*note: This blog post has six segments. At the end of each page, click “older posts” or the orange link “THE STORY CONTINUES WITH MORE PHOTOGRAPHS IN THE NEXT POST.”

Teams portage over a falls in the kayaking section on the first day of the 2011 Wenger Patagonian Expedition Race.

Race Day 02. Wednesday February 9th

I wake up, miraculously on my own, at 5:30 and get the others up, ready to go. The light slowly illuminates more of the surrounding mountains, but the jungle is still very dark. I had illusions of keeping my feet dry for at least some period of time, but as soon as we leave camp our feet sink into the turba.

Turba, I had the pleasure of finding out, is a multicolored sponge-like substance that blankets all of the ground in this area of Patagonia. It comes in just about every imaginable color, but I saw mostly yellows and reds. You could step on it and sink three inches or up to your waist. It is fully impossible to keep your feet dry while walking through turba. In the higher elevations it is still present, but much more pleasurable to walk on, as it doesn’t sink in to your knee with every step.

Don’t stop here. More photos and story after the Jump>>

Tony Hoare standing in the field of turba, lucky enough to find a semi-solid place to stand.

Tony Hoare and Yosuke Kashiwakura head towards PC3 from PC4.

Ignacio, our guide, was told to follow the river till we reached the lake. He kept the river twenty meters to our left the whole time, as we bushwhacked through the dense jungle. Only later did we find out that beside the river was much easier walking. The sun’s orange glow reflects off the snow peaks surrounding us as we cross a waist deep river that empties into the large glacier-melt lake. We climb a twenty-foot bank to reach a large plateau that reaches to the base of the mountains. From the distance it looks like a solid plain, but you must watch your every step because stepping into a “puddle” would leave you up to your chest in water, mud, and turba. As the elevation increases, the ground grows more solid. The pace quickens, and we rush over the rocky ridges. Besides the turba, there’s a thick, holly-like bush that we’re constantly pulling ourselves through. At certain points, instead of climbing down small cliffs, I find it easier to jump off and land on the bushes (giggling the whole way).

In the distance we see a team approaching. The Brits are cruising, even after a sleepless night of bushwhacking through stupidly dense jungle. Bruce Duncan took a tree branch to the mouth sometime during the night that left his lip very swollen and bloody. But just as fast as they came, they disappeared behind us, flying through the first 70 some kilometer trekking section.

Bruce Duncan’s battle wound.

Adidas TERREX / Prunesco keep keeping on towards PC4

We misinterpret the map and the advice that Ignacio received as a “shortcut” and wind up too far up on the wrong side of a river. Finding a relatively easy place to cross with tree supports, the icy cold water only comes to our waists once again.

Perdido en el Turbal (Lost in the turba), a team of mostly Americans, appears as we come to the top of the next ridge and let us know we are a kilometer or two from checkpoint three. Tony, Yosuke and I head off in the direction they pointed.

Tim Kuenster (US, Perdido en el Turbal) on the way to PC4

Small ponds lie between the hills full of turba, which makes marshes of the surrounding areas. We reach a rocky riverbed that makes for easier walking but need to get over the next ridge. I pick a route to the top, using roots to pull my way up. The apex of the ridge is easy walking through an open wood till we come to a point that drops off on three sides. From here we can see the lake, and through the brush we can make out the checkpoint; we’ve gone past it. Going down over the bushes is much easier; gravity is on our side.

The blue icebergs float on the cloudy water in the midday sun. Teams fight their way through the impossibly thick brush that lines the lake, relieved to take a break on the rocky shore, and they take their wet shoes off to reveal feet wrinkled from being constantly soaked for the last twenty-four hours. The teams have bushwhacked through demanding terrain through the night, barely stopping to rest. But some of the teams look pretty haggard after only the first day; if they are to finish the race they have at least six more days to go.



Noel Duffy (Australia, Dancing Pandas) at PC3

Peter Spagnoli (US, Dancing Pandas) takes a breather before leaving PC3

Kay Waki (Japan, East Wind) holds herself together continues trekking despite having a broken rib.

Dancing Pandas leave PC3

Feet take the brunt of the wear

The checkpoint manager offers me trailmix for lunch that barely satisfies my hunger. But with the last teams are passing through, after a short rest Tony and I head back into the jungle to try to catch up with some teams. Because we did not get to PC3 until noon we will not have time to reach PC5 or PC6 without the risk of falling behind all of the teams. We were told there would be a boat coming at four P.M. that we could take, and we could jump ahead to PC7.

