Horseback Riding Trip in Chile's Southern Patagonia

When I started taking horseback riding lessons in 1998, I never imagined my newfound hobby would take me to hidden oases all over the world. I had always wanted to travel to exotic places, but as I’d only been to Europe and Asia for work, I was hesitant to branch out to more remote areas on my own.

After doing some research, I found a few companies that offered riding trips all over the world with several options for rides in Chile. Eventually I settled on a 10-day trip in Torres del Paine, a National Park in Chile’s Southern Patagonia that was declared a biosphere reserve by UNESCO in 1978. The park is a stunning haven with glaciers, rivers, lakes, forests, fields of wildflowers, and interesting wildlife, including the regal condor. This particular trip turned out to be the most physically challenging of all the riding trips I’ve taken to date, so you’ll want to make sure you feel extremely comfortable in the saddle before embarking on this adventure.

It was December of 2001 and I was ready for a great adventure. I landed safely in Santiago, a very modern city, but was unprepared for the mayhem of the airport. Americans, Canadians and Australians have to pay an entrance fee to visit Chile and the so-called line for that window was unbelievable. Once through that obstacle the rest was easy and I arrived at my hotel by noon. Exhausted from the long trip, I rested for a bit and then set out for Los Dominicos Market. The market was a combination of schlock, kitsch, and beautiful handmade crafts. I shopped and had a great time, but made one fatal error – eating “street meat” (meat prepared and sold at open markets or street fairs rather than in restaurants). It’s fun to try local food, but I learned the hard way that you should only eat meat in reputable restaurants, where it’s been cooked and prepared properly.

The next morning I headed back to the airport and flew 4 hours south to Punta Arenas, a city of about 100,000. The plane landed amidst heavy rain and hail, but by the time I collected my luggage the sky was blue and the sun was shining. This constant change in extreme weather proved to be typical of this region, so if traveling here you should be prepared for just about anything. I arrived at my hotel and got to know the other riders in my group during an introductory dinner.

There were two trips going out the next morning; one for a group who chose to camp along the way, and one for those of us who signed up to stay in estancias (the local word for ranches). As much as I love to camp, there are a few compelling reasons to choose the estancia option for this trip. First of all, the weather is extreme and unpredictable. We had several nights of heavy rain and I was happy to be sheltered and dry. Secondly, it was a treat to interact with the people who lived and worked on the estancias; they were warm, hospitable and great cooks!

On the first full day of the trip we piled into an old van, and after a few hours of bumpy driving, arrived at the Magellanic Penguin Colony. The penguins made their nests in the ground and were smaller than I imagined. I watched a hungry grey fox sticking his nose into all the nests looking for a meal and was surprised how intimidating the male penguins were while protecting their families.

An hour later we all piled back into the van and continued on to Puerto Natales, a bustling metropolis of about 10,000 residents. The company running the trip (Blue Green Adventures) was based there, as were numerous other adventure companies and youth hostels. After lunch we hopped back into our dilapidated vehicle and spotted several ñandus on our way to the park (ñandus are birds similar to ostriches, and unique because the males incubate the eggs and possibly even raise the young). During our last pit stop we were lucky enough to catch an unofficial bareback race between two locals – the horses were incredibly fast and the race was over in about 30 action packed seconds. Finally, we arrived at our first estancia and it was beautiful. It had been converted to an inn with simple, but very comfortable rooms. The dining room was a separate building with a fireplace and reading area – perfect shelter from the unbelievably strong winds, hail and rain.

The next morning was the first day of riding and we awoke to sunshine, a rainbow, heavy winds and a delicious breakfast – crepes with some kind of Chilean toffee inside. Unfortunately, it was at this time that my stomach began to feel the effects of the street meat I’d eaten in Santiago and for the rest of the trip my only saving grace was that I had come fully prepared with Imodium, a traveler’s best friend! After breakfast, I put on my water proof pants, riding boots and chaps, wrapped a wool scarf over my head and neck, packed my lunch and saddle bag, secured my helmet, pulled on my waterproof gloves and went to meet my horse, Punzon.

The saddles were western style, but very different than anything I’ve ever ridden on before. They were almost impossible to stand in, which meant one had to lean back during canters and sit (rather than post) the trots. Translation…everyone ended up with really sore butts!!! Our gauchos (Chilean cowboys) were true pros and got us on our way in record time. Chechin led the group along with Alec, the owner of the company, and Chechin’s highly energetic 11-year-old son, Cristian, who was on summer break from school.

As soon as we set out the clouds blew right over us and down came the hail. It was so sudden that I had to laugh, and didn’t really care that I was wet. My hands were freezing but the strong winds quickly dried us up and it was easy to forget the cold while riding past a number of stunning lakes, not to mention concentrating on staying in the saddle during the trots.

The trail took us through beech forests filled with beautiful flowers (orchids, sweet peas, and daisies) but it also involved a lot of branch dodging. There was a canter up a steep hill to a plateau overlooking 2 lakes of different colors and the wind was so strong that one had to scream to the person next to them in order to be heard. After a series of incredible views, we began a very steep descent down a sandy cliff, looking down on a milky, blue-colored lake, with snow-covered mountains in the background – it was spectacular.

