Angela in Patagonia: 09 Quelat National Park, Puyuhuapi, La Junta and Futaleufu Getting through the road blocks

February 15th to Feb 20th

Got a bus out of Coyhaique on Wednesday afternoon: the last for several days, as it turned out, due to the protests which had started with the Puerto Aysen fishermen protesting about fuel prices, and then spread throughout the Aysen region, resulting in fuel shortages, road blocks and little if any public transport.. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-17256697

Those of us who were lucky enough to have got out of Coyhaique in time got delayed further north, hitching where we could, with people who had fuel. Those who hadn't left on the Wednesday had to hitch out of Coyhaique, then get out of the vehicle before the blocks and walk, so as not to get the drivers into trouble. In some cases, drivers had to wait 3 or 4 hours before being let through. People who didn´t want to face the road blocks had to re-route through Argentina, or even fly out.

Hanging glacier, Quelat National Park

I´d wondered how my two Israeli friends from Villa Cerro Castell had fared, after doing the trek. Two weeks later, I found out, when I bumped into them in Bariloche. They had had difficulty getting out, but had eventually got a lift from La Junta, and from there, part way to Villa Santa Lucia. It was quite late when they were dropped off, but they were told it was only 6km to the village, so had been confident they could walk it in an hour or two.Their experience of estimated distances was similar to mine, though.When people told you 6 km, they probably meant 6 miles! After they had been walking for a couple of hours, they still hadn´t reached the village. Dark had fallen, and they had almost wondered about camping in the forest. Just then, they were frightened out of their wits by a tremendous roar. Terrified, they carried on, not knowing what was making the noise, but determined to make it to the village. When finally they arrived, it was 11.30. They told their hosts about the roaring, and were casually told, "Oh, that would have been a puma!" They hadn´t even realised that there were pumas in the area . . . .

The ´Puma survivors´ in Bariloche, 2 weeks later. I´d first met them playing guitar in Villa Cerro Castillo.

For me, there were no pumas, just a pathetic campsite at Quelat National Park: grossly over-priced for a campsite 2 Chilean km from the road, that offered just a tap and a portaloo that you just wouldn´t want to use - though it did have a shelter and some stone fireplaces, and it was fun toasting marshmallows with some Chilean students there. (To be fair, according to the park guard, the only camping available that night was at the quincho: maybe the main pitches had better facilities.)

The walk to the hanging glacier through some impressive rainforest didn´t take long, next morning: too bad that the National Park had no information available. The only map they could offer was the one on the wooden sign! (No worse than the map situation in Villa Cerro Castell though, where the advice was that the best map of the village could be found on the side of the bus, and if we were quick, we could go out and photograph it, before it left!)

Quelat National Park: vegetation

Quelat National Park: Photo Henrietta

There were several people waiting for this boat, but the boatman was nowhere to be seen: gone to lunch?

Waterfall, Quelat National Park

By three o´clock, I was packed up and back on the road - but anticipated being in for a long wait, since there were four girls from Santiago, with a huge assortment of backpacks, tents and other luggage, who told me that they had been there waiting for a bus since 9.30, and hardly any cars had passed. That meant that I was fifth in the queue for transport!

Suspension bridge, Quelat National Park

However, just after I´d got my book out, a pick-up truck pulled up, and piled us all into the back: this was fast becoming my favourite means of transport!

Crammed into the back of a truck with 4 students and an assortment of luggage . . .

Soon we were in Puyuhuapi ("Pooh You 'Appy"): a very small fishing village whose houses reflected its German history (http://www.puyuhuapi.org/English/history.htm and http://www.puyuhuapi.org/german/German%20augusto.htm ).

There were two 'campsites' in the village: i.e. two private homes with some space for tents. The one I ended up at had a novel arrangement: you put up your tent in a wooden shelter, or in a barn - because "it might rain", and there was a nice warm wooden shelter for cooking and eating, with a woodburning cooker/stove, similar to the one at Rio Nadis. At first, I was quite bemused at the thought of needing a shed to put my tent in. However, unlike home, where 'a red sky at night is shepherd´s delight', a fantastic sunset in the southern hemisphere is apparently more of a fisherman's fright. The locals assured us that such a red sky meant rain. And next morning, it was torrential!

"Red sky at night, fisherman´s fright!" Puyuhuapi people say it means rain - it certainly did!

There´s not a lot to do in Puyuhuapi when it´s pouring with rain, other than read books - but as usual, there were a few students from Santiago who seemed to like practising their English on me. (Not that it was doing anything for my Spanish.) With tents so close together, there was certainly no problem with meeting the neighbours!

Not the most scenic campsite: but dry!

Students entertain themselves in the camping shed, while outside it pours with rain.