I watch a team take a route up to the ridge that seemed to be in a better direction than the one we came from, so I decide to follow. But once Tony and I get beyond the clearing we come to wall of the prickly bushes. Either we go back and find a new route, or we go up and over. We start pushing through, but soon find ourselves “swimming” over the bushes: our feet not touching the ground, pulling ourselves hand-over-hand, trying to reach the top of the ridge. After an hour we finally break through to the open turba fields. I discover the jungle has stolen several things from my backpack: one glove, one Keen shoe, a Wenger Swiss Army knife, a LightMyFire SpoonForkKnife, numerous plastic Ziplock bags, and a 77mm lens cap.

Team Todo Aventura – La Segunda, from Chile and Argentine, cross through a field of dense brush in the valley below our vantage point and enters another thick forest that delays them several hours. The Croatians unknowingly take advantage of the Chileans mistake and pick a route through the hills with more solid ground, trekking at a quick click. Tony and I leap frog this team till they reach a dangerous river crossing.

Ad Natura – Karibu

Somehow, in a second my head is turned, team captain Elvir Sulic is standing on a boulder in the middle of the river, completely dry. He somehow jumped the large distance from the riverbank to the rock. Dario Rocco jumps but slips off the rock and goes waist deep in the rushing water. The Elvir grabs hold, keeping Dario from going under. He regains his footing and pulls himself onto the large rock. The female team member, Darija Boostjancic, doesn’t try to jump, choosing to wade carefully to the rock with the assistance of all three teammates.

Elvir Sulic keeps Dario Rocco from being swept downstream.

Elvir Sulic and Stiven Vunic help Darija Bostjanicic cross the fast moving stream

Tony wades in and with assistance from Stiven Vunic, the last Croatian team member, he pulls himself onto the boulder. I put my feet into the rushing water, immediately feeling the pull of the current. A few degrees from frozen, my mind pays no attention to the temperature of the water – I’m fully concentrating on getting my equipment and myself safely across the waist deep aquatic onslaught. I grab hold of the boulder and Tony tries to help me up, but my feet are slowly sliding off of submerged stone. I picture my head go under, my camera taking on water. With a renewed burst of energy I lunge onto the rock, and Tony pulls me to safety.

We continue the leapfrog routine through the relatively easy trekking in the spongy, but more firm turba. In the distance behind us we see another team approaching. Tony and I play rock, paper, scissor to determine which one of us will fall back to follow the new team. I get to sit for a bit, setting up a beautiful shot, waiting for the incoming team to move into position. As they approach, I see that it’s the Japanese team, East Wind, which has their own film crew and photographer. With the team in the right position I yell to the film crew to duck out of sight. When they get closer we start playing the leapfrog game, each trying to stay out of the others’ way. It’s pretty apparent from how Yosuke carries himself that he’s exhausted.

Team East Wind

Team East Wind

I run ahead and put my camera away (you can only take so many of the same looking shots). I don’t want to navigate for the team, but I want to stay ahead of them in case I see an incredible shot. And being much fresher than the team who has trekked through the night, I am able to easily keep in front. I come to a cliff line that I don’t remember from the morning, and the valley below looks more familiar. So I double back and go along the valley. East Wind doesn’t follow me; they stay high on the ridge.

I soon find that I did not make the right move. I come to a decision: thick forest versus climbing up a cliff. I attack the cliff, not wanting to spend any more time in the forests than I have to. At the top I can see for miles, but I don’t see the Japanese team ahead of me and I see no teams behind. Exhausted, I take off my shoes and eat a granola bar, needing some fuel to carry me on. I have an hour before the boat is supposed to come to PC4. Hopefully I can get through the lower jungle in time. The Japanese helicopter flies directly overhead, unaware that I’m below them.

With my shoes empty of sticks and stones, I take off feeling somewhat refreshed. I reach the turba filled plateau over the lake, but from a different ridge than we went up in the morning. Crossing the plateau I keep looking back up the ridges to see if there are any more teams visible, but I see no movement at all. I step carefully knowing that one false step will send me chest deep into the muck under the turba.

I reach the last river crossing and pack up my photo equipment to be as waterproof as possible (which is not very), when I hear some noise behind me. Yosuke is meandering around the lake; the Japanese team had left him behind. I was glad to see him because I was not looking forward to finding my way through the thick jungle to PC4 on my own.

We cross the river and enter the jungle near where we had left it earlier that morning, and I head in a direction toward the seashore which will lead us to the checkpoint. We push through trees and bushes, coming to a field with mounds of turba. I decide to see if I can get to a high point for a better look around, but after climbing the tallest mound I find myself up to my chest in dry turba. There is nothing inside the mound except more of the spongy substance. After bushwhacking for a while walking through turba between knee and chest high I can see water ahead, I’ve led us straight to the shore…! Oh no, it’s the river that is the complete opposite direction. Instead of heading in a westerly direction we ended up going due north.

Humans naturally go in circles when walking without reference points. It is something that has been studied for years. Check out this NPR article “A mystery: Why Can’t We Walk Straight?”. One thing the article doesn’t comment on is the fact that all of the subjects seem to circle to their right. I found this to be true, I did a perfect arc to the right that led me directly to the river.