After lunch we had a long canter across the pampas and for 45 minutes I felt every single rib pounding against my chest with each movement of the horse. The mountains were an amazing backdrop and there were lots of colorful birds – oyster catchers (fil-fil), buff-necked ibis (bandurias), geese (caiquen), lapwings (teros) and little chirpy things that I couldn’t see very well. One of the gauchos invited our group for tea and bread at his house across the river, and it was sobering to see how simply the locals lived – no electricity, phones, running water, etc. – wood burning ovens as the main source of heat and lots of dogs. Everyone down there had lots of little, yelpy sheep dogs.

After the tea we had to ride another 45 minutes back over the pampas and I thought I’d never make it. By the time I got off the horse and hobbled into my room I was so fatigued that I climbed right into bed and fell asleep.

The next morning I dragged my aching body out of bed and got ready for our ride to Grey Glacier and Grey Lake. We were all very sore, but mounted up and set out for another canter across the pampas. This time I leaned way back in the saddle and was gradually able to surrender to the natural rhythm of my horse. We crossed over a footbridge and rode down a long, gravel road until small glimpses of icebergs appeared, then tied up our horses and walked the rest of the way to the lake. There were humungous, blue-tinted icebergs floating in the lake but the water was true to its name and gray in color. The grandeur of the icebergs combined with extremely strong winds blowing across the lake was humbling, and I stood there, totally in awe.

The ride back was calm, and we ended the day with a brisk canter while heading back to the posada. Before dinner I decided to take a stroll around a nearby marsh that I’d seen the day before. Red and yellow grass abounded in the middle of the water, with a border of tall green grass blowing in the wind. I chose a quiet spot and sat for an hour watching the birds and the changing light reflecting on the water. Despite the wind, the setting was tranquil and for a while I felt like I was the only person on the planet.

The next day’s ride was long and challenging; it began in the southwest part of the park and finished (7 hours later) at Estancia Tercera Barranca, on the northeast side of Torres del Paine.

One of the mountain ranges for which Torres del Paine (the Towers of Paine) is famous is “Los Cuernos” or “The Horns”. Part of the allure of this particular day’s ride is that Los Cuernos stare you in the face pretty much the entire day. The views of this imposing range were breathtaking and we were lucky to have good weather. In addition, we passed several lakes, rode along windy rivers and through more beech forests, braved the winds, had some nice canters and enjoyed the range from a multitude of vantage points…that was all before lunch.

After lunch we encountered our first guanacos (animals in the llama family) and couldn’t decide who was more curious of whom. We cantered through wide, open plains, spotted condors from a distance, brought the horses to beautiful marshes to drink and passed a lake called “Guanaco Lake”, that looked exactly like its namesake. At our final resting point, a few riders opted to take the van back to the estancia, so their horses ran in front of us, free from their saddles, for the rest of the way. It’s really fun to ride behind riderless horses because you become a herder – if they stray too far from the trail you have to ride above or below them until they return. The last section of the trail wound past a lake with tons of geese and other birds before turning into the pampas that would lead to our next estancia, Tercera Barranca.

Tercera Barranca was a working estancia and there were always several gauchos milling about. Our meals were prepared by Maria who was always on her feet cooking for the locals and guests, and her homemade bread was heavenly. During our dinners, the locals would sit on a bench across from the table, sipping mate (mahtay), a bitter, herbal tea-like drink, or passing around the wine boot (a suede, boot-shaped bottle of wine). Drinking from the boot was an acquired skill because to be truly macho, you had to hold the spout as far from your mouth as possible, allowing a long stream of wine to flow towards your mouth at a gentle arc. The difficulty was starting and stopping the stream of wine without spilling it all over your shirt. I didn’t attempt the boot until days later so at this point settled for the wine from the cardboard boxes, which was actually pretty good.

The next day was supposedly our “rest” day, but we spent another 5 hours on our horses before returning to the estancia for a very late lunch. I had been anticipating this ride for quite sometime because of my itinerary’s description of an “exciting and unique adventure into the forests and hills of the sierra Contreras”. We were supposed to “ride out in the company of a local puma tracker” and “in the distance see the sun rise over the Towers giving them their classic morning glow”, but neither came to pass. We missed the sunrise by about 5 hours and with a group of 8 riders there was no chance of seeing “an elusive puma”.

It rained for most of this ride but no one was bothered. My biggest challenge was coaxing Punzon up a long, steep hill. He was sure-footed but slow, and when he’d see horses above him on the trail, he’d try to catch up by taking the direct route rather than the carved out switchbacks, leaving my stomach in knots.

Despite my struggles with Punzon, I did enjoy the small, tri-colored orchids (white, yellow and orange) and other flowers along the trail. At the top of the ascent we waited for the gauchos to find the opening to the forest in which the pumas are often seen. The forest seemed “enchanted” and we rode through, slowly and quietly.

As we emerged from the forest the clouds subsided a bit and we stopped at an old shack for some mate. Before going inside I walked over to a river to look for orchids and while my head was buried in the ground I heard distant screaming behind me – my group was standing there, pointing in the air, and when I looked up there were 2 huge condors gliding above me. Andean condors are the largest birds of flight in the region with wingspans of 8-10 feet, and they truly rule the sky.

