Frommers, here I come.

Previously, I recommended that individuals should refrain from hiking in the dark by themselves. This is fantastic advice... that I forget often. While I take some of the blame, I have to lean on my former friend, Lonely Planet, to share in my missteps. At my most feeble moment (lost and traversing an unmarked and steep mountain range), LP's pearl of wisdom in their treking guide was to "descend right in tiny switchbacks via a tiny rock knob after reaching a slope of loose coarse talus on the trail" (pg. 256, Patagonia Andes, Printed in China, 2003). After reading this 3 times, I flipped to the glossary for the meaning of Talus, which was mysteriously in abstentia between Tabamo (a blood sucking horsefly) and Tarn (a quaint highland lake).

I finally located the talus (or what i assume was talus) and knob, and switchbacked my ass off down the rock face (undoubtedly weary of Tabamo's the entire time), only to find the campsite that I intended on staying at didn't exist. The next campsite was a full day away and furthermore, the landscape did not lend itself to just throwing a tent, enjoying a fire (fueled by indigenous furs) and wearing the hell out of a plaid shirt.

I decided to retreat down an alternative route to what LP described as "a pleasant campsite with good protection and views". Well protected it was. View I didn't. I obviously couldn't find this campsite, and at this point it was about 5:30pm and I had about an hour left of sunlight for a 2 hour trek to a campsite near Puerto Williams. (Mind you I had been walking along a mountain range since noon with a pack that could anchor a circus tent).

My visible aggrevation and exhausion happened to coinicide with raindrops pummeling me from the sky, so i just started walking. I made decent time walking the 2 hours through dark forests and dusk-lit fields back towards town. Besides slipping and falling on 4 well moisturized roots, things were actually looking up as I approached town, and I even contemplated setting up my tent instead of retreating all the way to the Hostel. Moments later, my decision was made for me as I fell off a well lubed log and did a spot on side flop into a shin deep puddle. After struggling mightily to lift myself and my bag out of the puddle, I walked straight into the travel office and pushed my departure from the island up a day. This departure was then repushed back a day due to 1 foot ocean swells .

Suffice it to say, Pedro enjoyed himself a hearty laugh when I walked into the hostel at 8:30, as he had previously called me "loco" for going camping at this time of year. The night was rounded out with Pedro, Miguel and a man who been in Anartica for 3 years (with two outward facing lazy eyes) watching "Hitch", another damn romantic comedy.