Footprints lined the river; it’s apparent that racers had been here, but not having a map I didn’t necessarily trust the racers’ navigation. I took my compass out and took a reading. I need to go west, southwest. Keep the mountain on my left and the sun over my left shoulder. Alright, lets go….wait. It’s 5pm. The sun should be in the northwestern sky. If I’m traveling west it should be in front of me. I check the compass again: mountain on left, sun over left shoulder. This doesn’t make any sense. The sun should not be behind me. I give in and follow the mountain, keeping the sun over the back of my left shoulder. I still cannot explain why this worked.

Yosuke offers to lead for a while, as making a path through the brush is extremely exhausting. Sure enough, he starts to make that gradual right arc. It’s so easy to do; unless your REALLY paying attention to your reference points you don’t even notice. I take the lead again and finally we pop out onto the shoreline only about 300 yards from the checkpoint. Navigation success, though I’m still thoroughly confused by the position of the sun.

No boat is waiting to take us back to Porta Natales, and no boat comes that night. Over the satellite phone the checkpoint manager says one will come the next afternoon. The two main photographers are stuck behind most of the teams, with no prospect to get ahead. The Japanese NHK film crew get out by helicopter, promising to send it back for Tony, Yosuke and I, but it never comes.

A racer airs out their foot at PC4. There’s rarely a time in the race that their feet are not wet.

Taz Lawrie (Australia, Four Continents) after his second day in the race.

Since we left the resort at Torres del Paine I had not been fed anything besides chocolate bars and potato chips; two days without real food. Twenty exhausting kilometers later I am overly hungry and tired of eating junk food. I ask the Checkpoint manager for some food and he hands me a candy bar. “I can’t eat this; I need solid food.” I am introduced to pork pâté, a paste of pureed meat that comes out of a plastic tube, usually eaten with crackers. Over the next week I would eat a lot of pâté. (Even now, months later, I sometimes crave the salty goodness).

CLICK ME!!! The story continues with more photographs in the next post.

After an hour delay, the teams are sent off into Lago Grey in their two-man kayaks with spaced intervals. In the confusion of the delay I am told, with all of my baggage for the whole race, go to the beach. Then on the beach, with all of my baggage for the whole race, “Why are you here? The trucks are waiting in the parking lot for you. Hurry or they’ll leave without you.”

Members of team Adidas TERREX/Prunesco from the UK prepare for the 47 kilometer kayaking section

Noel Duffy (Australia) from team Dancing Pandas checks his gear before starting off with his team in kayaks.

Don’t stop here. More photos and story after the Jump>>

“Are we going to the boats or to the pass?” the media team asks the driver. “I’m supposed to drop some of you off at the pass, then others at the bridge. After all the teams have past, I’ll take you to the boats.” But this means all of the photographers and most of the video guys wind up on the same boat, meaning we all covered the same teams.

I climb into a two-seat “cable car”, which I assume was the only way to get across the river before the bridge was constructed. From this vantage point I could see the kayakers coming around the river bend with a beautiful view of the snow-capped mountain in the background. But the teams pass on the opposite of the river, too far to get a close shot. The truck finally comes back and takes us to the staging area for the zodiac boats.

T.C. Worley, a photographer and writer from Minnesota, enjoys looking like an orange marshmallow in our dry suits.

Orange jumpsuits. Waterproof dry suits. I feel like a marshmallow. We load onto the zodiac, which seems to purposefully take the turns as tight as it can, spraying water all around. We catch up first to the Japanese team as they paddle through the milky green-blue glacier-melt water with the Cordillera del Paine dominating the background. The paddling section doesn’t seem technically challenging, more of an endurance test, which is split by a 100-meter portage around a large, powerful rapid. The teams finish the first kayaking at an unassuming spot on the side of the river, where the second checkpoint is set up.

Team East Wind from Japan enjoys their paddling session.

Members of Team East Wind pull their kayak through the portage that bypasses a very large and impressive waterfall/rapid.

Jorge Cifuentes (Chile, Todo Aventura – La Segunda) Helps his teammate pull their kayak through the mandatory portage.

GearJunkies.com pulls through the final legs of the first kayaking portion of the race.

Were everything to operate smoothly, the teams’ gear for trekking and food would be waiting at this checkpoint. But nothing goes as planned. The first few teams decide to face the jungle in the night without receiving their food or other gear, though the gear arrives only ten minutes later.

Teams organize their gear before they embark on the massive trekking section

Fiona Spotswood (UK, Team Addidas TERREX / Prunesco) prepares to start on the trek.

