07 To Lago General Carrera and the Marble Caves

Rio Nadis to Cochrane and Rio Tranquillo: Feb 6th - 10th 

Chacabuco Valley

From the border crossing at Candelaria Mancilla, it was about 150 miles to Cochrane: the first bank and ATM in Chile! There was none at Villa O'Higgins, and certainly none at the border! (Fortunately, I'd been warned about this before leaving Puerto Natales.)

The scenery on the way to Cochrane was delightful, and the paved road as we reached the town, an additional bonus.

Having completed our banking, and stocked up with some food, we continued along an equally enjoyable beautiful road, with lakes and mountains, which I really would have liked to have been able to cycle; then along the Chacabuco Valley, leading to the Argentina border, with any number of guanacos, flamingoes and black-necked swans which provided the day´s highlights.

Flamingoes

Along the Chacubuco Valley,  a new national park, with the original name of ´National Park Patagonia´ is partly open. One trail is complete, and another is being built. Apparently, the current president was under pressure to open one, since up to now he was the only president not to have done so.

Black-necked swans

Scenery was great, all the way down, as was the weather. Happily for me, Henrietta and  István  like photography as much as I do, so there were plenty of opportunities to stop and take photos. I carried on with them to Rio Tranquillo, where Henrietta was keen to camp at Pudu campsite, by the lake.

Pudu campsite: photo  István   

Sadly, it started to rain there, and it was nearly the only campsite of the whole trip (as of end of Feb) where there was no shelter to retreat to - bad news the next day, when I said goodbye and thank you to Izvan and Henrique, who had to continue to Coyhaique in order to return their hire car. I´d planned to go to the Marble Caves in the morning (Tuesday 7th Feb), and they had planned to come with me, but it was wet, so they got on their way, and I waited.

Too wet to make it worthwhile trying to get up the Explorades Valley - apparently fantastic scenically, when you can see it - but hung on an extra day, and was rewarded with great weather for the Marble Caves. 

Marble Caves

For more Marble Caves pictures see: 

https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=tigre+pictures+argentina&hl=en&rlz=1G1LENNCENUK477&prmd=imvns&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=8uiJT6GBFcqb8gPj_93JCQ&ved=0CC4QsAQ&biw=1967&bih=960#hl=en&rlz=1G1LENNCENUK477&tbm=isch&sa=1&q=Marble+caves+pictures+rio+Tranquillo&oq=Marble+caves+pictures+rio+Tranquillo&aq=f&aqi=&aql=&gs_l=img.12...4564l17447l0l19705l46l46l6l27l33l0l293l1277l6j4j1l11l0.frgbld.&pbx=1&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_qf.,cf.osb&fp=62bd86fa42b01f79&biw=1967&bih=960

Hit lucky again  - got talking to two young German women who were travelling with their father to keep him company (their Mum hadn´t fancied the camping), and was offered a lift to Puerto Guadal, on their way to Chile Chico. This was backtracking a bit, but I was curious to see it, since that was where I would have been working, had the volunteer opportunity not fallen through. Turned out that one of the sisters was also a cellist.

Camped at an interesting ecocamp called ´Destination Non Turistico´. Up a pig of a hill, and I wasn´t impressed with the solar shower. But again, Rosia and Marcello, the couple who ran it, were really lovely people, and their homemade bread, baked in a solar oven, was just fantastic! The oven itself looked a bit like a satellite dish, except it was all chrome (or something similar). Rosia prepared the bread first thing in the morning, then so long as it was sunny, they wheeled the contraption outdoors, placed the bread in a tin, adjusted the angle, kept turning as necessary, and hey presto: after 2 hours, the bread smelled delicious, and tasted so.  

Bread making in the solar oven

Solar bread 

They also grew vegetables, which you could buy, and encouraged you to use the haybox for slow cooking. You could have a gas shower, but in their efforts to save power, they were experimenting with gravity, to avoid using the motor. Jens, a German guy I met there, decided to go for the gas shower, but had to wait about 20 minutes to start it, since it required Marcello to operate and monitor the gas in the kitchen, before he could even go into the shower room!

