanistically progressed toward the top. In this state of mind, one forgets about the reason for being where they were. I did not realize I was there until the boulders above me simply stopped coming. My heart was racing, my lungs were burning, but it was my eyes that took my breath away.

Cleopatra's Needles, the Devil’s Teeth, Torres del Paine. From where I stood, the boulders dropped away to a lake of fantastical creation. The granite walls which shouldered the towers of mite and elegance plunged into the depth on the far side. There were others, but I was alone in my fasination. Some snapped pictures of loved ones blocking the towers with a corky smile, while others checked their high-liner with a compact. I moved in for a closer look. A sure-footed descent and some well positioned stepping stones put the rest of the world at my back .

My feet could not take me any further, so I let my imagination take hold. Racing above the chilling water at lightning speeds, I met the granite headwall and rocketed upwards, falling back to get the grandest perspective of the towers as they came in to there own. The midnight black basalt which transforms the summits at a knifes edge seems a trick of the light, a shadow cast from distant peaks. This only adds to the fantastical behemouths which come in to complete perspective as I fall back in to myself, standing alone, absorbing the majesty that the towers behold.

Days on, Valley Frances: The light reflects my mood, weighing heavy on my heart, allowing only fleeting glimpses of the peaks which bear the names of poetry. The Fortress, Dagger, Mask and Sharks Fin. Not until my return home did I realize the amplitude of these giants, whispering secrets well masked in the winds of Patagonia.

The final supper in the park is enjoyed with company from all corners of the globe. We all meet here, at the end of the earth, to become witness to natures beauty. A lone tree on a distant ridge captures my attention. As I frame a shot through the scratched window of the refugio, I capture a subject for daybreak. Content with my foresight, I return to the laughter, the music, the company which I have long grown accustomed to being without. Photography has become my companion.

I awake with a jolt, always thinking I am late. Across the field, up the ridge, I find the tree, still dosing. The clouds from the West are funneled down between the Paine Massif and the Cuernos, dwarfing their omnipresence. I am ready when the light is pulled from the East and saturates the clouds with color. Like rain, this light is set loose from the clouds and soaks the snowfields in radiance. Overwhelmed. Minutes pass, an eternity in my mind. The color retreats as the clouds are emptied and another day begins....

...I have learned to play this game with the light, always holding the lead, just far enough to capture its power over the world before it catches up with me.

 

Community Question

What sacrifices have you made for the camera?

View Responses    Share Your Response


 
logo

Home  |  My OWJ  |  Recommend OWJ  |  About Us  |  Contact Us  |  Editorial Guidelines  |  Submission Policies  |  Privacy Statement

© Copyright 2000-2002 FusionSpark Media, Inc. and One World Journeys. All rights reserved.
None of the images or content on this web site may be copied or distributed without prior written permission.