A guardaparque, Chile’s equivalent of a park ranger, boarded our bus to announce in monotone Spanish, “Welcome to Torres del Paine National Park. Please proceed to the building over there to pay your entrance fee.” Joined by several bus loads of visitors, we disembarked and made our way into a small, one-room building. A line formed out the door as we shuffled up to a one-man pay station, forking over 15,000 pesos per person (approximately $30 USD) along with a personal information form we had filled out on the bus. In exchange we received a receipt and a gesture to proceed to another desk, where we were handed a park map and herded back out the door to our waiting buses.

After years of dreaming of a visit to Patagonia and hiking through one of its most picturesque and well-known landscapes, our welcome via the “toll-booth,”  as we’ve started to refer to the park’s entrance, was a sad introduction to an amazing place. In retrospect, we found it to be a perfect case in point for how the park operates as a whole. The park’s management authority, the National Forest Corporation or CONAF (La Corporación Nacional Forestal), was largely absent from visitor management, seemingly doing little more than relieving visitors of their money. As a result, we experienced a park overrun with visitors and concessionaires, with little to indicate that anyone was looking after its long-term sustainability.

It can’t be easy managing such a high number of visitors, who are mostly contained on about 50 miles of trails, but over the course of our nine-day hike we wondered if CONAF was even making an effort.

Torres del Paine National Park illustrated what some of the impacts are when a management authority goes MIA in its own park – a scene that only seemed to be exacerbated by the high number of backpackers on their first ever overnight trip. Even so, nothing we experienced in our hike indicated that a large investment of resources would be required by CONAF to make a noticeable and lasting difference in the health of the park, as well as the enjoyment of its visitors. In fact, our visit left us believing that there is something that can be done to improve the well-being of the park: do more than just show up to work, and instead start being actively involved in what happens in the park.

The result of CONAF's absence was noticeable on a number of different levels. For example, visitors could be found using the potable streams and rivers like sinks, brushing their teeth and washing their feet, clothes, and dishes in them. In some campgrounds we saw that branches had been pulled off live trees, and most had trash piling up; the Leave No Trace and "pack it in, pack it out" mentalities were seemingly foreign concepts to a fair share of backpackers.

One negative impact in particular, was more frightening than all the rest. Unmaintained CONAF pit latrines were overflowing their holes, forming mini-mountains of human waste. The sight was not only revolting, but seemed to be the root of another terribly real visual impact. Due to the poor condition of the latrines, people had taken to using the woods. (A normal part of a backpacking trip, and acceptable if you’re doing it correctly, i.e. burying your waste at least 8 inches deep and at least 200 feet from the nearest water source, and packing your toilet paper out with you.) Each time we began to walk around a campsite with a latrine “issue,” we would discover uncovered human waste and toilet paper scattered throughout the woods. As much as we would like to fault our fellow backpackers for their actions, it’s hard to put all the blame on them. Yes, they should be aware, conscientious participants in the activity they are about to embark on. But if there are evident problems--with serious health implications--the managing authority of the park should take steps to address them.

CONAF, unfortunately, was nowhere to be found. A smattering of inconsistent signage (some well-done by a local non-profit organization, and some created by concessionaires for their own interest) dotted the trails. The little information we could gather about the environment of the park, and our responsibilities as visitors, came from the back of our park map. We didn’t see our first CONAF visitor information signs until our eighth day of hiking, one that amusingly welcomed us to the park and another warning us about the risk of starting open fires.

The guardaparque were, as a whole, a non-presence on the trail. However, we did discover that they are present in the park: On our fifth day we ran into a group of guardaparques sitting around smoking and drinking mate in a CONAF building. We received no more than a glance as we came in and out, filling water bottles, using the bathroom, and reading about the local guanaco population from some poster boards on the wall. We didn’t realize until we were looking at our map later that we had been in the park's main visitor information office.

Speaking with some locals after our hike confirmed that our experiences in the park were not uncommon. While some might consider the situation appalling, more than anything it left us feeling incredibly saddened. Everything we saw demonstrated a lack of care, both by CONAF and the host of inexperienced backpackers. It's a combination that bodes poorly for what is arguably the crown jewel of Chile’s park system. The only thing CONAF's passivity accomplishes is degradation, perhaps irrevocably, of the park’s resources.

Despite our serious concerns for the health of Torres del Paine National Park, we still found it to be an extraordinary place. Chile and CONAF are right to show it off proudly and prominently. We would not be surprised to learn that as with many part authorities around the world, CONAF is woefully underfunded to perform its responsibilities. Nonetheless, leaving the park through the same “toll booth” by which we entered, we couldn’t help but feel a little bitter. The most extensive contact we had had with the protectors of the park was to give them our money, and we walked away learning next to nothing about the visually stunning environment we had traversed for nine days. We would have gladly paid more for the privilege to hike in Torres del Paine, had we witnessed some indication that our money was aiding in its protection, as well as the education of visitors to the park.

With such a constant flow of buses bringing visitors into the park, we can’t help but think that at $30 a head, the opportunity to be an active presence in the management of such a remarkable place wouldn’t be that far of a stretch.

Some of the hike highlights, without the trash.