Peter Spagnoli and Mark Lattanzi (US, Team Dancing Pandas) pull their kayak onto the shore

Chelsey Gribbon (US, Team Gear Junkies) takes time from organizing her gear for the trek

Kay Waki (Japan, East Wind) helps to pull her kayak up the river bank.

Stiven Vunic (Croatia, Ad Natura – Karibu) Helps his teammates pull their boat onto the river bank before taking off on their trek.

Marcelo Sinoca (Brazil, Selva NSK Kailash) pulls their boat ashore.

Ricardo de Silva (Brazil, Selva NSK Kailash) never failed to have a huge smile on his face.

Tim Kuenster (US, Perdido en el Turbal) stars off on the trekking section, walking with little rest for 73kms through unimaginably impassible wilderness.

Melissa Griffiths and Jason Urckfitz (UK, US, Perdido en el Turbal) start on the trekking section.

Arnaud Marchand and Tony Hoare enjoy a break from photographing the race, just long enough they can get some food in them.

With the trekking underway, the media team rushes to jump to checkpoints ahead in the race. Photographers Tony Hoare, Yosuke Kashiwakura , and I are delivered to Checkpoint 4, hours behind schedule. We had planned on hiking to PC3 and camping, but we didn’t arrive at PC4 until after 12:00 am. And hiking into unknown terrain in the middle of the night didn’t excite any of us.

CLICK ME!!! The story continues with more photographs in the next post.

Race Day 03. Thursday, February 10th
In the morning I awake to shouts, “There’s a boat!” Everyone is confused; the boat coming for some of the checkpoint workers isn’t supped to come till the afternoon. In the confusion only six of us got on the zodiac boat.

Don’t stop here. More photos and story after the Jump>>

We are taken to a small dock with a catamaran carrying tourists around the fjords. We have to stand outside, there is no room for us to sit, but we’re happy to on our way back to Porta Natales. Our guide, Ignacio, tells us that there are no boats from the race to take us on to PC7, but somehow he arranges for a fishing boat to take us. We take a fancy meal – of, how do you say…hot dogs – at the four-star hotel before heading to the boatyard.

I borrowed Yosuke’s 15mm fisheye lens. I’ve got to get me one!

The captain of the boat said he had to run and get something. Two hours later we are creaking out of the harbor in a rickety old fishing boat. “How long should it take?” we ask. “Two hours.” Now I know from my past experiences that transportation operators’ time estimations are usually exaggerated, but we left at 6pm and did not arrive till after 12:30pm. It doesn’t get dark till around 10pm, but when it became dark it became clear what we were doing. The boat did not have any spotlights; the captain did not have any charts, maps, GPS, or depth finders.

The capatain of our small fishing boat.

Tony catches some shut eye in the cramped quarters on our six hour journey

We are purely going off the computer printout of the race map to get to our location through the crazy maze of Patagonian fjords, jutting into the sea like interlocking fingers. In the dark with no moonlight, with much effort you could make out the faint outline of the mountains rising out of the dark water. Tony and take up positions on the prow of the boat straining our eyes to see ahead into the blackness. Suddenly I see a large shape form out of the sea. I yell for the captain to turn towards the starboard, and Tony exclaims, “Iceberg!!!” The form is glowing, reflecting the light of our LED headlamps. The boat slows to a crawl as we search the water for other icebergs. As the shape comes closer we realize it is just a giant rock coming out of the water, there are no icebergs around.

In the distance we see headlamps moving along a ridge. We start flashing our lights back and forth, feigning communication. The lights move towards the shore and the captain aims at the same spot. Ignacio says, “Should we check the GPS?” He had a GPS the whole time and didn’t tell anyone. It shows we’re about a kilometer and half away from the location of PC7; we had been communicating with a team, not the checkpoint. I’m not sure if they thought we were coming to rescue them or what. We get to where the GPS says the checkpoint is, but we see several different sets of headlamps on the ridges surrounding us, and nothing that looks like a large gathering of tents and people. The captain anchors his boat, and we get into the wooden dinghy we’ve been dragging with us (that was slowly sinking the entire trip). He drops us on the rocky shore and we debate which way to get around. We take off through the brush, finding that we’re walking on top of trees – well, walking is a relative term. We can see the camp, but it’s too much effort to continue so we find a way around.

Team Dancing Pandas are sleeping, getting ready to attack the next section. They’re in somewhat of a desperate situation; Masha Glanville (Canada) lost some medication in the bushwhacking and needs the meds to continue. They’ve been told that if they can get to PC8 before the cutoff, they will have her medication, and they can continue on the race. But what they don’t know is there’s a major river crossing just on the other side of the checkpoint.

Tony prepares his gear and photo equipment for the river crossing, and I plan to capture the team’s unexpected dash into the frigid waters. We’re told it’s about chest deep, but the tide has come in so we can’t tell exactly how deep it is, especially in the dark at 2:30 in the morning. I had wanted to take night shots and here was my chance, but I also wanted to finish this section of the trek. I pack up my gear as best as I can without packing my camera and accessories, but not having time to make sure everything is “waterproofed” I am uneasy about the crossing.

