The Last Gringos

Arrival back in Puerto Montt was a sudden and largely unwelcome shock to the system. Gone were the tiny villages, friendly faces and frontier feel, and instead we were thrust into the anonymity that accompanies a modern, thriving city of 175,000. We retreated into our hostel - it had a good view over the bay (but our window was 1 foot square and faced the other way) - and only ventured out after catching up on sleep and BBC World News. It turned out the Pope had died a week before - missed that one - and Prince Charles had married Camilla - glad I missed that one. It did explain the previously inexplicable quiet evenings in Coyhique when nothing was open though.


Peurto Montt sunset

We spent the day catching up on how to live normally again, and booked a day tour to the island of Chiloe for the following day. Chiloe has a culture unique to the country - it was the last bastion of Spanish rule in Chile, who even offered the island to the British before surrendering to Chilean patriots in 1823. The area is steeped in legends of mystery and witchcraft, and an unhealthy proportion of the population still believe in covens, monsters under the bed and nymphs in the woods that can turn you to stone at a glance.


The fort at Ancud

It's a bit difficult touring an island the size of Wales in a day and feeling as if you know it, but my time is running short and there are other things I would rather see. So we piled into a minibus run by possibly the only Chilean capable of speaking slow Spanish (just for gringos), and set off. After crossing the 3 mile strait to the island, we visited first Ancud, site of the final handover of the island in 1823 with an old fort to prove it's authenticity. After wandering around for a while, we moved onto Castro, capital of the island and home to famous houses on stilts, craft market and wooden cathedral. In many ways I was more interested in the countryside than the towns; it had a very similar feel to England, with rolling hills of green pastures, filled with dairy cows, with only the odd wooden shack providing the contrast.


Harbour close to Castro

By the end of the tour I was ready to move back to the mountains; my flight to Easter Island leaves on the 30th and there is the whole Lake District to see first. So the next day we made our way a small way north to Frutillar, a pretty town sitting on a lake with spectacular views of Volcan Osorno - the only reason we had come. The town was clearly lanuishing in the off season, and the feel that we were the only gringos left in Puerto Montt was reinforced by Frutillar, as we strolled down the empty beach and ate in deserted restaurants. We hoped the road to Bariloche, the following day, would bring back into the friendly folds of the Gringo Trail.


Osorno sunset......

We rose early for a spectacular sunrise over Osorno, then retired to bed to await a sensible hour when we could find our way to Bariloche. As it turned out, things worked like clockwork, and after arriving in the town of Osorno, we caught a bus to Bariloche meeting in the process a couple who had stayed in our hostel in Coyhaique.


....and sunrise

Bariloche is in the heart of the Argentine part of the Lake District of the Andes, a beautiful area characterised scenic lakes surrounded by mountains - think of the Alps plus forests of beech trees and you're not far wrong. We only stayed one night there - I intended to return later - before heading onto San Martin de los Andes and our eventual target, Volcán Lanín. So we caught another bus the next day and bumped into Leigh and Vivi, two girls we had also met in Coyhaique, plus a German couple called Christoph and Katrin. Christoph and Katrin also wanted to climb Lanín, so we made plans to do it together as soon as we could - we needed to arrange transport there and I needed to hire equipment.

The six of us ended up in a nice hostel in San Martin, and spent the weekend arranging equipment hire and transport - we were assured we needed guides and VHF radios, but we ignored the advice on the basis that Ray and Christophe are both experienced mountaineers. We ended up leaving on Monday for the 100km trip to the base of the volcano where we had to register with the Guardaparques before the climb.


Monkey Puzzle trees and Lanín

Everything went smoothly - the park ranger didn't mind the abscence of radios or guides - and we spent the afternoon walking up from around 1100m to the refugio BIM-6 at 2315m where we were to spend the night. The beech forest that we walked through was ablaze with a riot of autumn colour, from greens to yellows and orange and red, carpeting the surrounding mountains in an almost surreal beauty.


Autumn colours

After clearing the tree line we arrived in good time and checked out the other 2 refugios, both higher than ours but in worse condition. So after a nice night in the bright orange (inside and out) hut, making our own entertainment, we rose at 7am the next day to climb the next 1400m to the summit.


Starting from the bottom....


