Serendipity
One more class would fill my schedule. It was spring quarter of my freshman year in college. There weren’t many courses open because my alphabetical group was the last to choose.
South American Geography 101 was still open and seemed better than the alternatives. Little did I know my selection would ignite a lifelong passion to visit the continent based on my professor’s mesmerizing photographs.
My dream finally came true in 2014 when I visited Chile and Argentina. I photographed Patagonia’s Torres del Paine (PIE-neh) national park. Torres is the Spanish word for tower and Paine means blue in the native Tehuelche language. I also photographed Fitz Roy.
TripAdvisor elected the park as the Eighth Wonder of the World, and it deserves the honor. Established in 1957, it encompasses breathtaking Andean mountains, forests, steppes, glaciers, lakes, rivers, and fjords. My youngest daughter and son-in-law visited Patagonia a few years ago and thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
The park averages around 252,000 visitors a year, of which 54% are international. It’s famous for strong winds that peak in summer (November to January in the southern hemisphere). Expect to be blown off your feet on occasion.
Second Chances
Since it’s 6,487 miles from Chicago, I thought it was going to be my one and only visit. But a second chance presented itself!
During the pandemic lockdown, one of my photography workshops was cancelled. Rather than accept a refund, I opted to roll over the deposit for the opportunity to revisit Patagonia in 2024.
I recently returned from that trip. It was just as magical as the first trip, with the added adventure of four days on a boat in the Patagonian fjords.
Before departing, I wondered if my photography skills had improved over the decade. Was Maya Angelou correct? “I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better, I do better.”
The Shot
Lake Pehoé (hidden lake in Tehuelche) provides the iconic view of Paine Grande (left) and the Cuernos (horn) del Paine (right). Photographing well before sunrise was the key change from a decade earlier.
Thirty to forty-five minutes before sunrise, reflected sunlight from below the horizon bathes the landscape in beautiful soft light without any harsh, distracting shadows. It appears to be sunrise, but with much more pleasing light.
Packed up and leaving as a hoard of photographers arrives after the best light is over.
By the time the sun started touching the top of the peaks a half hour later, the site was overrun by photographers. The direct light started producing harsh shadows and dull colors. It was time to pack up and began my 52-hour journey back to Chicago.
Thanks for looking,
Chuck Derus