It was the village´s anniversary (festival) week, with celebrations supposedly being on all day as well as in the evening, so I wandered down there the afternoon that I arrived - to find that there was a funeral going on. Even from a respectful distance, it was very moving: a woman in her early 40s had died from cancer, and you could hear singing coming from the open church doors, while outside, a wooden cart decorated with flowers was waiting, along with the fire brigade. When the service was over, the coffin was carried by a team of firemen, and then half the village followed in procession along to the crematorium, with soft singing, accompanied by a guitar. She had apparently been a member of a small village folk group, and this was their tribute to her.

Lago General Carrera: famous for its colour

´Destination No Turistico´ had promoted itself as a ´Meet the Locals´ campsite. Meeting the locals, next day, consisted of going down to the village to look for the celebrations, that turned out to be a couple of WI-type stalls, selling a bit of sewing and some jam - and then trying to find out if there was anywhere I could hire a bike. Everybody told me the same thing: bikes were for hire at Terra Luna lodge. Very soon, though, I learned that a wave of a hand towards the lake didn´t mean it was ´just down there by the lake' - the  hand just  indicated the vague direction. Terra Luna turned out to be about 2 miles from the village, past the turning to the campsite, and on the way to Chile Chico. 

It was run by a charming lady from Annecy (Cristal) and her husband (manu), who is a climber. (They didn´t know the Idargos, who run the highly recommended Tour du Mont Blanc treks, with a mule: www.trekking-mont-blanc.com .) When I finally got there, they did indeed have bicycles, though quickly I learnt the Spanish for ´the gears don´t work´, ditto brakes. We did a lot of dashing up and down the very long hill between the lake and the road on a quad bike (with me clinging onto the back for dear life), to find a bike that was in reasonable nick, and which was also somewhere near the right size - albeit with gears and brakes not quite working. After a quick phone call from Cristal to a local garage, I was sent on an errand to the mechanic, to get it fixed. Watching him paint the bike liberally with car engine oil (including the tyres), I was not filled with confidence, but at least I could now change gear, and the dust on the road would surely sort out the oily tyres. So, everything fixed,  I arranged to pick up the bike early next morning.

UNDER ATTACK!

It was still early, so decided to take a walk recommended by Marcello and Rosia. Stopped to take a photo of the lake, then noticed a bird, and decided to try and photograph it. Suddenly realised that it had filled the frame and more. 

Does anyone recognise this bird? It's vicious!

I ducked, as it just missed my head. The same thing happened again, and after the sixth time, when it was that close that I felt the swish of its wings, I realised I was under attack, and better get the hell out of there! It probably had chicks or eggs. Surprisingly, Marcello didn´t recognise the bird, even though he said he knew most of the ones around there.

I woke next morning to the sound of appalling wind, and looked out of the tent to see a threatening,  overcast sky. Decided to walk to Terra Luna, and see how things were then. Alarmed to see that the wind would be coming against me, but decided it was now or never . . . 

Picked up the bike, and was relieved to find that the vegetation on either side of the road was enough to give me shelter from the worst of the wind. Road surface was appalling ´ripio´(stones and gravel), but I made reasonable progess for the first hour and a half or so. 

Got off to go up a hill, and a pick-up truck pulled up beside me. Decided to go for a lift up the hill, and beyond. Felt a bit guilty when I saw the German long distance cycle tourist I´d spoken to the previous day looking hopefully behind him, but continued to the top of the pass. Timing was perfect: I´d had a lift through the less interesting part, where the lake was no longer visible. Got off at the top of the pass, where the rocks and landslides were impressive, and rode (and pushed) along this scenic road for about 4 or 5 hours, the weather improving all the time, the wind changed so that now it was behind me, and the lake and mountains on the other side giving wonderful views. Quickly learnt to recognise the sign which roughly translated meant, 'Landslide area - don´t hang around.'