After the mate break we continued on towards the estancia and came upon some gauchos herding about 850 sheep. We watched as they athletically rode their horses alongside the herd but the real bosses of the operation were clearly their yelpy sheepdogs. The visual shapes created by the movement of this white, wooly mass were astounding. Combined with the constant running back and forth of the barking dogs and the unison bleating of so many sheep, the scene added up to an organized chaos that was unforgettable. We joined in on the herding and it took us an hour to get all those sheep back to the estancia, but it was a thrilling experience!

Upon our return a hot lunch was waiting and after the meal I went to watch the tagging of the sheep. The whole process was certainly educational, but it was difficult listening to the mothers and babies calling to each other as they were separated into different sections of the holding area.

That night the dinner menu was, not surprisingly, roasted lamb. They cooked it right outside the house and I walked over to watch the carving. The elderly gaucho performing the task unwound the wires holding the meat to the skewers with his bare hands and didn’t even flinch. He then used an impressively large knife to carve the meat and sent the first tray inside. The marinade was delicious but the meat was extremely fatty and not all that appealing.

The next morning I woke up early to watch the sunrise and was overwhelmed by the pinks and grays that filled the sky. By 6 a.m. the show was over and I headed right back to bed. When I awoke for the second time, I noticed that the size of my lips had increased about 50% and at breakfast everyone asked if I’d had secret collagen injections the night before. They may have looked voluptuous, but they hurt like hell and from then on I had to wrap my face in a scarf every morning in order to protect myself from the wind and sun.

The ride to Refugio Dickson was my favorite. After a non-descript section of mud, we started over some hills until the mountains came into view. We passed by some water holes with natural, bubbly mineral water, and then rode on through some boggy sections of terrain that the horses didn’t like at all. Deep mud is tricky for them to navigate and Punzon got very cranky when I forced him through.

As we were riding through a long and narrow grassy plain, I looked up to see a huge condor gliding above my head that had appeared out of nowhere. It floated about 25 feet above me and just hovered, as if delivering a secret message that only the two of us could understand. Time stood still and I couldn’t move or breathe; I just stared up in total amazement. When the great bird flew away I let out a huge gasp and saw Chichin knowingly smile for my experience – it was magical.

We crossed through a river and passed by the campsite at Laguna Azul. From there the scenery became more and more stunning. Patches of white daisies turned into meadows of white daisies and it felt like the poppy scene from the Wizard of Oz. We had great views of “the Towers”, 3 pointy rocks that spike up beyond the rest of the mountain range, and rode past several beautiful lakes.

Finally we arrived at the river across from Refugio Dickson, which is only accessible by foot or horseback, and called for the boatman to come and take us across in a little dingy. Due to constantly changing water levels there is a rope tied to trees high up on the riverbanks with which the boat guy pulls the passengers across. Once we were safely to the other side the real spectacle began. Our reluctant horses were herded into the icy waters and they swam across, noses bobbing up and down. It was hard work for them because the water was so cold, but they arrived safely and knew exactly where to go for food as they surfaced from the river.

The next day’s ride to Dickson Glacier should have been one of the trip highlights, but unfortunately we had very bad weather. It was wet and windy, so we rode slowly along the steep, rocky trail, taking care with every step. When we arrived at the glacier there was a thick, gray cloud hovering right over the stream of ice and our view was heavily impeded. It was very frustrating because the left side of the sky was perfectly clear and blue, but we could barely see the glacier at all! Timing really is everything!

The eighth riding day was the last swim across the river for our weary horses before heading back to Tercera Barranca. The trail was the same we had taken two days before, but the absence of wind allowed us to see the mountains reflecting in the perfectly still waters of each lake we passed. It was like riding by life-sized water color paintings. Dinner that night was another barbeque and since it was warm enough to eat outside we all lingered by the fire, enjoying the night sky.

Our final leg of the trip was to a small outpost town near the Argentinean border called Cerro Castillo. The ride was very flat and without variation, but the morning raced by. One of the guides found ñandu and condor feathers and I spotted a ñandu egg near a nest that had obviously been invaded.

After leaving our horses for the last time, we all went to the bar at the hosteria and had farewell drinks with our guides and gauchos. Our final night’s stay in Hosteria Pionero was lovely – the inn was beautiful and we celebrated New Year’s Eve with good food and a bit of bubbly.

As all good things must come to an end, the following morning I boarded the familiar broken-down van and settled in for the long ride back to Punta Arenas. This is a fantastic trip and well worth the sore muscles. If you are interested in this trip, or maybe a less grueling version, you can contact Alec directly at alec@bluegreenadventures.com. Happy travels.

New Zealand

New Zealand is a small, but extremely diverse country, and perfect for the single traveler. I spent a month there in December of 2002 and left wanting more. My first two weeks were spent on a hiking, biking and sea kayaking tour with a group of about 10 people. I found that two weeks was a bit much to spend with a large group, but as it was one of my first international expeditions, it felt safer than striking out on my own.

During the two weeks we covered a huge amount of territory, which is one of the best reasons to join in on a group tour. Every detail was taken care of and our guides (who were both fantastic) spoiled us rotten by carrying all the heavy food and equipment on long hikes, cooking us great meals and looking after us when we fell down mountains.

