View from our hotel window. A rainy Gray Lake, Gray Glacier and icebergs.

This is Part 2 of my Fierce Winds at the Edge of the World post, where Andrea and I travelled recently to Paine National Park in the Magallanes region of Chile.

The southern tip of South America is rough country. Early attempts by the Spanish to establish colonies here in the 16th century were dismal failures. Some historians blame lack of support from the Spanish government, but the fact is Europeans trying to live in a country of bitter cold, constant terrible wind and little food simply could not survive. In two of these attempted settlements, almost all of the colonists died of starvation or cold. Europeans didn’t succeed in colonizing this far end of the continent until nearly 300 years later.

Sailors who ply the southern oceans call these latitudes the Roaring Forties and the Furious Fifties. We were not sailing, but the fierce winds between 50 and 60 degrees south batter the land as well as the sea.

Andrea and I travelled with Recreational Equipment Inc. (R.E.I.) recently to Paine National Park (in Spanish Parque Nacianal Torres del Paine) in the Magallanes region of Chile. Paine (pronounced Pine-A) has been called the most beautiful place on earth—but with the world’s worst weather. A typical week in summer might have 2 stormless days if you’re lucky. And I guess we’re lucky. We camped 2 nights at a national park campground in sight of the three towers (Torres) of Paine and spent another 2 nights in a tent on the shores of Lago Pehoe without a drop of rain.

My wife and I went to dinner at a nice San Diego Harbor side restaurant a week or so ago with another couple–one of the finest dentists I know along with his wife. This man can perform dental artistry with a plastic instrument and a little composite resin that is simply mind blowing. And his patients’ smiles lead others to offer the perfect compliment. Not, “Gee, you have some beautiful dentistry. Who did it?” But instead the much better remark, “Your teeth are just beautiful! Such a great smile!”

If there is reincarnation, then this dentist was Michelangelo or Leonardo DaVinci in a previous life. He also happens to know at least a little about occlusion.

And, no, I’m not telling you his name.

From our table you could see the San Diego skyline and the Coronado bridge soaring over the bay. Waiting for the waitress to bring cocktails, I mentioned his apparent artistic talent. “You really think so?” he said.

“Are you kidding?  I’ve watched you work. I think you’re Michelagelo with a dental degree!”

Mt. Fitz Roy

The first time I saw a photo of Mt. Fitz Roy, I knew I’d be here someday, if only to see close-up this historic and beautifully rugged place. How many would undertake an extreme journey because of a photograph? Perhaps some are drawn to the Eiffel Tower or the canals of Venice because of a picture in a magazine or even a scene in a movie like Casino Royale. For me it’s the sheer granite vertical walls of one of the world’s iconic mountains.

Climbers’ hut near the base of Mt. Fitz Roy.

Fitz Roy hidden in the clouds.

Here I am at the foot of Fitz Roy.

It’s late December, 2012, and I sit at the base of the majestic peak close by the shores of Lago de los Tres. We had hiked a few hours through beech forest along the Rio Electrico starting perhaps seven miles north and east of El Chalten, then along the Rio Blanco. A sharp right turn led us up a steep, rocky, somewhat exposed climb to reach the lake in the shadow of the majestic mountain. There’s only one problem. I can’t see the mountain at all. It is shrouded in a white-out of misty cloud and fog from its 11,290 foot peak all the way to the glacier-blue lake at its base.

“We’ll just wait here a bit,” says our local mountain guide, Guido. “The clouds may lift soon.” I pull a ham and cheese sandwich out of my daypack and watch the weather.

A breathtaking view of the Perito Moreno Glacier

Santa Claus arrived at the mall in San Diego’s Mission Valley in a virtual tie with the Great Pumpkin last year, and for me maybe that was the proverbial last straw. Or perhaps it was my 1750th family gathering, give or take—and if you count Easter, Thanksgiving and of course Christmas for a few decades, that’s really not all that many. The really early ones, I mean up until I was about 8 years old, were joyful, happy times, even if nobody in the family seemed to get along with my aunt Marion. The later ones though all started to feel like Holly Hunter’s Home for the Holidays.

In any case, while driving in heavy rain on the 405 freeway a few years ago I said to my wife, “There must be something more interesting we could do for the holidays than watching college bowl games and drinking eggnog and rum with Uncle George. How about doing Christmas every four years? Sorta like the Olympics.”

I wondered what she would say. She turned to me with a smile, lighted by headlights from traffic in the northbound lanes and said, “I could go for that. It’s a great idea.”

So the something more interesting this year turned out to be spending some time exploring ice: the great Patagonian Ice Field—the third largest on earth after Antarctica and Greenland.

William Halligan circa 1970s.

Sixty may be the new forty; but I’m not too sure about sixty-five.

Living warm in summer
Suddenly: The streets are filled
With Fallen leaves

Mt. San Jacinto, Southern California’s second highest peak, made me feel it: The undeniable approach of something beyond middle age. I first walked one of the several approaches to the summit when I was 17. Over the years I must have done the Devil’s Slide trail out of Idyllwild a few dozen times. A walk to the top is eight miles with 5,000 feet of climbing. My wife and I have done it a couple of times a year for the past 4 or 5 years. Sixteen miles round trip, a good day hike. Touch the summit, sit out front of the old stone cabin just shy of the top, take about an hour for lunch and then head back down. A moderate but very do-able 8 hour day. I always felt about the same, walking strong and quickly, heck I might have still been 17.

We heard the helicopter long before we saw it. We were climbing a rough path in the eastern Sierra that qualified as something between a hiking trail and a rock climb. It was tough, rocky, strewn with slippery slabs of granite and loose gravel. My wife, Andrea, swore she could stand upright and reach out and touch the slope in front of her. Maybe a bit of an exaggeration; still this mountain trail was a tough one, ranking right up with the Bloody Canyon trail out of Walker Lake.

The helicopter came into view then, sweeping its way up valley from the town of Independence thousands of feet below us.

We were headed for Golden Trout Lake, out of Onion Valley. We’d climbed to Kearsarge Pass two days before, and then to Matlock Lakes. On that hike we’d met up with a forest ranger and chatting with him, Andrea mentioned our plans. “We’re going to Golden Trout Lake tomorrow and then on to Dragon Peak.”

To the dentist: are you cementing crowns that are just out of occlusion? I know it’s a fairly common practice, and is even advocated in some circles (see my article Last Tooth Standing).  There was a time, when I was just a boy in dentistry, a young pup starting out, when I would tell the lab to leave crowns just shy of occlusion. It seemed to beat grinding them in, which I saw as the only alternative.

But in my TMJ practice, I’m seeing a downside; and I’m seeing it often. Within the last month, I’ve seen two patients suffer a good deal of pain as a result of the practice of seating crowns that are just a bit out of occlusion.

My wife and I did some fairly extensive mountain (and road) biking in the Eastern Sierra last week.

Bonus points if you recognize the lake in the background and therefore have an idea of the grind it was to get here (hint: we started in Lee Vining).

Here’s one more.

Toulumne River, Yosemite National Park