My trusty stead - with brakes and gears repaired (more or less)

Road up!

´STOP!

Road repairs on the way to Chile Chico

At about lunchtime, Jens and his German passenger passed me, and stopped. The other German guy was taking the ferry from Chile Chico, but Jens was coming back, and promised to pick me up on the way back, if he saw me - he would be leaving Chile Chico at about 4pm: fantastic! Soon afterwards, a pick-up truck passed, loaded with the German cycle-tourist and all his panniers. We waved at one another, and I was glad for him that he´d got a lift.

The lake has its own microclimate, with large patches of cultivatable green

Landslide

Shortly before 4pm, while I was again walking up a hill, another pick-up tuck pulled up besides me, and a French guy asked me if everything was OK. It was, but I wouldn´t mind a lift up the hill . . . one of his Chilean passengers jumped out and pulled the bike into the back (thank heaven for the fact that the pick-up truck seems to be the standard type of vehicle driven by all the locals). So as to ensure that the bike was safe, I too jumped in the back - the best place to be, when the weather is warm: you get the best view, as well as the fresh air, even if it is not too comfortable. I rode with them for about 20 minutes or more, and then got out at the lovely Laguna Verde: with its beautiful pale turquoise water, a perfect place to wait for Jens: the bike had been great, but I´d done enough for today, and he would probably be along soon. 

Sure enough, just ten minutes later, along came Jens - with three Israeli girl hitch-hikers in the back, but still with room for the bike and me. This had just been the most perfect day.

06 The start of the Carretera Austral (heading north from Villa O'Higgins)

27th Jan. Have to admit that I was quite relieved not to be on a bike this morning, when I started up the stoney road with Izvan and Henrietta in rain and wind, to catch the ferry.



Soon the weather improved, however, and every now and then we'd see a couple of cyclists.

Carretera Austral

Photo: István

Ferry

The road to Tortel passed through rain forest, with some deep gulleys, and interesting rock formations.

Gullies and thick vegetation alongside the road to Tortel

Carretera Austral on the way to Tortel

Typical Carretera Austral vegetation: photo Istvan and  Henrietta

At last we arrived at Tortel; a small seaside town, characterised by lots of steps and boardwalks, which made it easier for the local people to get around - but which, to me, gave the village an artificial look.

Tortel 

Tortel

Walking around this village took time, because of its different levels, and road surfaces being as they were, the light was already beginning to fade by the time we reached our campsite for the night: Rio Nadis - a small farm in a beautiful valley, run by German-born Gabriella and her Chilean husband, who had two beautiful children,. Over 20 years or so, thez had built up their business, building a cosy wooden refugio plus extra shelter, selling firewood, making jams and bread, growing vegetables, etc.

Rio Nadis

Their lifestyle, and that of their neighbours and many other families, however, is threatened by government plans to flood the valley, in order to build a dam and provide hydro-electricity: a project that they say will only meet a small percentage of the countrys needs, and ruin one of the world`s last wildernesses. All over Patagonia there are posters, saying 'Patagonia Sin Represas' (Patagonia without dams). There is understandably very strong feeling, and there is a court appeal in progress, or being prepared, since apparently the government has cut corners illegally to get it through.

Animal skins hanging up to dry at Rio Nadis

Wood burning stove and cooker at Rio Nadis `Camping': good for drying out wet clothes and people

Rio Nadis

After two days' relaxation (catching up on washing and walking a bit for me, horse riding for Izvan and Henrietta, along the Pioneers route - that scared them quite a lot, and left them exhausted), time to move on to Cochrane (for the first bank and ATM since crossing the Chilean border!), up the Chacabuca Valley, where a new National Park (NP Patagonia) is soon to be opened, and on to Rio Tranquillo.