New Zealand is divided into two islands (north and south) and for such a small country the variety in terrain is incredible. Kiwis, the commonly used name for New Zealanders, are very warm and hospitable people who invented bunjy jumping and several other "extreme" sports. Although most of my time in New Zealand was spent on pre-arranged group trips, I found it very accessible to single travelers and had no problems while traveling on my own. My adventure began in the south on a trip that involved mostly hiking, but also a little sea kayaking and cycling.

I booked through a company called Active New Zealand and found the organizers very flexible and accommodating, as I had to join the group a day late due to work obligations. Upon arrival I was met by two guides (they always have one male and one female looking after clients) and joined the group for lunch at a winery in Blenheim. After a little food and some wine tasting, we were off to a trek called the Angelus Circuit, a 3-day excursion in the Nelson Lakes National Park that begins at St. Arnaud and continues along the eastern shore of Lake Rotoiti. The first day of tramping (Kiwi for trekking) was relatively flat with rolling hills, but it poured and poured the entire way. After 3 hours in the rain I was thrilled to arrive at Lakehead Hut, the DOC (Department of Conservation) cabin in which we slept the first night.

Upon opening my pack to find some dry socks, I found that just about everything except my sleeping bag was somewhere between damp and soaking wet (despite my high-end "waterproof" pack) so it’s a good idea to be prepared with trash bags in case you run into similarly wet weather. I managed to find some dryish socks and then hung everything else up over the fire.

The next day's 5½-hour trek was challenging; a 3,700-foot ascent while carrying a 30-pound pack, with most of the incline concentrated into the last hour and a half of hiking. The toughest thing was to put soaking wet boots on first thing in the morning, but 5 minutes into the hike we had to cross a knee-deep river with a strong current, so the feet were destined to spend the day wet. Despite the bad weather the trail was beautiful; streams, falls, and plenty of lush terrain.

During the final, steep ascent to Angelus Hut, the wind was so strong that it was hard to stand upright. When the sign for Angelus Hut finally appeared through the mist and clouds we were elated; there was such a great feeling of accomplishment and triumph.

Unfortunately, the weather never let up and we were deprived of the awesome views afforded on a clear day. Conditions were so bad the next morning that instead of descending along the ridgeline we were forced to return the way we had come the previous day. Due to an unfortunate combination of bad hiking boots, wet grass, and missing a trail marker, I ended up taking a bad tumble down the mountain. When the dust settled nothing was broken, but I was quite bruised and battered for the rest of the trip. The guide who saw me fall literally flew down to my landing point in a matter of seconds and had the situation under control instantly. That night we drove to Punakaiki for dinner, hot showers, and warm, soft beds.

Punakaiki is a small town on the West Coast of the South Island, famous for its abundant rain forest and the unusual pancake rocks on the coast at Dolomite Point. The 30,000-hectare area encompassing Punakaiki, called Paparoa, was declared a national park in 1987.

In the morning we headed out to Dolomite Point and took the paved walkway that wound past several of the unique limestone formations. These thin, layered rocks looked like stacked pancakes and were formed millions of years ago on the bottom of the ocean by a chemical process called "stylobedding". Eventually they were pushed above the water and gradually became eroded by the waves. Now these unusual rock formations have arches and underwater caverns with blowholes. The weather was still stormy and turbulent, but here the wind was a plus because the blowholes put on an impressive display with lots of spray.

After the short loop along the coast, we got back on the bus and drove to a nearby trail that took us on a beautiful and easy walk through the rain forest. Nikau palms, ferns and lots of other vegetation abounded as we walked along the sparkling river. The sun snuck through small openings in the sheltering trees and the light was gorgeous.

After lunch it was back on the bus and onwards down the coast to Okarito. We were still on the West Coast, but now in the middle of the South Island. Instead of another full day of hiking, we were treated to a morning of sea kayaking in the Okarito Lagoon. As we glided along the still waters, in and out of narrow areas lined with foliage and alongside tall grasses, we were treated to a variety of birdcalls; my favorite belonged to a tiny, native New Zealand bird called the Bellbird.

After lunch about half the group joined one of our guides for a beautiful walk along some rugged coastline. The waves were intense and left thick patches of foam as they returned back to the ocean. We climbed over and around the large boulders enjoying their intricately striped patterns.

The next morning arrived with our first blue sky in almost a week. The timing was perfect, as heli-hiking on Franz Josef Glacier awaited. With great anticipation and several carefully packed sausage sandwiches we arrived at the heli-hiking departure point only to be told that the winds were too strong for the helicopters to safely take us up the glacier. Plan "B" immediately went into effect and the rest of the morning was spent doing some shorter hikes plus a quick trip to Fox Glacier.

The next stop was Queenstown, undoubtedly the adventure capital of New Zealand. It sits on Lake Wakatipu and stares right up at the "Remarkables", an impressive mountain range. This town is extremely touristy but caters to thrill seekers, so you won’t be inundated by kitsh. Activities range in scope from simple hiking trips to insane adrenaline rushes.

I decided to try paragliding and it was great. The experience involved jumping off a high cliff strapped to something resembling a parachute, hoping the guy steering knew what he was doing. My guide did know what he was doing and my 40 minutes in the air were thrilling, not to mention filled with great views.