The Dancing Pandas roll out of their sleeping bags only two hours after they crawled into them cold, wet, and exhausted. Their heads come together, asking the questions, “Do we continue? Or are we too drained to continue?” Masha excitedly exclaims, “We’re going! Now!” And seemingly before anyone was truly ready, Tony and I included, they take off into the predawn darkness.

Mark Lattanzi and Peter Spagnoli (US, Dancing Pandas) check their gear before setting off for PC8 at 2:30am.

Masha Glanville (Canada, Dancing Pandas) is determined to get to PC8 where she can get her much needed medication.

Noel Duffy and Peter Spagnoli (Australia and US, Dancing Pandas) prepare themselves to do a river crossing, which in the middle of the night has a great possibility of causing hypothermia

The frigid and fast moving current quickly rises to Mark Lattanzi’s chest, and then beyond. His feet leave the bottom, and he swims desperately for the other side, reaching for branches of a downed tree. The three others follow knowing right now it’s their only choice. The checkpoint manager had said, “This is the place to cross, it’s the most narrow,” and the team in their urgency did not take the time to scout out a different point. In the dark there was hardly any point, you couldn’t see to make an informed decision. (In the morning I found that it became more shallow and passable at the mouth where the river dispersed into the lagoon. There the current slows and all the sediment the river has been dragging along gets dropped, leaving a mass more easily walked across.)

The Dancing Pandas, along with Tony Hoare and Ignacio reach the other side after having to swim across the river.

Tony jumps into the water, determined to follow the team to the next checkpoint, despite his gear not being fully waterproofed. The Pandas help to pull him out on the other side.

I yell across, “Is your camera ok?”
“I hope so!” he nervously yells back.
“I don’t think I’m coming! I’m not ready. My bag is not nearly waterproofed enough.”

I watch as their five headlamps trace the contours of the ridge, leading to the pass between the mountains. Further up the ridge other clusters of headlamps head for the pass. When they reach the most difficult section, near the pinnacle of the pass, the run into a traffic jam. Three other teams, the Japanese, *Lost in Turba*, and ** have reached at the same time. Competitiveness goes out the window as the teams help each other climb the steep, rocky slope just as the sun pops up above the horizon.

I return to my “pre-packed” things to find that Yosuke has thoughtfully put them in his tent, solidifying that I am not going to cross the river and follow the last team to pass through PC7. During the night, a rain comes that does not stop for days. Everyone in camp hides away in their tents the whole day, desperate to keep at least somewhat dry. I keep looking over the ridge, regretting not following the Dancing Pandas’ river crossing. Because I did not make it to PC8 I am missing the second kayaking section to PC9, and the beginning of the subsequent long trekking section. I hope that I can catch some more of the race; I feel like I’ve missed so much already.

Race Day 04. Friday February 11th
A helicopter comes to take the Japanese film crew to PC8, landing on the rocky bank of the river. After being quickly loaded, it starts to take off but only gets about twenty feet off the ground. The pilot motions for one passenger to grab his bag and get off; there’s too much weight. An hour later the helicopter returns to pick up the straggler, and he pulls Yosuke on board. Yosuke yells and waves me over. There’s space on board and I can jump ahead to PC8! The aircraft lifts off, and the film crew still stuck at PC7 flip me the bird before they turn and lumber off through the rain.

Shaking and lurching, twisting side to side, the helicopter continues to gain altitude until it’s no longer going up, just twisting and shaking. The pilot lowers the craft to the ground once again. He turns to me, “I’m sorry, you can’t go.” My first time on a helicopter and I only got twenty feet off the ground!

I go moping back to the video guys, Brad and Arnaud, defeated by my failed attempt to escape PC7. I’m stuck, yet again, for multiple days.

A boat appears in the fjord! I am excited to get back to Porta Natales and reconnect with the race teams, but from the boat comes two disqualified teams and the PC6 staff. It’s another fifteen people for PC7 to support and feed, as our foods supplies were running low. Luckily, the PC6 crew brought their leftover food barrels giving us plenty of food to survive another couple of days (Though quality of food is questionable. I hope that, along with logistics for the media, the food is planned out much better next year). The small boat is returning to Porta Natales, but I’m told I cannot go with them because it would take too long. Another boat is apparently coming that can take all twenty-five (or so) of us, but I doubt the expediency of this next crafts coming.

Marcelo Sinoca (Brazil, Selva NSK Kailash) and Soledad Cristiano (Argentina, Todo Aventura – La Segunda) survive despite the unending rain.

“Oop, there’s a tooth!” says Taz in the middle of a story. His tooth just popped out, and he picks it up from the ground.