At BIM-6

Overnight the wind, that had been blowing very hard, changed directions and we started our ascent well sheltered and in the blaze of a jaw-dropping sunrise - probably the best yet.



We made good time and got onto snow after an hour of walking, from whereon we used crampons. The way up was simple but got pretty steep in places - 45º slopes make for hard work. By 11am we had reached the top and found the wind, a freezing howling gale that curtailed the summit stay. The views were spectacular - Lanín is 1000m higher than the nearest other mountains, and being the only 4 people on the mountain (over 60 people summit each day during summer) made the feeling even better.


Going up....

.... on top.....

....with myself and Volcán Villarrica in the background

The descent was fast and dangerous; as we got onto a large snow-slope in a couloir for the down climb, we became the skittles in a bowling alley of flying rocks that had been released down the hill by a series of minute tremors (I didn't even feel them!). We made it down intact by moving in pairs, one watching for rocks whilst the other descended a short way. After a total of 6 hours we were back at our refugio and picked our gear for a rapid exit in order to call the taxi to pick us up - a 2 hour wait greatly helped by the beer that a tiny shop was selling.


Finished

The next we burnt all our photos onto a CD to share - providentially as it turns out - and made our way back to Bariloche. Here I said goodbye to Ray, after probably a month of travelling together, and went back in to the business of talking to other people. There was a really nice crowd at the hostel but I chose to leave them all to go to Cerro Catedral for a 3 day trek the next day, by myself.

The route was a common one where I could stay the night in refugios and cook in them too - all that was required was food, clothes and a sleeping bag. I took the easy route to get to top of the ridge - cable car then chairlift - and followed a ridge for 3 hours before dropping down to Refugio Frey to stay the night, relaxing for the afternoon under clear blue skies by an alpine lake surrounded by jagged peaks. The day after I made the "8 hour" walk to the next refugio in 3 hours, which was a relief as the cloud came down, wind picked up and it started snowing. After passing a cold night in the refugio I walked out down a very pretty valley the next day, and caught a bus back to Bariloche for my final night there before returning to Chile.

I wanted to get to Pucon, in the northern part of the Chilean Lake District, to try and climb Volcán Villarrica, the most active volcano in these parts that is promising to erupt in a couple of months. Despite assurances that I couldn't get to Pucon in a day from Bariloche, and the volcano was closed, things worked out well and I ended up in a popular hostel in Pucon, booked on the volcano trip the next day.

This volcano climbing experience was a world away from Lanín - over a hundred people went up, all herded by guides (by law) , all kitted out in matching windproofs, colour coded depending on your company. The climb wasn't too hard - we used crampons for several hours on the ice, and reached just below the summit around 1pm. The volcano has increased in activity in the past couple of months and there is a 300m exclusion zone around the crater rim, which you can feel free to ignore if you sign your life away - which everybody did.


Baa, baa

So we reached the crater rim - well equipped with gas masks and helmets for the vast volumes of toxic gas being emitted and potential explosions - to enjoy the view and see the lava. Sadly, the dense white clouds of gas being emitted prevented most views and and chance of seeing lava; I went for a walk around the rim and lost the group and guide shortly, returning very quickly when there was a small explosion somewhere in the crater.


Yours truly on top of Villarrica - borrowed from someone else's camera

By the time we got to the bottom we had all decided a visit to the local hot springs was a must, so 9 of us piled on a bus later that evening and spent a pleasant few hours stewing in hot water, whilst enjoying beer and wine - very pleasant.

The following day was one of relaxation and souvenir shopping, until my dorm room got broken into around 9pm. One of my dorm mates disturbed him mid slash-and-grad, and we came pretty close to catching the guy (just released from prison, seen hanging around the hostel earlier), and there was an adrenaline filled half hour as we jumped into people's back gardens and followed his well planned exit route. The total damage to me was a stolen camera (with 50 unsaved photos), Leatherman (given to me by my brother for being his best man), sunglasses and, rather bizarrely, my used razor and cotton buds disappears. Bless the poor man, he must have had a beard and dirty ears.

This kind of thing was bound to happen - I was hoping not in Chile - but now that it has it really isn't that bad - stuff is only stuff after all, and my main concern was getting a decent new digital camera, plus memory, new sunglasses, and laundry done in Santiago in the day I had there before leaving for Easter Island on the 30th. It all worked out fine (it was a close run thing though) and guess where I am now.....