I spent the rest of the afternoon at the bird park and saw the infamous Kiwi, New Zealand’s pride and joy. These nocturnal birds are very unusual - they have long, narrow beaks with two sets of nostrils, one at the top and one at the bottom of the beak. The set at the bottom is handy for sniffing out food, but not too convenient when it gets filled with dirt during the excavation. Also in the park were many native birds like tuis, wood pigeons, black stilts, Keas and parakeets. If you’re into feathered creatures, this is the place to go.

The next day we left Queenstown and continued on to Fiordland National Park, in the southwestern part of the South Island. This national park is one of the largest in the world and spans almost 3 million acres. The most visited of the fourteen fiords along the coastline is Milford Sound, an exquisite body of water stretching 22 km, surrounded by dramatic peaks and humungous waterfalls. Although Milford receives the highest average rainfall in the country, we lucked out and had two spectacular days of sun and blue skies.

After a little warm-up on our Fuji bikes, we set out for a ride through the Eglinton and Hollyford Valleys. I’m not much of a cyclist so I was a bit nervous for this leg of the trip, but in fact, I've never enjoyed riding a bike as much as I did that day. With almost no cars on the road it was easy to enjoy the scenery; rivers with wildflowers, snowcapped mountains and a beautiful lake. The bus gave us a 90-minute head start and then picked us up on the way to "the Divide", the lowest east-west pass in the Southern Alps. I surprised myself by making it about 30 out of the 35 km and then had a short rest on the bus before starting the hike up to Key Summit.

Trekking up to Key Summit was a bit challenging after the 2-hour bike ride, but the panoramic views of the Alps were well worth the effort. The mountain air felt great and we took our time breathing in the snowcapped peaks before heading back down to the bus. After a little more driving we made our way through the Homer Tunnel, named after Harry Homer who discovered the Homer Saddle in 1889. Riding through this 1207-meter tunnel was quite eerie (but fun), as the entire trip occured in complete darkness. Once through the tunnel we got back on the bikes for a 3,000-foot downhill freefall through the Cleddau Canyon, right into the parking lot of our home for the night, the Milford Lodge. Zooming down the hill was a total rush and a perfect end to a long day!

The next morning we were up at 6 a.m. and off to Roscoe's Kayaking for a 4-hour paddle on Milford Sound. Our guide was great and led us through the Sound while recounting several Maori legends about various peaks, waterfalls, and the traitorous sandflies. We saw fantails, cormorants, geese, and heard my favorite bellbird calls. The thrill of the morning was looking into the heart of a huge waterfall of 163 meters (3 times the height of Niagara) and feeling the immense power of the water from the safety of our kayaks.

Next we were on the road again to Te Anau. Someone in the group had enquired about flying over the Alps instead of driving, so those of us who opted to pay extra for a flight were dropped at an air strip and took a 5-passenger plane to Te Anau. The conditions were perfect and the flight was spectacular. We glided over clusters of snowcapped mountains, waterfalls, lakes and fjords, all of which seemed to go on forever. The views were dramatic and the experience was one I'll never forget. If you can manage to do this, it is well worth the cost.

Our final destination on the 2-week loop was Braemar Station (station is kiwi for ranch), a stunning 50,000-acre property with an inviting lake and gorgeous views of Mt. Cook, otherwise known as Aoraki. At 12,317 feet, Mt. Cook is the highest peak in all of Australasia and is called Aoraki (the cloud-piercer) because the peak is often hidden in a nest of clouds.

We woke up early in Manapouri and had a long bus ride ahead of us, so our guides suggested one more ride on the Fuji bikes before dropping them off in Queenstown. The route followed a quiet, country road with lots of sheep, cows, deer and birds. After 25 kilometres of pedaling I was elated to hear the familiar sounds of our beat-up bus coming from behind and knew my rescue was imminent. We picked up the rest of the bikers and drove on to Queenstown for one more lunch before heading off to the A.J. Hackett bungy-jump bridge.


Several people from my group decided to take the plunge but I wasn’t one of them. I had butterflies in my stomach watching people put all of their trust into tiny, little ropes tied around their ankles and cringed a little as their screams echoed throughout the canyon. Those who did the jump seemed transported by the experience and I felt a little regretful that I hadn't joined in.

We continued on to Braemar Station where the first order of business was a dip in the lake. The sky was unusually clear and Mt. Cook stood in front of us with an imposing, yet pacifying presence. This was heaven.

The next day we took our final hike up to Mueller Ridge. The trail seemed like a never-ending stair master with 4,200 feet of elevation, but the views of Mt. Cook and its environs were truly spectacular and well worth the effort. We took a lunch break after 90 minutes of constant uphill climbing and enjoyed a short break before continuing on towards the top.

Shortly into the second part of the climb we reached a substantial bit of snow. Stepping carefully into our guide’s footprints, we pounded our toes into the ground and slowly climbed up the ridge surrounded by blinding fields of white.

Arriving at the top was exhilarating and the panoramic views were phenomenal! We sat for about an hour just listening for the distant sound of avalanches, taking in the amazing scenery and rejoicing as our favorite "Cookie Time" cookies magically appeared from our guide’s pack. As is often the case, going down can be much harder than going up and this descent seemed like an eternity, but at the end it was great to look up and see what we had accomplished. Later that night we sat under the stars drinking wine and reminiscing about the trip during our final dinner together.

