Lago Grey - A Battle of Wind and Wet

Today we prepare for a three-hour journey northwest on Lago Grey, a glacial lake just south of our destination, the Torres Del Paine National Park. Shrouded in a light morning rain, the beige-tinted waters of the lake appear tranquil to even the most doubtful seagoing travelers among us. Winds are gusting from the north, driving the rain into the bay windows of the comfortable lake house where we wait for the ferry. Hot chocolate, enveloping armchairs and a stunning view lull us into a sleepy complacency. For me this is the way life should be. 

We are all eager to get to Torres Del Paine. The park is the focal point of our experience. No longer will we be ferried about like school children in vans. Now our strength and  determination will carry us through some of the most stunning scenery in the world. 

First we have to get there. 

The wind is rising now and white caps have appeared on the lake. In the middle distance we see hikers walking on a brown smudge in the middle of the water. A sand bar divides the lake in two providing a land bridge to the northeast. 

We are signaled to assemble on a pier north of the sand bar from which we will depart on a launch to the ferry. Packed into an open-air work boat we clutch our day packs and huddle in the rain. Regrettably for those crouched in the bow it is impossible to stay dry. 

Relentless whitecaps hurl themselves against our launch, a drenching  baptism for the reluctant faithful. I sense that today’s trip will test the skill of captain and crew in a battle of wind and wet. 

We arrive at the waiting ferry, which is about the size of a fishing trawler with picture windows. We  scramble aboard  and are quickly ushered to the main cabin. 

We take our seats and watch as a crew member grimly looses us from the mooring. Briefly we drift astern before the ferry gathers its pluck and slowly turns its beam to the oncoming waves. As we gather momentum, the violence of the lake makes itself known to all onboard.  Like a ballet dancer we leap, shudder, drop, submerge into a hiss of spray then rise again.

A few hundred feet into our shoving match with the lake, a member of the crew stumbles to the front of the cabin with a microphone.  Unsteadily he clutches the rail and gives us a wan smile. In Spanish and again in halting English, he lets us know that the captain is evaluating the situation and will decide in another few minutes if today’s trip is even possible. 

I look out the port picture window to the southwest. The channel is in the middle of the lake and I realize that we are at least 50 meters from the nearest sheer walls of granite.  I notice that someone has helpfully mounted a stainless steel hammer next to the window. Its purpose is now clear. If we capsize, this window will be our only way out. 

However, even if we were lucky enough to get out of the overturned vessel, in this frigid water our epitaph would be noted in one of those 10-second blurbs on CNN, including  B-roll of helicopters hovering over a grim search for survivors. Somehow when you’re actually in the situation, it seems that a ferry disaster deserves a lot more coverage. I nibble at a chicken and avocado sandwich and wonder why I feel the need to risk my life to appreciate it. 

After a three-hour struggle to travel about 12 kilometers, we arrive to board a waiting launch that will ferry us to a stable shore and the long hike into Torres Del Paine National Park.