Taz showing off his missing tooth

Paulette Kirby (US) and Andre Vogel (Australia) of Team Four Continents wait to be extracted from PC7 after dropping out of the race due to not making the time cutoffs.

Ricardo da Silva (Brazil, Selva NSK Kailash) waiting in the rain at PC7

Taz Lawrie (Australia, Four Continents), always a great subject to photograph, is an airline pilot in Kazakhstan.

Rose Hoeppner (Brazil, Selva NSK Kailash) takes advantage of the downtime to brush her teeth while still struggling to stay dry.

The Brazilian team, Selva NKS Kailash, made up of ex-military; the Chilean/Argentina team, Todo Aventura – La segunda; and the ragtag Four Continents led by the unique Taz; these teams along with all the support staff for PC6 and PC7 and the small media crew wait in the rain on the rocky, narrow beach of the fjord for boat to come “rescue” us. Taz, despite having endured unimaginable exhaustion and physical strain over the last couple of days, asks if anyone wants to go on an exploration trek around the area just to see what we can find. No one takes him up on his offer. I find him standing next to the river visibly contemplating trying to cross, but he resigns to his tent, taking cover from the onslaught of rain.

Life in the tent. You either sleep or eat, praying the tent doesn’t leak. Potato chips…the food staple.

Taz Lawrie waiting out a particularly intense bout of rain.

I hate that I am not on the other side of PC8 and cannot take being cooped up any longer, so I take off into wilds back toward PC6 to explore. I trace the curves of several inlets, splashing through the shin deep water to avoid the impassibly tangled forests. I enjoy my freedom, but I second guess the fact that I did not tell anyone where I was going. I figure, though, from my vantage points I will be able to see the boat coming far before anyone in camp; I will not be left behind. I climb the furthest outcropping visible from camp, maybe a kilometer away as the bird flies. I bound over the turbal and scale the rocky face, just happy to be exerting energy and to not be in a tent. From here I can see miles and miles back along the fjords toward Porta Natales and one thing is clear, there is no boat coming any time soon.

Just before I reach camp I see a scene so perfect, so picturesque I cannot not photograph it. It would be great to have a team splashing through the shallow waters with the mountains and the forest as the backdrop. I wake up Taz, “Hey, you want to get your feet wet? Want to do a photoshoot?” He answers, “I’ll see if the others are up to it.” It takes a while to get Andre out of his sleeping bag, but eventually everyone gets really into pretending they are deep in the wilderness for the photos.

Team Four Continents making bushwacking look easy.

Late in the afternoon the boat finally comes to deliver the weary teams, media and checkpoint staff back to Porta Natales. We enjoy being dry and inside a comfortable cabin for the six-hour ride back. Everyone lays wet clothing and equipment out on the top deck in a desperate attempt to dry them, and the crew put our shoes in the engine compartment thinking the heat will help them to dry. We arrive in Porta Natales, greeted by a hord of journalists snapping photos and filming. I am whisked away and stuffed into a taxi that takes me to a restaurant where much of the staff are eating.

I’m living the good life in the Remota, a four star hotel in Porta Natales. This is in stark contrast to being drenched in the pouring rain for two days, protected only by hardly water-resistant tents. The peculiar building juts out of the hillside as if it were once part of the earth, the roof covered in tall grass and the siding made of aged wood. The lobby is flooded with natural light, and the aged wood styling is repeated throughout the large, multi-level room. The guest rooms are simply decorated, but the geometric shapes of the hotel are repeated throughout, including the bathroom wall that opens up to a large window (great for couples, not so much for three guys in the same room). Dinner is served for all the race volunteers in the hotel, a delicious alternative to all the paté and crackers I have been eating for the past week. The comfortable bed is just as delicious as the meal.

CLICK ME!!! The story continues with more photographs in the next post.

Race Day 07. Monday, February 14th

Juan, the Gaucho that takes care of the ranch we were camped out on at PC13.

I awake to a buzz of activity outside my tent. “The French are starting!” It’s 10am. The British and GearJunkies.com have already left a few hours ago for the 188 kilometers of biking to reach the finish line. Somehow I slept through all of that commotion. The French assemble their bikes and head off to the east toward Pali Aike. “Tony, you go in the truck and follow the French. Scott, you can follow the Croatians in the next truck,” the organizers tell us. Just as the French start their day, fresh from a rest, semi dry, they reach a small creek they have to cross – just deep enough they have to get their feet wet, once again. They become specks and disappear over the next hill.

Don’t stop here. More photos and story after the Jump>>


Raymond Pascal (France) and Stiven Vunic (Croatia) prepare for the last leg of the race, biking 188kms to Pali Aike. Stiven borrowed my sunglasses for the trip.

