Mt. Fitz Roy and a Pair of Trash Bags

Why does Nick look like the Hunchback from Notre Dame and how did I end up wearing trash bags for pants?

Yes, I know you're dying to know.

It all started with Ronnie, mi amiga querida, who went to Patagonia during her semester abroad in college, and brought back pictures from her hikes through the great Torres Paines. Ever since, I've been longing to go. So . . . I did my research, found the best place for hiking in Argentina (Chile was too expensive w/ the $100 visa fee), convinced Nick that it would be fun, and outfitted us for a three-day hike.

Off we went.

El Chaltén, a quaint little town nestled in the foothills, would be our base and Mt. Fitz Roy (or really just the bottom of it) would be our goal. All the guidebooks said that Mt. Fitz Roy was a sight not to miss. The only time we actually had this clear of a view of the peek, though, was on our bus ride into town . . . when we were half awake and too sleepy to take a picture (this one is stolen from google). Little did we know that the clouds were a'comin and we'd never see our darling Mt. Fitz Roy again. Dun dun dun.

We spent a hot minute renting a stove and some sleeping mats and set out for our three day hike. Arriving at our first night's campsite well before the 9pm sunset, we set up our tent, and took pictures of the ominous looking Fitz Roy, just as the rain started to fall.

The next morning, we awoke to violent winds that had us deliberating as to whether or not we should forge onward, head back, or hide out in the tent until better weather.

When the Brazilian couple we had made friends with in the tent next door decided to take off, we figured sticking around was the worst option of the three and we reluctantly emerged from the refuge of our tent and began to pack up. (See Nick's blog for the video www.nickcain.wordpress.com). Between the wind and rain and the lack of blue sky in sight, we decided to head home.

Enter trash bags -- with only one pair of jeans each, we needed something to keep us dry. I had brought my father's gaiters (funny waterproof sleeves that go over your pants), but Nick had nothing. . . hmmmmm . . .

And then the lightbulb! Our spare trash bags could double as gaiters. All we needed was to rip a hole in the bottom and use the drawstrings to secure the bags. I attempted to convince Nick that it was what all the real mountaineers did by saying that I had seen my dad do it a million times. My bright idea and little white lie, however, backfired when the trash bags were too small for Nick's long legs. We both burst into laughter as I admitted that my dad never wore trash bags.

Needless to say, I was the one who ended up with the trash bag gaiters. And at least the people we met along the trail back to town got a good laugh out of it.