Two weeks can be a long time to travel with the same group of people, but this trip was a great combination of activities, fun, and breathtaking scenery that I would highly recommend for those who prefer not to be bothered with details and logistics. It’s also a great way to meet people if you’re cautious about traveling alone.

With a full day in Christchurch before my horseback riding trip in New Zealand's back country I decided the best way to spend my time would be swimming with dolphins in Akaroa. Unfortunately, it was 2 days before Christmas and all of the dolphin trips were booked. With the hope that someone would cancel or “miss the boat”, I took a 90-minute shuttle to Akaroa and went to directly to the harbor. I watched as people without reservations were turned away, but I somehow managed to convince the woman in charge that I HAD to swim with the dolphins and she somehow got me on a boat. With a little help I squeezed into my wetsuit and was ushered onto a small boat with about 7 other people.

The resident dolphins in these particular waters are called Hectors, named after the scientist James Hector. I prefer their Maori name, Tutumairekurai, meaning special ocean dweller. As the smallest dolphins in the world, the Hectors are just over a meter and weigh about 100 lbs. They are found solely within New Zealand waters and are endangered, numbering between 3,000 and 4,000.

The captain told us to be ready to jump into the freezing, cold water as soon as a dolphin was spotted, and not to worry about losing feeling in our extremities because the wetsuits would eventually warm us up. Luckily, I was chosen to be our group's stone-tapper. Apparently the dolphins are attracted to the tapping of stones under the water so after jumping into the ocean I tapped my heart out and in no time at all there were pairs, trios and quartets of dolphins swimming all around us.

They would swim right towards us and then veer off at the last second, gallivanting through the waves without a care in the world. I was in absolute heaven. They were graceful, agile, playful and incredibly fast. After about an hour in the water it was time to get back on the boat but I didn't want to leave - I could have stayed there for hours. It was an unforgettable experience and something everyone should do.

The next day was Christmas Eve and time to begin the horseback-riding segment of my journey. Still in the South Island, a bit northwest and inland from Christchurch, I spent the next 8 days riding through Canterbury in heavy winds, blazing sun and freezing snow. The trails took us up and down steep hillsides, through thick patches of gorse (a very prickly bush), around lakes with bushes of beautiful, white Manuka, and crossed back and forth over several rivers, the major one being the Hurunui.

We rode towards the Seward Valley, zigzagged up and down the steep banks of the Seaward River, galloped on the way to Lake Mason, enjoyed a natural hot spring next to the Hurunui River and had some wonderful moments. The scenery was really spectacular, but unfortunately I can’t whole-heartedly recommend this experience. While it is possible that things have changed since my ride in 2002, there were too many glitches along the way that could have been easily avoided if the company running the trip had been better organized. New Zealand is a beautiful place to see on horseback, and some of the riders in my group had much better experiences riding along beaches up in the north island, so that might be a better idea for real horse lovers.

Following my 8-day ride in Canterbury it was time to say good-bye to the South Island and head up north for my final 4 days in New Zealand. The destination was Rotorua, otherwise known as "Sulfur City".

I had planned to take a boat ride to White Island, the most active volcano in New Zealand. However, when I checked into my hostel in Rotorua, I was told that the boat was having mechanical difficulties and wouldn't be going out for several days to come. The following morning I called the only other company that did boat tours and they were completely booked, so I was forced into the more expensive helicopter option.

I rented a car and set out early for the 90-minute drive to Whakatane. I was nervous about driving on the opposite side of the road, but once I got the hang of things the drive really wasn’t too bad. On the way I made a stop at Hell’s Gate, a highly active thermal area full of bubbling mud, steaming craters and stinky fumes. Had it not been for the overwhelming stench I could have stayed for hours just watching the earth simmer, but I had a helicopter to catch so I went on my way.

When I got to the airport I checked in at the hangar and listened as a nervous German woman described the geography and history of the island. She assured us over and over that the helicopter was safe but there was always a small chance of mechanical failure or an eruption on the island. Despite her dramatic presentation, there was a contagious excitement in the air and we anxiously climbed onto the helicopter, most of us first-timers.

As we flew out under a storybook blue sky, our pilot pointed out Gannet bird colonies and smaller landmasses. The color of the water was a very inviting deep blue, and as we approached the volcano we saw the ominous clouds of steam from which the island got its name. The crater seemed immense, with bright, green liquid bubbling below.

Because the island is privately owned the number of visitors is strictly controlled, so for the bulk of the tour we were the only ones there. Donned with hardhats and gas masks (the fumes at Hell's Gate were child's play compared to these), we followed the pilot as he gave us a tour of the island, pointing out the different stages of volcanic activity. Just 50 meters off the coast, the island was formed by three separate volcanic cones, all of different ages, and it was easy to see the points at which everything came together. We went right up to the edge of the crater and watched in awe as the sulfur (yellow), aluminum (green) and other chemicals combined with spurting mud to form a colorful palette of thermal activity. We walked around quite a bit of the surface and then got a close up of some wild formations of steaming, crystallized sulfur that looked otherworldly.

