After an excellent day in the forests of Southern Patagonia, Three Points of the Compass begins a second day, with high expectation of mountain views, on the Fjällräven Classic Chile 2024.

• Fjällräven Classic Chile 2024: check-in
• Fjällräven Classic Chile 2024- Day 1 ‘The Forest day’
• Fjällräven Classic Chile 2024- Day 3 ‘The Lakes day’
• Fjällräven Classic Chile 2024- Day 4 ‘The Torres del Paine day’

The wind had increased slightly the previous evening, and a small amount of rain had fallen. But if it had continued for any length of time, it barely disturbed me as I had a reasonably well-protected pitch amongst the low trees. The temperature had dropped to 4°C but I had been comfortably warm in my quilt. I had set the alarm on my phone for six but was woken by the dawn chorus, all alien bird song to me. I lay there and dozed for a while, ignoring the alarm when it eventually sounded but eventually rose when the sun hit the tent. There was just a slightest amount of muffled chatter from other nearby campers likewise stirring.

While I had slept well, my left arm was hurting. I put this down to an occasionally recurring tendonitis that is sometimes aggravated by heavy use of trekking poles, something that had occurred yesterday with a great deal of pushing uphill on Day One. Sitting up on my pad, with legs covered by my quilt, I did a couple of stretching exercises then popped an ibuprofen. Thankfully it didn’t trouble me again today. This old boy is knocking on now and occasional aches and pains are now part of trail life.

I usually struggle with breakfast on trail. I cannot face oats first thing in the morning these days and usually settle for a couple of bars an hour or two later while hiking. But today I had a cold ham, cheese and pickle toastie, purchased back in Puerto Natales yesterday. This was munched alongside the obligatory pint of strong tea while I packed. Having been toward the back of the pack when I got to camp yesterday, with a subsequent lack of pitch options, I wanted to be slightly further ahead in the group today if possible as I anticipated similar issues at tonight’s camp. Even without much in the way of speed (I don’t really do ‘speed’ these days), when I had packed and was walking back to the checkpoint tent, there were a great many hikers still taking their time. I was finally away and back on trail by eight.

Back on trail, it was easy going along the grassy glacial valley, eventually joining a dirt track and then walking and chatting with an English girl from Manchester. She had completed the ‘O’ Trail in the nearby Torres del Paine National Park prior to the Classic, staying in hostels and going ‘full board’. I was interested in what she had to say as it is a hike I fancied doing myself. We eventually separated when I paused at a large paddock to watch and photograph the mounted gauchos with their cattle. Lots of noise and dust being kicked up. Real cowboy stuff!

I swung along the trail, enjoying the views, easy walking, butterflies, noisy geese and waders, I was having a grand time. Then, whoops! No trail markers. I hadn’t even noticed that the trail had branched off right, leaving the track. I turned and walked back the couple of hundred metres to the turn off, picking up another Classic hiker on the way who had similarly been contentedly bowling along, just following the hiker in front (me). That’ll teach us not to pay more attention, but no harm done and only a few minutes lost. I was obviously not the first to have done this as half an hour later, I could see a strung out line of hikers far below me, all very obviously on the wrong path.

It was lovely walking, the (correct) trail contouring around the hills through low vegetation. The views were ever changing, the distant snowy slopes of the Cordón Prat mountains, another two mounted gauchos loping across the range, crossing little creeks, flowers and more fluttering butterflies, small, equally unidentified, birds flew from shrub to shrub, then a swing round to begin heading north and a long steep descent to the first of today’s checkpoints at Estancia Cerro Guido, reached 9km from last nights overnighter.

The Classic organisers suggest this as an ideal spot for lunch, but it was too early for me, however others took advantage and spread themself around the site, unpacking stoves and bright orange Real Turmat dehydrated meals. As for myself, after receiving the necessary checkpoint stamp in my hiking passport and journal, I found a fallen tree on which to perch for a bit of a brief breather, munching trail mix and rehydrating.