France’s Vaucluse Adventure Evasions take off for Pali Aike.

The Croatians gather their things and start off toward the creek. The majority of the media left in the last truck, so they go with much less hooplah surrounding them. I look around for anyone assembling in a truck. No one seems to be moving. “Is anyone going to the finish?” I ask to anyone that will listen. Everyone seems to be busy with their own tasks. The last truck leaves, but they are headed back to Punta Arenas, not the end of the race. Looks like, once again and not surprisingly, I’m stuck. But I’m surrounded by good people in a location much more comfortable than any of my previous detentions. I’ve got friends, good food (a welcome reprieve from paté and chocolate), and the ability to be mostly dry.

Dario Rocco checks his gear before their last bike section.

Darija Bostjancic (Croatia, Ad Natura-Karibu) takes her bike from the barn before finishing the race.

Darija Bostjancic

The Croatian team get their feet wet after finally being dry for a night.

Race Day 08. Tuesday, February 15th
The teams that were ‘rescued’ and delivered to PC10 trekked out with the crew. Denmark and the mostly American team, Perdido en el Turbal, were brought to PC13 so they could finish the biking section, albeit a day later than the other teams. In all only six teams made that final journey, down from the fourteen teams that started the race seven days earlier.

The Danes take off towards the finish.

Perdido en el Turbal prepares to finish the race.

The teams are all gone. It’s just us: the volunteers, interns, and what’s left of the media. We have no where to go and nothing to do, except hope and speculate when the race will send vehicles to come pick us up. We stand around the firepit trying to stay warm, trying to think up things to do. My best idea: glove racing. Place rubber gloves on the guylines from the tarp and bet on which glove will reach the ground first. Pure excitement.

The ranch we were camped out on was so eerily beautiful.


Compliments of the workers of PC13


The beautifully twisted trees that line the property

The report from the finish. There are many trucks sitting at the finish with not enough drivers to drive them (many of the drivers are at PC13 with me). The carabineros (the police) show up in their Toyota four door four-wheel-drive pickup truck. Someone from the race asked them to come pick up some of the drivers and take them to Pali Aike so they can return with vehicles to pick everyone up. But word spreads through camp that they are having a huge party at the finish line. “We should have our own party here since not all of us can go to the finish,” people start saying. They’re crazy. I just want to get out of here. I’d rather go to the finish, but it wouldn’t be bad to be back in Punta Arenas. “The police are going to take a couple of us to buy drinks. Do you have any money to donate?” The police came to rescue us, but instead…they bring back alcohol. Someone gets a pig and Peter starts barbecuing.

I wake up in a huge cabin tent by myself, weary eyed and wondering where the rest of the inhabitants are. The previous night a bit of a blur, I stumble back to the shack to find Peter and a few others cleaning up from the festivities. If this wasn’t some ranch on the edge of pure wilderness it would resemble the aftermath of any frat party. I need to clear my head. With the rain holding off British Pete and I go for a hike exploring the forest surrounding our camp. The forests have such a strange beauty with its bent and twisted trees covered in hanging moss. The good news greets us as we return: two trucks have come. A select few of us get to go back to Punta Arenas. We won’t be missing the closing ceremony happening this evening. I hurry to get my tent and bags packed so as not to miss this boat out. The truck takes us to a waiting van and goes back for a second set of lucky travelers. The driver of the van tells us we cannot get in yet and goes to work underneath the van. It later becomes apparent what he was working on. The clutch doesn’t work. We bounce down the road, stalling and grinding the gears all the way back to Punta Arenas.

I would love to come back and just do a project on these trees.

It’s all over
After the closing ceremony, after the party, after all the athletes leave the staff, interns, volunteers, and a few of the media are still left in Punta Arenas. I had planned on spending a few days processing images before my flight back to the US on Sunday. “Scott, would you like to join us on our flight to Antarctica with DAP Antarctica? We can try and change your flight so you can stay a bit longer,” Anne asked me. Man, how do you turn down an offer like that? But I have to. I am teaching at a University and have already missed two weeks because of the race and another because of a snow day. I need to be there. I have to be responsible.

I say my goodbyes and get ready to go to the airport. “Wait, Scott. Don’t go yet. Your flight has been cancelled!” What? There’s not a cloud in the sky? The weather is amazing. How is my flight just cancelled? Not just postponed, but cancelled. The timing was perfect: I’d leave Sunday, arrive Monday, have Tuesday to recover before my class on Wednesday. But with the cancelled flight I would not arrive until partway through my first class, making it very unlikely I could get there in time for any of my classes. Anne says, “Guess this means you get to go to Antarctica with us!” The head of the art department at my university gives me the go ahead. My flight is rescheduled for Friday.