Cowboys on the Carretera

The Carretera Austral is the name given to the road that runs 1800km the southern mountainous section of Chile, starting in the north at Puerto Montt at 41º south and ending at 49º south at Villa O'Higgins and the northern end of the Southern Patagonian icecap. Along it's route it winds past jagged mountain peaks, majestic fjords, huge inland lakes and lush temperate forest. The centre of the region is Coyhaique, the only population centre of any size, and the best place to use as a base for exploring the southern section of the road, which is what Ray and I intended to do.

We had planned to meet in Coyhaique after making the journey across from Argentina. This trip involved first a bus from Perito Moreno, then a micro from Los Antiguos across the border to Chile Chico, then a ferry across Lago General Carrera, then another micro to Coyhaique. You never know quite how far you are going to get when you attempt this all unplanned, and I met Ray in Chile Chico waiting for the ferry that had never left the day before. A few hours later and we were in a nice hostel in Coyhaique, and booked on a 3 days horseriding trip that a couple of Fench guys in the hostel were waxing lyrical about. Despite both of us being pretty much beginnners, the idea of several days in the saddle exploring the surrounding countryside sounded great.


Starting out

The day after we found ourselves in the company of Omar and Oscar, two Chilean cowboys who spoke no English, along with 5 horses - mine was called Crystal (or the Spanish equivalent). After being given a pair of chaps and a poncho we headed off in to the unknown - literally. It was a learning process as we began the steep climb up the mountain we were heading for, initially through green pastures then into thick beech forest. Accompanying up along the way were the 3 farm dogs, with seemingly infinite energy and enthusiasm. We picked our way upwards through dense woodland until we reached the tree line and emerged onto a barren hilltop, where there were excellent views of the surrounding country. We stopped shortly after for lunch – after 3 hours in the saddle I was a little stiff but not too bad – the horses had been walking almost all the way though.

Lunch was a parilla, the traditional barbequing of meat over an open fire, and we enjoyed steaks and beer before a short siesta in the warm sun. After a while we moved on, up the mountain, moving into patches of snow and scree as we reached the top in a chill wind. From here we could see Cerro Castillo, a collection of impressive mountain peaks some 50km south. The surrounding countryside was characterised by deforested valley bottoms dotted with ranches and steep wooded hills and mountains - it was beautiful, but not hard to see the scars when looking at the degree of deforestation.


On top of the mountain

We headed off the other side of the mountain towards the ski station – down precipitous slopes that left our lives fully in the footwork of our horses. Without mishap we descended to the empty ski lodge where we were to spend our first night – 4 people dwarfed by the huge wooden structure, sitting close around the stove to keep warm as the temperatures droppd below zero.


Oscar - how to pose as a cowboy

The following morning we set off in thick frost, and my poncho came in handy for the first time. As the sun rose it burned off the cloud lying in the valley and we rejoined the ripio roads to make our way to Lago Frio, a beauty spot where we enjoyed another parilla with pork and beer this time. The parilla is different from the other kind of barbeque common here – an asado. The asado involves barbequing a huge quantity of meat over a fire on a spit shoved in the ground – the parilla is a more typical grill over the fire arrangement.


In the morning cold

Moving on in the afternoon, we cut through more forests in a warming sun that took the cold out of the wind. I was beginning to feel a little stiff and sore; both Ray’s and my horse tended to walk slowly then trot a little to catch up with Omar and Ocsar – and not being an expert at rising trot I took it all sitting, and in increasing amounts of pain.

The forest was alive here with locals collecting freshly cut wood for the winter, but there were also vast quanities of wood left lying on the ground from ancient operations to clear land for ranching, mostly stacked in piles and left to rot. That night we camped by Lago Pollux, in a tranquil spot by a lake where we enjoyed another parilla. The only thing missing was marshmellows as we warmed ourself by the fire and looked at the stars.