My trail mix had been bought out from the UK and comprised mixed nuts, jelly babies and lime infused dried mango. The latter probably being the best dried fruit I have ever eaten. It was sunny with a gentle cooling breeze. It was a lovely spot but, as usual, trails don’t get walked if you don’t actually walk them. So it was pack on and continue along the wide grassy path. It was getting pretty warm in the sun now and despite sweating profusely I found this stretch very enjoyable, but slightly arduous as it constantly rose and fell, rollercoasting its way along the base of Cerro Campana. I passed many hikers pulled off to one side or the other, resting in the shade. Quite a few had taken the opportunity to take boots and socks off and air feet. Most giving a languid arm raise and wave in reply to my wave as I passed.

Despite a now protesting stomach, I continued on trail until reaching the top of what looked to be the final climb of the day before pulling off to one side of the trail to flop down on the grass slope and prep a decent rehydrated meal of Kebab Stew. But other than that welcome lunch and brew, what a view over the lakes below! The stunning Torres del Paine mountain range beyond is world renowned, and for very good reason. It was still a little distant but I would be getting closer over the next two days.

I was pleased I had made the effort and pushed along to this vista, and it was still only a little past one in the afternoon. I took my time, lay back and relaxed, soaking in the sun and enjoyed the wide view, trying to work out where tonight’s halt would be along the lake shore below. I was in no hurry to get moving and had two brews with my rehydrated meal.

After my extended halt, it was a long, dusty and sometimes steep drop down the contours, swinging round the slopes and then dropping down to cross the Y-200 road before reaching a large lake. Wooden step stiles took me over the wire barrier and into the scrubby trees that bordered the shore of Lago Porteno. The path eased its way through the trees, young and old, fallen or tall, gnarled and twisted Lenga amongst them. Noisy green parakeets flying in their tops while smaller birds scolded me as I walked past. I paused frequently, pishing them into the open in an attempt to successfully photograph them but, as usual, failing miserably.

It was a lovely end to todays walking and fittingly seemed to go on forever, but eventually, 11km after the last check point, tonight’s lakeside check point at La Desnuda came into view. It was already busy, with many hikers pitching tents almost directly on the lake shore, I was welcomed in to camp by the staff, received my required stamp in my passport, and was then offered a bottle of beer. While drinking this, I was approached by another volunteer and given a tasty empanada. This is the life!

Before walking into the surrounding forest to look for a pitch, I went to another of the bright blue Fjällräven tents to collect my meals for the next two days on trail; two breakfasts and another three main meals. Replacement gas canisters were also available here but I had no need of one. Frustratingly, I was told the following day that there was an owl sitting prominently in the tree directly above this tent, watching the coming and going below, giving posing shots for anyone photographing it, but I completely missed seeing it.

Then it was time to pitch. I was wary of pitching like many others, down by the water as it could very possibly get windy over night. Walking into the trees, I found early arrivals had already claimed anywhere decent, other than a couple of at first glance OK sites. I didn’t fancy either as large and lethal looking ‘widow-makers’ were caught up in the branches overhead (which didn’t stop late arrivals pitching there later). There was plenty of suitable sites further on down the track out of camp, but I instead climbed a low hill and found a good size area just crying out for a tent. I dragged the small number of dead branches and twigs off the grass and created what was probably the highest pitch in camp tonight. It had been well worth a bit of effort in searching down the small clearing as I had 360° views, would have the last of the evening sun, the first rays in the morning, and was just that little bit isolated from any noise from more rowdy campers. Result.

While today is called ‘the Mountain day‘ it hadn’t really crossed much in the way of mountains. Instead it had walked toward them and followed their feet and ankles, seldom climbing any degree, but also offering views of surrounding mountain ranges. It had been a great days walk and the weather had been kind. But what of tomorrow? The Lakes await.