Final Chapter of my Patagonia Photo Journal

What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Patagonia? Ask this question to those who have never been, or who have only briefly toured the region, and the answer will likely be "mountains," "glaciers," "beauty," "awe," "wilderness," or some variation and combination thereof. Ask the same question to those who live in the area, or who have immersed themselves in its backcountry for any length of time, the answer will be much more simple: "wind."

Patagonia is essentially like a giant wind tunnel. The extreme temperature contrast between the equator and the ice-locked South Pole creates very strong winds. Sailors called this region the "Roaring Forties" (referring to the latitudes), and with good reason: low-pressure systems called "cyclonic centers" pummel Patagonia every few days, and scientists often record winds in excess of 120 miles per hour. These southern latitudes are some of the windiest places on Earth.

So far, I've been lucky, encountering high winds only once. I have often heard the winds, however, roaring high in the upper atmosphere over the mountains like a fleet of warplanes, moving so fast they would occasionally break the sound barrier. For the last leg of my Patagonia adventure, heading deep into a remote backcountry, my luck would run out. Although I was almost done with Patagonia, she was not yet done with me—-jealously guarding her secrets, she would seek to strip a toll of passage from my living flesh, flaying me for days with a demon wind.

To read more, follow the link: ianplant.com/photo_journal_pat…