Beside the camp fire

The morning dawned grey and cold, with a light but steady drizzle that persisted for most of the morning as we moved towards Lago Castor on our route back. Here the ponchos truly showed their worth, keeping out wind and rain, and keeping in warmth. Crystal, my horse, threw a shoe at some point and went lame – from thereon my saddlesore state was compounded by her uneven gait but there was no alternative but to carry on.
We crossed the ridge back into our starting valley at a much lower point – the mountain we had first gone up was in cloud and there was a suggestion of snow at the top. We soon came back in sight of our estancia, not too early for me as I was in increasing amounts of pain. We got back in time to enjoy some refreshing maté, national drink of Argentina and locally adopted here in Chile, and said fond goodbyes to our horses before relinquishing our ponchos and chaps. These would have made totally inpractical but great souvenirs, but I had my eye on getting some full leg goatskin (with wool!) chaps somewhere.


Me and Crystal

The following morning, clean and rather stiff (myself, at least) Ray and I had a lazy morning as we collected our Toyota HiLux 4x4, to begin our adventure south to Villa O’Higgins. We didn't leave until late afternoon and enjoyed the paved road and views through Cerro Castillo as the sun went down between the stilleto peaks. We reached the end of the paved section and the beginning of the ripio that would accompany us for the next few hundred kilometres, and started looking for a place to camp as darkness fell.


Morning on the Carretera

We wild camped a short way off the road beside a river, and slept out in the open to watch the incredibly bright stars. I woke in the morning covered in a layer of frost and ice, half frozen with cold. We headed on after a leisurely, warming breakfast, continuing south through the forested mountain scenery until we reached Lago General Carrera, and began driving around the huge lake.


"We may need the 4 wheeel drive for this one..."

The weather was fine - still, sunny, and the views were superb. Shortly after a lunch stop beside the lake we had the tremendous good fortune to meet Felipe, a Santiago businessman and owner of a ranch in an isolated area outside of the town of Cochrane. After getting talking he invited us to his ranch to watch the annual round-up and branding of calves, a big event on the Patagonian calendar which is as much of a social occasion as a chance to show off skills with a lasso. We enthusiastically accepted, and arranged to get to his ranch, 30km off the Carretera, the day after next.


North of Cochrane

We continued down to Cochrane that evening - Felipe described the weather as the best day he had seen in 10 years in the region - and camped in the middle of town. The town, population 500, was well equipped and had a friendly atmosphere. We decided to visit Caleta Tortel, some 120km to the south, the next day before our ranch trip.

Caleta Tortel is a unique village that started life as a fishing and timber town, built almost entirely on stilts on the edge of a steep fjord, and reachable only by boat. Two years ago a road reached the town, and this will probably change it forever, but for the moment life still goes on as it always has on the beech wood walkways that connect the village as it wraps itself around the fjord's rocky edges. The town sits at the southern edge of the Northern icecap, but lies in a valley full of lush vegetation characteristic of temperate rain forest. It is a little disorientating to be looking at such a huge diversity plants whilst only 500m higher a glacier lies on a mountain - a juxtaposition unique to Patagonia. It was drizzling as we explored the town, slipping on the boardwalks whilst uncovering the range of houses from tiny old shacks to huge new houses, all built on stilts in a lightweight wood frame construction. There was a quiet atmosphere to the town, almost as if no one really lived there, and it was slighlty eerie and gloomy - if not very interesting. Ray and I headed back for our camp in Cochrane after a few hours to continue with our cooking on the open fire efforts - so far paying us off with excellent results.


Caleta Tortel


The following morning was wet as we started the 2 hours drive to cover the 30kmn to Felipe's ranch, La Colonia. The ranch sits on the southern bank of the Baker River, the largest river in Chile, with views north to the icecap and mountains. The first 15km of road are reasonable ripio, after which the drive is truly an off road experience - the first vehicles reached the ranch about 5 years ago, before which it was an 8 hours horse ride to Cochrane for supplies. In the rain the going was very muddly and more than once we wondered if we were on the right track, but eventually we reached the 2 new cabins, old house and fogon that comprise the heart of the ranch. Felipe was very pleased to see us, and glad that we had persevered through the mud to get there. He introduced us to his cousin Bernardo, an agribusiness consultant who also acted as veterinary adviser for the ranch. Felipe was a warm, kind and generous host, who went far out of his way to make us feel welcome and at home. He gave us a tour of the buildings - the new cabins were only 2 years old and the height of luxury, whilst the old house was 100 years old and full of the history of the ranch, permeated with the smell of must and leather. He took us to the fogon, a hut containing a fire and asado, that is the social heart of a ranch where the cowboys will gather to eat. We were introduced to all the cowboys, who were sitting out the rain and drinking maté, waiting for the side of beef ribs to finish cooking.


