When Bean Bowers looked at the computer models his jaw dropped. Years ago he built a house down here and tacked a sign on the front that boasted “World’s Worst Weather.” But in all his days of storm watching, the veteran Patagonia climber swore he had never seen a prediction this bad.

Alas, that forecast was heartbreakingly spot-on. We’ve been down here a week, and each day raises the bar for rainy, windy crapola. Even the town El Chalten, usually basking in the cozy rain shadow of the Fitzroy Range, is now drenched to the last moldy sheepdog. Yesterday, moved by desperation more than logic, we hiked up into the park to stash our gear at the glacier. Bad idea jeans. We got the big soak (the cameras survived, gracias a dios) with nary a glimpse of the rock, and hiked down with rainwater sponging from our toes.

It was a slightly heartbreaking day, but this morning we awoke to El Dia del Los Amadores, and the jangly internet connection eventually spat out a truly wonderful e-Valentine from Cedar’s friend in China.

And the love continued that evening as Bean and Helen tied the knot in a blaze of cumbia at the Chocolateria. Even in the cold embrace of the world’s worst weather, el amor vence.

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