Istvan negotiates the suspension bridge, leaving Rio Nadis

05 Border Crossing into Chile and Villa O´Higgins

Tuesday, January 31st: time to start Phase 2 of this journey, moving back into Chile, ready for the journey up the Carretera Austral: a largely unpaved 1240km route through rural Patagonia, stretching from Villa O'Higgins in the south of Chile, to Puerto Montt, starting point for the Chilean Lake District:    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carretera_Austral . The road is mainly unpaved, surfaced with ripio (stones and gravel), and there are often more cyclists and motor cyclists on it than cars, buses or trucks. It is renowned for the rainforest, lakes and glaciated mountains that you pass on the way.



(Map courtesy www.villaohiggins.com)

At the recommendation of the hostel staff, took the 8.30 transfer to Lago Desertio: only to find that Tuesday was the one day that the boat to the other side of the lake didn´t leave until the afternoon.  No problem: according to the sketch map provided, you could trek to the Argentinian border post at the end of the lake, in just four hours; so Dutchman Hans and I set off on our way, across the swinging suspension bridge.

Suspension bridge at Lago del Desierto: start of the trek

After that, despite some pretty woodland and waterfalls, the path was a bit of a nightmare: steeply up, steeply down, across tree stumps, through unbridged streams, and boggy bits.

The path was reasonably well marked, after the first couple of hours - except for where the path divided. Hans offered to take some of my stuff for me, but was already carrying a load of his own, so I didn´t like to accept. Eventually, I encouraged him to continue at his own pace. Seven hours after starting, I arrived - having met just a group of  French and Australian people, and one German girl cyclist (travelling without her bike, which was to follow her later by boat): blue-lipped from eating the Calafate berries that legend says will ensure that the consumer returns to Patagonia. All of them were coming from the opposite direction.

Calafate berries: photo Istvan and Henrietta

I arrived at the Argentinian passport control just before the boat, to find just a few tents scattered around the lake: a beautiful place to camp, as well as being free.

As for the border guards, I wondered what they had to do to get such an idyllic placement - though how bored they must get, unless they were avid readers? Did they have to be studying, and in need of time for it? With just 2 boats coming in each day, each with just a handful of people, what did they have to do? People coming the 22 km from the opposite direction wouldn´t be likely to arrive much earlier than the local boat.

Around their hut were a few horses, and a family of  large ducks were searching for food around the lake. A few meters away, they had a small round building with a pub football game outside it, and a barbecue-type cooking range inside.

There were six of us camping that night, waiting to be ´signed out' of Argentina, and we thought of trying to get our paperwork done this evening, so as to be able to make an early start next day - but by 6pm, one of the border guards had gone fishing, and the other was busy watching TV. They would be open again for business at 8am, we were  told.

I awoke next day to hear the wind roaring, and didn´t feel keen to get up. Neither did the border guards, it seemed, since by 8.30, their office was still locked - though through the window, I could see that the TV was still on.

The elderly Italian guy was also waiting. I decided to go and explore a bit. Perhaps, if I had a poke around the guards' leisure facilities, it would at least wake the dog up, who would then alert the guards? It didn't work: the dog was also sleeping.

A few minutes later I returned, to find that dog or no dog, work had indeed begun. The Italian signed out of Argentina, it was my turn. However, this involved starting a new page in the book, which had to be meticulously ruled up, and thought given to the headings for each column. (Could have been at least 3 days since the last time this had been done.)

At last, duly signed out of Argentina, I could begin. The first 7km section through the trees up to the border should take about 2 hours or so, I´d been given to understand, .after which there was a straightforward jeep track. Sure enough, compared with the previous day, today´s trek was a walk in the park, despite being twice as far. Crossing from Argentina into Chile was uneventful, with just a metal stack, saying Argentina on one side, and Chile on the other: the border police were stationed 4 hours further on, just 1km from the boat.

