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as the fi re burned down, Armando reminded us that our ride
tomorrow would be quite diffi cult—eight hours over challenging
terrain—and gently encouraged us to adjourn to our tents. I slept
poorly, kept awake by the wind rattling the tent, nerves about the
coming ride, and one aluminum tumbler too many of pisco sours.I
n the morning, we took a catamaran up Last Hope Sound to
the Serrano Glacier, where poor Juan Ladrillero’s dreams
of fi nding the western entrance to the Strait of Magellan
met an icy dead end. The blasting wind pulled sheets of mist
up from the water. Andean condors circled above the cliff s. Once
we reached the glacier, a smaller boat buzzed us across an inlet to a
nearby estancia, where our horses were waiting. Mine was shaggy-
maned and black and an absolute champ. He plunged without
hesitation into deep mud that made me think of the horse-
swallowing swamp in The Neverending Story, forded gamely across
a cold green river, picked through complex lattices of roots and
logs in the dense beech forest, clambered like a goat over ledges,
and slid down rocks so sheer I caught the acrid smell of his shoes
as they scraped against the granite. I left the reins loose, trusting
him to choose the best path.
After four hours, we emerged from the forest onto the black-
sand beach of brackish Lago Brush. The Paine Massif heaved into
view, crowned with fat white cumulus clouds. As a landform, the
massif is so spectacular it becomes exhausting. You fi nd yourself
dreading the moment when it is no longer in sight. You’re
compelled, as if by a curse, to take photo after photo, though none
will capture its grandeur. For the rest of the day, four more hours,
the jagged peaks bobbed in and out of sight as we crested and
descended until, fi nally, in the golden hour before twilight, we
found ourselves overlooking a perfect valley of thick trees and
luminous yellow grass, with a turquoise river snaking through.
The Paine Massif stood on the far side like the end point of a
mythical quest, as forbidding as it was alluring.
It was 8.30 by the time we trotted into camp, but daylight still
lingered. Levio had pitched our cheerful orange tents among the trees
and was waiting with happy-hour treats. I was impressed again by the
seamlessness with which he and the Horse Riding Patagonia crew
handled the daunting logistics of the trip. Every day, we got hot
dinners, plus the sandwich lunches we carried in cute little tins in our
saddlebags, supplemented by surprise extras that Armando produced
like a magician: a thermos of hot soup or coff ee, a fl ask of Baileys Irish
Cream, a chocolate bar. A rotating cast of gauchos and horses
appeared and disappeared, passing us off like human relay batons,
shepherding us through a wilderness we truly seemed to have to
ourselves. And that, besides the fun of hanging out with animals, was
the best thing about seeing Torres del Paine on horseback: we never
encountered any other riders along the trail. Not one.
The morning after our out-and-back to Grey Glacier, Bailey and I
woke up with joints so stiff we were creaking around camp like
knights in armor. As we mounted fresh horses, we felt aghast at the
prospect of riding another 30 miles, but we loosened up after a gallop
in the morning sun. Guanacos, a species related to the llama, grazed
above us on rocky hillsides. Throughout the day, we drew ever nearer
to the Paine Massif until, late in the afternoon, we rode past the park’s
three namesake torres and fi nally turned our backs to the mountain
range. After a few more miles, we said goodbye to the horses and
climbed into a waiting van. From the rear window, with mingled
sadness and relief, I watched the massif recede and disappear.
Our last ride was an easy loop on another estancia, Pingo Salvaje,
where we slept in a cabin (with beds!) instead of tents. When weGETTING THERE
Fly to Punta Arenas via Santiago. From there,
rent a car or ride the bus about three hours
north to Puerto Natales.TOUR OPERATORS
Horse Riding Patagonia Choose between
five- and 10-day trips in and around Torres del
Paine, with options to sleep at campsites,
estancias, and hotels. Five-day trips from
US$2,499; horse riding patagonia.com
Swoop Travel Specialists can craft your
dream trip from pre-packaged or custom tours
in Patagonia. Activities include kayaking,
skiing, and more. Five-day trips from US$1,096;
swoop-patagonia.comHOTELS
Hotel Lago Grey Located in Torres del Paine
National Park, this property’s restaurant and
rooms offer majestic vistas of the lake and
glacier. Doubles from US$188; lago grey.cl
La Yegua Loca The décor at this hotel balances
the modern and rustic. The rooms’ crisp, white
furnishings are offset by cosy sheepskins.
Doubles from US$125; yegualoca.com
Singular Patagonia Stunning scenery and a
sense of history lend character to this property,
marked by its architecture and excellent service.
Doubles from US$425; thesingular.comwoke, the skies looked ominous. Bailey
and I grumbled about going for a rainy
ride without a destination. We didn’t
think it would give us the same sense
of toughness and accomplishment we
took from our long, taxing journeys.
At the same time, we didn’t want to
leave the trek unfi nished.
After breakfast, we rode out with
Armando and Javiera, a vivacious
young female gaucho who rode in
sneakers and no beret and said she
planned to become a large-animal vet.
The gloom lifted. Under blue skies,
we skirted a reedy lake shore, cantered
along sandstone cliff s, and stopped to
investigate a cave that had once held
the skeleton of a saber-toothed tiger.
The whole trek had been perfect,
we agreed, because it couldn’t be
perfect. We were unspeakably sore
and craved ibuprofen, pisco sours,
and the pool at the Singular, where we
would spend our last afternoon in
Patagonia. Yet, we also wished we
could just keep riding, crossing more
mountains and valleys, on into
forever. Turning toward home, Javiera
led us through a fi eld of dandelions as
riotously yellow as a van Gogh
painting. Heaven on horseback.THE DETAILS
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