In the fogon, asado on the go

The day's events were postponed until after lunch due to the rain; Felipe took us for a horse ride to see the Baker River, then we returned to the fogon for an early asado in the hope the weather cleared. The meat had been taken from a freshly slaughtered calf that morning and was excellent. The typical Patagonian way of eating is for a cowboy to use his own knife to trim meat off the asado and eat it with a small amount of bread. Because of our presence and el patrón Felipe's, we were honoured with plates and fresh salad as the cowboys ate in their normal fashion.


In the old house

After lunch the weather cleared and the task began of first worming the cows, then branding the calves. As the cows were wormed I had some inteesting chats in Spanish with Bernardo - he was very clued up about local disease status and health control. The ranch was 14,000 acres but could support only 280 cows plus followers, and 500 sheep. The severity of the winter here is a major limiting factor in the beautiful country, but the beauty disguises a shortage of suitable pasture that would allow 30 times that number of cows in the UK.


Chewing the fat with Bernardo

After the cows came the real action of the day - branding the calves. Small numbers of calves are run around in a corral containing several cowboys, all wielding rawhide lassos, and they endeavour to rope both front legs of the calf and trip them up, before pinning them to the floor and branding them. There is incredible skill in the timing, accuracy and strength required to lasso calves, and the skill is a source of pride and friendly competition, as well as a small amount of showmanship for the spectators. Usually neighbours from surounding ranches will attend these days, often meeting people that they would only see twice a year.


Don Hector, ranch foreman

After 30 or so calves had been caught traditionally, the quicker and safer method of branding them in the race was adopted. We retired to the fogon, to enjoy another asado (the other side of ribs) before staying the night in the old house, full of history and maybe a ghost or two.


Catching calves....

The next morning dawned bright and almost clear - there was a dusting of snow on the mountains that had not been there previously and a nip in the air. After a typical breakfast - reheated beef from the night before - we left for the corral where the next batch of cows and calves were ready. As the cows were wormed Ray and I walked up a nearby hill to get a better view of the estancia, the Baker River and the icecap to the north, and descended in time to see the branding start.


Felipe (left) and Ray

As the action was taking place there was an asado cooking by the fire next to the corral, a traditional cut of the entire underside of beef from pectorals to udder, complete with skin and hair on one side. It is quite unusual to see this cooked as it requires time, skill and an unusual cut of meat, only possible if you slaughter your own animals.


Lasso!


All too soon the calves were finished, and Ray and I realised we would have to make the journey back to Cochrane after lunch. We tried to eat in traditional style - I certainly hadn't mastered trimming your own meat off the asado, and we ate in the quiet sun sipping beer and enjoying the atmosphere. Shortly afterwards we said our goodbyes to the cowboys and our heartfelt thanks to Felipe, and made our way back to reality after our brief immersion in genuine Patagonian culture.


More asado

The journey back seemed half as long as we talked about everything that we had seen - truly an experience money could not buy - and before long we were back in Cochrane, looking at the snow that now covered the peaks around the town. We decided against going all the way south to O'Higgins - the weather was turning and we wanted to be somewhere warmer. So the next day we sped back to Coyhaique, surprised by the amount of snow that had fallen in just a few days, especially in Cerro Castillo where it had reached the road. Back in Coyhaique and we made arrangements to head further north to Chaiten, 400km futher north and in the heart of the temperate rainforest that characterises the northern section of the Carretera Austral. Winter here is coming, from the snow on the mountains to the chill in the air to the frost in the morning, and I want to feel warm again!


Cerro Castillo

Ray and I got to Chaiten, Ray having abandoned his plans to cross back in to Argentina when his connecting bus vanished. So we spent a couple of days enjoying the hot pools, mud baths, crashing waterfalls, 3000 year old trees and dense forest, all in incessant rain.


Hot pool and mud bath......

...crashing waterfalls.....

.... and 3000 year old trees

It was nice, but not on a par with our southern Carretera travels, and after 2 days we took the overnight ferry north to Puerto Montt, heading for the famous Lake District of Patagonia.


Tree hugger!