Just how old do I need to be to stop trying to be someone who I am not? When do I stop reading about other people´s rad adventures thinking that I could pull off the same effort in the same style with the same gear? Just because Roman Dial hiked 1000 kilometers across the Brooks Range eating crushed Pringles and gummy bears doesn't mean that I can. Hubris seems to make a fool of me far too often.
Five days ago I had myself fully convinced that I could embark on a ten day backpack of the Grande Curcuito in the Torres del Paine wearing little more than what I´d take for a day of cragging on the East Side of the Sierra. Those softshell pants that have dried in minutes after a minor bum-slide down the U-Notch and Snowpatch Col were no match for the incessant, horizontal, bone-chilling rain of Patagonia. The crew -- Z plus two friends from Oakland -- were plagued by other issues as well: blisters, old injuries, a fair distribution of hypothermia. To put it lightly, we got served.
With bruised egos and dry shoes we´ve headed further south to hang with a colony of pinguinos and gather some psych for the next attempt. The Banff Film Fest is in town and I´ve run into a few climbers that I know from back home and online. If our suerte improves and the capricious weather gods smile upon us we´ll take another crack at the Torres.
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