After a fantastic day (one of my best the entire trip) I got back in my backwards automobile and navigated my way back to the Kiwi Paka Hostel in Rotorua. That afternoon I got together with a friend I’d met earlier in the trip and for the next few days we drove all over the North Island, seeing as much as we could fit in. We began by exploring the Waiotapu Thermal Reserve, an area of craters, geysers, colorful displays of all sorts of natural chemicals, and lime deposits. From there we continued on to the lower Waiotapu valley to see Bridal Veil Falls, Lake Ngakoro and more thermal activity.

The following morning we set out to experience the magic of the Waitomo caves, filled with thousands of glowworms flashing like tiny stars in a far-away solar system. There are several ways to view this spectacle, and we chose the tubing option. The highlight of the tour came when our guide instructed us to link up (the person in front holds the legs of the person behind them) and turn off our headlamps while he guided us through the cave in total silence. When we looked up there were thousands of glowworms in all kinds of shapes and configurations. The combination of light and dark, plus total silence was magical. If you find yourself anywhere close to Waitomo, do not miss this experience.

My final two days in New Zealand were spent driving around the Coramandel Peninsula. Cathedral cove was very pretty, as was the entire coastline in general. There are so many gems in this small country that even after 4 weeks I wasn’t ready to leave. It’s a special place and I think anyone would have a great time traveling there.

Climbing Cotopaxi - Ecuador's 2nd Highest Peak

Climbing Cotopaxi was, for me, a life changing event, and an experience I would highly recommend for travelers of any age (depending on physical condition). I would characterize myself as in shape and somewhat athletic, but not hyper-fit like the cyclists I sometimes see mounting some of San Francisco's steepest hills with muscles popping out left and right.

During my first trip to Ecuador several years ago, I met several hikers in the small town of Banos (known for its natural hot springs and spas) who recounted their experiences climbing Cotopaxi and showed me seductive photos of the snow and ice-covered volcano. Until those encounters, the only impressions I had of the immense volcano were the harrowing stories conveyed by my sister after her climbing adventure 10 years before, so I never imagined I would have the strength or will to make the ascent.

At a whopping 5897 meters (19,340 feet), Volcan Cotopaxi is Ecuador's second highest peak. As the climb is not "technical" it appeals to a wide range of hikers, and there are several tour companies based in Quito who guide small groups of trekkers to the summit throughout the year. I used Moggely (www.moggely.com); the owner is a bit odd, but the guides are fantastic. My favorite was Pato, who had led me on a trek up to the top of Iliniza Norte (Ecuador's 8th highest peak and a perfect warm-up climb for Cotopaxi) earlier that year. He's very patient and has an excellent sense for the physical limitations of each hiker in every group he leads.

The trip itself only takes 2 days, but it's important to set aside extra time in case of bad weather conditions. Another vital consideration is time for warm-up hikes and acclimatization. Reaching the summit of Cotopaxi is virtually impossible (and pretty stupid) without first spending several days in high altitude areas.

I arrived in Quito after having spent 2 weeks in other high altitude regions of South America and had allotted 5 days so that I could try a few lesser climbs before attempting Cotopaxi. After checking into the Magic Bean, a cute hostel and popular cafe in Quito's "New Town", I headed straight for Moggely. Unfortunately, the only trip to Cotopaxi they had during my stay was leaving early the next morning, so I had to make a quick decision. I was hesitant to leave without doing a warm-up climb, but since I had been at altitude for 2 weeks and Pato was the designated guide, I decided to go for it.

The group met early the next morning and loaded our gear into the van before setting out for Moggely's hostel, Valhalla. There were 3 men and me. The guys ranged in age from 21ish to 51ish and all looked incredibly fit. I felt totally intimidated, but tried not to obsess. At Valhalla we had a nice, hot lunch and then piled back into the van for the drive to Cotopaxi National Park. The car park is at an altitude of 4600 meters, and from there we had to carry our heavy packs up to the refugio at 4800 meters. Although only 200 meters of ascent, the weight of the packs coupled with the high altitude was enough to make everyone tired after only 45 minutes of climbing. Once we arrived at the refugio, we claimed bunk beds and sat down for some tea and snacks.

This well deserved break was short-lived as the next activity on the agenda was a hike up to the glacier (about 40 minutes) for some crampon and ice-axe instruction. The guides showed us how to walk sideways, up and down, and how to jump over crevasses. I was not thrilled about this part of the lesson and felt terribly uncomfortable in the crampons, but persevered. I was very happy when the lesson was over and we headed back down to the refugio for dinner and bed! Lights went out at about 6:30 p.m., and everyone did their best to get some shuteye despite the early hour and discomfort of sleeping at 4800 meters.

When midnight arrived, so did our wake up call. We packed up our gear, took our final bathroom breaks and were roped together in pairs so that each of our two guides had two hikers to lead. I was with a very fit-looking guy in his 40s and worried that I would slow him down, but within 45 minutes of the hike he was suffering so badly from the altitude that he had to turn around with our guide and abandon the climb*. This meant that I had to join the other two guys, and their pace was much faster than mine. I walked behind Pato and tried to focus on one step at a time, but after a few hours my legs were like jello and I had no more fight left in me.