“Be at the office at 6am Wednesday morning. We will leave from there. But it all depends on the weather,” we’re told. My roommate Brad and I show up at six to find only the other American’s waiting. No one in the office knows anything, and anyone that would know something is not in the office. Probably still comfortably asleep, knowing something we apparently don’t: We are not flying to Antarctica today. Again, Thursday morning we Americans show up only to find no one else around, more in the know apparently. Sadly, Friday I have to fly home, so I say goodbye to all my friends from the past month as they start their adventure to touch Antarctica.

My entire time in southern Patagonia has been such an amazing adventure, and I cannot wait to come back next year to cover the 10th Anniversary race. I learned a lot, and I hope to be much more prepared next year, both physically and gear wise (I hope to have my waterproofing much more dialed in – ziplock bags only work so well). I wonder who I will see again at the race?

For the headshots I moved Ryan into the shadow so I could control more of the light. Shooting with the 70-200 f/2.8 I didn’t put on the lens hood, allowing for some lens flare off of the rim light.

It was pretty hot (over 90º), but Ryan was able to keep his cool long enough to get the shots. Thank goodness for a fast shoot. 

Again, it’s been a long time since my last post. I can’t really make the excuse that I’ve been super busy, but…well, I’ve been busy climbing. I work and I climb, which has been great! I’m stronger that I’ve ever been before. But I’ve been neglecting my photography work. I’m trying to finish up editing on my Chile post, to finally get that off of my shoulders…three months later. I just want to let you guys know, I’m still here, and I’m excited to be working on my photography again. Here’s a piece to tide you over.

A sailor of the Chilean Navy watches over the kayaking proficiency tests before the Wenger Patagonian Expedition Race

I got a climbing photo published in Rock & Ice magazine! It is the Parting Shot in the April issue.

More Photos After the Break! –>

Daniel Staudigel – USA – Team GearJunkie.com



Chelsey Gribbon – USA – Team GearJunkie.com



Chelsey Gribbon – USA – Team GearJunkie.com



Jason Magness – USA – Team GearJunkie.com



Marcelo Sinoca – Brazil – Team Selva NKS Kailash



Rose Hoeppner – Brazil – Team Selva NKS Kailash



Ricardo da Silva – Brazil – Team Selva NKS Kailash



Carlos Fonseca – Brazil – Team Selva NKS Kailash



Marcelo Catalán – Brazil – Team Xingu



Tasman Lawrie – Australia – Team Four Continents



Andre Vogel – Australia – Team Four Continents



Paulette Kirby – USA – Team Four Continents

I had the pleasure of trying out a great lightweight tent during my time in Patagonia last month. Nemo Equipment sent me the Espri 2P to test.

The Espri 2P is a nice three season tent. It’s great for backpacking because of the size and weight, and ease of set up and take down. When I first took it out of the box I found the packed length (at around 20 inches) a bit unwieldy, but that’s only because of the tent I looked at before (the Meta2, which is roughly the size of a cantaloupe when packed but doesn’t come with poles). If you take the poles out of the tent bag it does compress to roughly the size of a cantaloupe. One small oversight by Nemo is not making the tent bag a compression sac. I used third party straps to keep the bag as small as possible.

With the tent compressed, I could get both my 20º down sleeping bag and the Nemo tent in the bottom of my backpack. This is a huge improvement over tents I have used in the past that generally take over the outside of my backpack.

When you take the poles out of their bag the first thing you realize is the two poles are attached in the middle. If you just throw the poles out and shake them for a bit and they almost find their way together. One side of the poles is slightly more bent than the other and shaded with a darker grey. I didn’t have the instructions, but I quickly found that the poles only fit when installed in one direction. The more bent, darker ends are the back. After a few wrong turns it’s easy to determine which side is which, even in the dark. The lightweight but extremely sturdy poles snap naturally into place at the corners of the tent; Nemo used a ball and socket joint that is extremely intuitive and terribly hard to mess up. The center piece on the poles connects to a corresponding plastic button on the tent. Once the poles are in place and the center of the tent is attached, popping the rest of the plastic tent connectors onto the poles is a breeze and the mesh tent is up. This would be great for a warm summer night, allowing tons of air to flow freely through the tent.

The fly easily attaches, also connecting to the corners of the tent with a simple snap-on mechanism. It doesn’t cover the entire tent but covers all of the essential mesh areas. The fly has a built-in vent to keep condensation to a minimum. The detachable vestibule provides additional space to store your gear outside of the tent but away from the rain. An optional trekking-pole vestibule gives you even more space, but it was unavailable for me to test.

A double rainbow in the fjords of southern Patagonia.

The Espri 2P comfortably fits two, keeps you dry even in the extremes of southern Patagonia, and is lightweight enough to carry with you on backpacking adventures (or from the car to the campsite 15ft away). I’m impressed by Nemo’s quality and ingenuity. Check out their other great designs at www.nemoequipment.com.