                         

Prior to that, the route took you across what looked like a runway for mountain bikes - and sure enough, at the end of it there was an ´Aerodrome´ sign: if this was an emergency landing strip, I didn´t want to be the emergency, particularly if the plane didn´t have mountain bike tyres! Heard later that yes, it was disused, but it had been the scene of bitter border disputes and shootings, as recently as the 1980s and 90s, and that at that time there had been families living there, who had built the runway.

Eventually, met 2 Australians and 2 Belgians coming the other way, who had been told that the boat might not run the next day, because of the wind. Arrived at the passport control soon after 4pm.

Passport inspection post, Candelario Mancilla, Chile

Tripped over a couple of chickens and a sleepy Welsh collie, rang the doorbell to warn the gendarmie to get the ink pad ready, and walked in to fill in the inevitable form, and have my passport stamped once again .Noticeable that at this border post, there was no nonsense about signing declarations to say that you were carrying no food. These border police evidently recognised that if you were walking for 7 hours, you needed food.

Met up with the Italian, Hans and 2 student social workers from Santiago, who had been at the campsite. The awaiting passengers were joined by another woman, who arrived from somewhere by tractor drawn cart/taxi, driven by one of the gendarmerie, 5 minutes before the boat came in.

VIP taxi - driven by one of the border post guards

Waiting for the ferry at Candelaria Mancello

The Robinson Crusoe boat arrived at the appointed time, and 2 English cyclists jumped off. They lived in Yorkshire, the girl told me, though the young man, Gareth Vickers, was from Monmouth. "Really?" I asked. Don´t suppose they knew Alan Morgan, whom I´d known for the past 40 years, since he was a young boy. Oh yes, he said. And his sister Vivienne!

The exchange was witnessed by one of the boat staff, who told me that some while ago, he was working somewhere, when his first love walked in - they hadn´t seen one another for 20 years! Wherever you are in the world, he said, just wait at a corner if you want to see somone you know!

Boat ride itself was like being on a ride in a funfair: up, down, side to side, BANG! Spray everywhere, as we rode the waves, but we survived. Really rather glad that I hadn't opted to extend the ride for another five hours by camping overnight again and taking the boat in the morning to look at a glacier.

Lady from Santiago came over and chatted to me, and then introduced me to her husband, her friend, and the friend´s daughter, who had studied near York. Off the boat, we all piled onto a Robinson Crusoe bus, for the last stage of this border crossing into Villa O´Higgins, along a road that had been blown out of the cliff with explosives: a narrow road following a lake, with some spectacular drops below . . . .

Bridge near Villa O'Higgins

Road near Villa O'Higgins

Camped  at El Mosco hostel. Camping area a bit desolate looking, but inside was beautifully cosy, built by the owner Jorque himself. Took it easy next day, meeting a number of local people as I looked into the possibility of buying a secondhand bike for the trip up the Carretera Austral. Hans Silva from this village had promised to try and find me one, but the bikes he had were not for sale. Jorque's friend Maurizio, who owned the Eco campsite, did have a bike, but said it was much too big for me. He knew someone who had quite a good one for sale my size, but this man had just left for Cochrane and wouldn't be back until Sunday. And so it went on, and I decided that perhaps it just wasn´t meant to be.

Watched a plane come and land: extraordinary that such a small village should have a runway.

Runway at Villa O'Higgins

Even more extraordinary, Maurizio told me, was that five men had taken three years to build the runway , with nothing but hand tools! He spoke of the amazing  courage of the pilots who landed there. (Surely of the passengers too, I couldn´t help thinking.)

Himself originally from Valparaiso, he also said he never ceased to be amazed by the way country people survived here. There was a woman of 67 living in the village who had been 'born on the glacier', and her 94 year old mother was still alive.

Hit lucky the evening before leaving. Some Hungarian people living and working in Santiago, Izvan, an astronomer, and Henrietta, a biologist, asked me about my plans, and when I said I was going to Tortel, offered me a lift, since they were going too.