It was around 5:00 a.m. and the guide who had taken our fallen friend back to the refugio was now with us again, looking as fresh as when we began the ascent. Many of these guides can do this strenuous climb in 90 minutes, whereas an average time for a guest hiker is anywhere from 5 - 7 hours.

We all stopped for a water break and Pato broke the news that he didn't think I would be able make it to the summit this time. I was devastated. It seemed unlikely I would choose to attempt Cotopaxi in the future, but I knew he was right and accepted my defeat. As we rested, the sun began to rise and I was astounded at the unrivaled beauty of the glacier I was on. I had never seen such interesting patterns of snow and ice and wanted to explore further. I asked Pato if I could climb for 10 more minutes with the other guide just to take some photographs, and he agreed. It was getting late, so he immediately took off with the remaining two trekkers so that they would arrive at the summit before it got too late.

Slowly, I began to climb; a few steps here and there, gazing around each corner to admire the incredible scenery. Before I knew it I was marching steadily towards the top and had caught my second wind. I continued on silently with my guide and eventually we met up with the rest of my group, already on their way back to the refugio. When they saw me approaching they were shocked, and gave me a show of support that I will never forget. Pato gave the go-ahead for my continued ascent and we trudged on towards the summit. At this point I was physically exhausted from the climb and my shins were burning from the pressure of the crampons. I started talking to myself; coaxing my body to persevere, using every ounce of will and fight I had left to continue ascending the volcano. The journey seemed endless and I resorted to crawling on all fours, using my arm strength to push myself forward while pushing back the tears that were welling up inside of my aching body. The last 100 meters was torture, but after 7 hours of figurative blood, real sweat and a spattering of tears, I finally arrived at the summit and screamed with joy.

It was getting late and my guide wanted to make sure we descended while it was still safe. I was so exhausted from the ordeal that I hardly had enough energy to peer down into the mouth of the imposing volcano but I paused to make a short video announcing my achievement and then began the long path back down to ground level. . For a while I was thrilled to be going down instead of up and passed the time shooting lots of photos, but my batteries quickly died (from exposure to the cold) and the descent became extremely tedious. I begged for breaks to rest my shaking legs and felt as though I'd never make it back to the refugio in one piece. Hours passed, blisters announced themselves and fatigue set in, but eventually I arrived at the refugio and burst into tears. For 10 minutes I was unable to control the outpouring of emotion that came upon me, but once I regained control I felt a deep pride that I carry with me to this day.

*note - the hiker mentioned above who had to turn back did eventually summit Cotopaxi after training for several months following his first attempt with my group.

Trekking in Peru - The Santa Cruz Loop

One of the most popular destinations in all of South America is probably Machu Picchu, but Peru is a culturally rich country, filled with hidden treasures for those willing to venture off the beaten track. In the summer of 2005 I discovered an area in Northern Peru with beautiful scenery and none of the crowded trails encountered on the way to Machu Picchu.

The Santa Cruz Loop is offered as a 4 or 5-day trek that departs out of Huaraz (alt. 10,200 ft/3091 meters), an 8-hour bus ride from Lima. I booked a tour in advance, but found that it would have been much cheaper to go through one of the local companies located on the main drag of the town. My guides were Carlos and Nestor (Nestor can be reached at bazilio123@hotmail.com) and both did a great job leading and cooking for our group of 7 hikers.


For those in the group who were properly acclimated to the high altitude, the hike wasn't terribly strenuous, but as I had only spent one day in Huaraz before our departure I suffered from lack of oxygen and weak legs the entire time. Despite my ongoing struggle with the altitude, I still had a great experience and was intoxicated by the glacial lakes, snow-capped peaks and varied terrain we crossed during the 5-day excursion. Our heavy packs were carried by mules, so all we had to worry about was water and a few other essentials.


Each day we awoke to cold, but clear weather, and after hearty breakfasts we would pack up our tents and head out for a few hours of hiking. Lunches were served near rivers or under shady trees, and I was always amazed at the quality of food we received while in the middle of nowhere. After lunch we would rest up a bit and then hike a few more hours until reaching the next campsite. Upon arrival we were always greeted with snacks, hot drinks, and the opportunity to just hang out and enjoy the views until dinner. The night skies were unreal - more stars than you can imagine and the chance to see the Southern Cross, a constellation we don't see in the Northern Hemisphere.



The highest altitude we reached during the trek was at Punta Union (15,600 ft./4750 m.) and the views were incredible. Most of the people in my group only stayed for 4 days, but the hike to Laguna 69 on day 5 was probably my favorite of the loop, so I would highly recommend doing the 5-day option. This trip is great for single travelers, as you can join in with other hikers. In my experience I met lots of Europeans and Australians in South America, so if you're interested in the international element this is also a great way to go.

If you want to give yourself time to acclimate before doing this trek, there's an interesting site called Chavin de Huantar that can be done as a day trip from Huaraz. The Chavin culture predates the Incas by about 2,000 years and is the oldest in Peru, dating from about 1,000 to 300 BC. Notable at Chavin de Huantar is the highly sophisticated underground irrigation system with canals, tunnels and a decoratively carved rock called the Lanzon de Chavin.