Torres del Paine National Park is home to some of Chile’s most iconic sights. Any hiker or trekker will be instantly familiar with views of the immense granite Towers that give the park its name, and the wild crags of the Cuernos that sit on top of the Paine Massif. Put together and they’re a shorthand for this part of Patagonia. But what if you could get a completely new view?
This was the challenge I set myself on my most recent trip. Before joining Swoop, I lived and worked in Torres del Paine as a guide for three years. I’ve hiked the W Trek and slept in refugios more times than I can remember, so I was looking for something completely new. Friends had suggested to me that things look different from the water so I put my hiking boots aside and picked up a paddle, joining Swoop’s three-day camping and kayaking trip through the park.
Taking to the water
The plan was to travel from Puerto Natales to the beach on Lago Grey to kayak there, before descending the Serrano River, accompanied by waterline views of the Paine Massif. From here, we’d camp along the river for two nights, before finishing near the Balmaceda Glacier.
We were a small group – just six plus our guide Will. We would paddle in two-person kayaks, and as we stuffed the hulls with our camping equipment, food and the small dry bags were allowed for personal gear, I could sense my new paddling buddy Magda sizing me up. The trip was designed for novices, but she was clearly an experienced kayaker, and worried I wouldn’t be able to pull my weight.
Before we even had our safety briefing and slid from the riverbank into the water, Will explained that because of the forecast, we’d be doing our three days in a different order to the original plan. My old guiding radar had already been wondering about the conditions, but what feels fine when you’re hiking into a strong breeze plays out completely differently on the water. No one wants to paddle into a headwind, so as with all things with Patagonia, it pays to have plans that can be easily switched around according to local conditions.
The view from the waterline
The revised plan saw us heading down the Serrano River towards the Serrano Glacier, and a campsite at Puerto Toro where we’d set up our tents for the night.
As soon as we pushed off, I was struck by how the kayaks gave a new perspective on a place I thought I knew so intimately. All the familiar sights seemed to float away with the current, and when the Paine Massif began to rise above us, it felt like an entirely novel experience. Away from the main hiking trails, we were immediately in the heart of nature, with just the wind and the sound of our dipping paddles to accompany us.
The Serrano River proved simple enough to navigate, and it didn’t take long to settle into an easy rhythm: paddle, glide, adjust, repeat. We still had to pay attention though; some stretches were narrow with currents that pulled us unexpectedly towards rocks, but Will had prepared us for what to encounter and how to paddle to keep a true course.
One obstacle we couldn’t just paddle through was the Serrano Waterfall. Instead, we had to portage our kayaks for a short spell, carrying all our gear overland. This is where I learned my next important lesson: where hikers in a group are like individual atoms, each concentrating on their own path, on the water we were a team that had to work together to complete a goal. It was a great way to bond as a group, and by the end of that first day at dinner, we were all laughing and chatting like old friends.
Riverside camping
The waterfall portage challenge was followed by another that felt even more urgent. A rising wind meant we’d have to kayak faster than in the morning to get to the campsite before any bad weather set in. Again, our team spirit pulled us together and we made it to the most beautiful location at Puerto Toro, very close to Serrano Glacier. We were in a totally pristine place, with crystal clear water and the trees and mountains rising up around us. It was the best of Patagonia, and without anyone else around, it felt as though it belonged to us.
The campsite was a cluster of simple wooden platforms to erect our tents on to avoid damaging local plantlife, plus a simple toilet and shower block. We set up camp and all pitched in with dinner, playing the kitchen team to Will’s head chef. By the time we sunk into bed – comfy inflatable mattresses, we were tired but happy – and eager to see what the next day would bring.
Glaciers by kayak
One of the advantages of exploring by kayak was the bonus of getting two national parks for the price of one. Most people had signed up to see Torres del Paine, but our trip down the Serrano River meant that we had paddled into the adjoining Bernardo O’Higgins National Park. Despite covering a much larger area, it hasn’t been properly developed for tourism. There are plans afoot to lay hiking trails, but waking up here felt like an extra treat knowing that we’d beaten the crowds – possibly by several years. The quiet campsite felt a very long way from the busy refugios of the W Trek.
The weather that morning kept us on our toes, but it was a thrill to be able to carry our kayaks through the woods and launch them onto Serrano Lagoon. There was no one else there, just us and an epic blue glacier pouring slowly down from the mountains into the lake. We were ecstatic – even my kayaking partner Magda, who by now had thankfully decided that I wasn’t too bad when afloat.
But we were both quietened by the great wall of ice rising out of the water. Occasionally it let loose a sharp cracking sound or a low groan, like a living thing. It was reminding us not to get too close – tempting as it was to paddle right up and lay our hands on it, with the chance of a large chunk suddenly calving off, we knew it was best to keep a safe distance.
Escaping the crowds
Everywhere we went on the water, I was surprised by the complete absence of people. Although we paddled near some of the busiest areas of Torres del Paine, we never passed any hikers or lodges. The only sign of humanity we caught sight of was when someone spotted a gaucho in the distance, moving through the forest with his horse and dogs. Aside from him, we saw no one. It was incredibly liberating, getting to feel a frontier atmosphere in a place that was so familiar from my time as a guide.
The gaucho was a sign perhaps – because of the weather we spent the night at an estancia near Puerto Natales, where we enjoyed a traditional asado barbecue, an iconic meal of Patagonia’s gaucho culture. The next day we were back on the water, heading to Lago Grey and its glacier there – the spot where we would have started our trip if our guide hadn’t made the smart call to take advantage of the weather. Having experienced plenty of times the hard rain and winds Torres del Paine can sometimes throw at the unprepared traveller, I really appreciated the flexibility in the itinerary.
As we floated down the Grey River, the thought of that lone gaucho stuck with me. We were all dressed in modern kayaking gear, with drysuits, mitts and helmets – about as far as possible from the costume of someone who makes their living on horseback. And he was so far away when we spotted him that there was no chance for us to even acknowledge each other. But as I thought of the packed trails on the W Trek, and the buzz of the refugios filled with a hundred other hikers, he was a reminder that you can always escape from the crowds.
The quiet of the river stayed with me for several days after the trip, when my tired arms had recovered from paddling on the water. But after years working in Torres del Paine, it was wonderful to learn that there are still ways to see it anew, and perhaps as it once was before the crowds. You just have to change your angle of approach.
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