There were some interesting houses though, and after speaking to some Americans I´d met at Coyhaique, who had walked to some hot springs "4 km" away and seen (small) dolphins and a sea otter, I was off, as soon as the rain eased a bit. Now, I may not be as fit as I was, but at this stage of the trip I wasn´t in bad shape, and it does not take me an hour and a half to walk 4 km! Maybe distances are measured 'as the crow flies', without taking into account any bends in the road? Needless to say, there were no dolphins or sea otters around when I got there. However, after walking part of the way back, I got a lift from someone who had come through the road blocks, after having to wait 4 hours.

Puyuhuapi houses: very different from the tin-roofed shed-like homes further south

Hitchhikers entertaining themselves wiith a football: with no cars or buses on the road, they have a long wait

On Saturday, there were apparently 40 people trying to hitch hike out of the village, since there were no buses. I didn´t even try, choosing instead to try and walk or hitch to the next lake, and walk part of the ´Puma' trail. (I didn´t at that stage associate it with big cats.)

I did eventually get a lift part of the way there, but after a couple of hours' climb up through the rainforest, I thought I´d better turn back, since there weren´t many cars on the road, and it was a long walk back to Puyuhuapi. In the event, I had to walk the whole way back to the village.

On reaching the road, I was surprised to see two male heads poking out of the undergrowth, looking more than a bit surprised to see me. Not sure what was going on, I wandered nonchalantly over to the bridge, pretending to look at the river, then turned, startled, to find one of them coming towards me, brandishing the biggest carving knife I have ever seen. Yikes! This surely wasn´t happening to me, in one of the safest countries in the world to travel in? Just then, I noticed the National Park logo on his clothing - phew! He told me that the river had been really high the night before, and a tree had come down on the road. They were tidying up.

Don´t like the look of that knife!

Our host cooks her family dinner : 'cow legs' - looks a bit burnt to me

That night (Saturday), two more Santiago girls arrived: Pilar (26-year-old biologist, studying frogs), travelling with Valentina, 2nd year medical student. Lovely people, who I saw a lot of, the next few days.

Val (L) and Pilar (R)

Val with one of Pilar's frogs (photo Pilar Calderon)

Batrachyla taeniata (photo: Pilar Calderon)

Next day (Sunday), I got out on the road early. The woman from the tourist office passed me on her way to opening up the office, and told me to call in for hot water, if I needed it for coffee or anything - people here didn't normally start the day very early on Sundays, by all accounts, and she obviously anticipated that I was in for a long wait. Most of the Saturday hitchers had managed to leave, since eventually someone had chartered a bus for them: including a bunch of Israelis who had been waiting around for two whole days!

Today though, I was in luck: before too long, a pick-up truck stopped, just as Pilar and Valentina came round the corner. Good naturedly, the driver piled all our stuff in the back, and off we all went: arriving an hour or two later in wet La Junta - like a ghost town, following the village´s annual "party" the night before: there had been dancing until 7am, we were told. Hence only the tourist information office was open - no bread today!

Pilar (L) and Valentina (R): dressed for the cold and rain

Arriving at the campsite, we were offered the use of a wooden shelter, for just a few pesos extra, so that we didn´t have to put up the tents. We then set off in the pouring rain to find out if there were any buses out of the village in the morning. (The village is known for its kayaking possibilities, but there was no sign of any kayaks today.)

Seemingly, there was going to be a bus at six in the morning, but it was full. It was illegal for the driver to take passengers standing, but the woman at the house (sorry,´bus station´!) that Pilar and Valentina were sent to suggested that they should talk to the driver, to see if he were prepared to risk it. (If he was caught, he could be 'listed': the equivalent of our endorcements, I suppose.) Some rather low key road blocks had been set up in La Junta the day before, but drivers were only having to wait an hour before being allowed through. A shelter had been set up, and fried bread was being handed round to anyone and everyone around: including us, and we weren´t even trying to get out that day!
http://ilovechile.cl/2012/02/18/aysen-demonstrations-reach-la-junta-carrera-austral-bridge-blocked/48478

The road blockers have improvised a shelter. Protesters and backpackers huddled together in it as it poured with rain.

Road block at La Junta - here there were no burning tyres (too wet!) and no stone throwing

Result: Pilar and Valentina were up at five next morning, and made it with the bus to Villa Santa Lucia, the village at the Futuleufu junction. They arrived at about 8 o'clock, and got a lift 10 minutes later. I was too lazy for such an early start, and decided to take my chance hitching. The road block was not due to start before nine, so I thought there could be some traffic going through early. In the event, the road block at La Junta was called off that day, to await the result of a government meeting. (Or maybe because of the weather forecast?) However, there was no traffic until the supermarket opened at 9.30, and most of it was local. The petrol station had diesel, but had run out of petrol the previous night. I hung around there, and spoke to drivers as they pulled up, asking if they were going north, since I felt more comfortable asking for a lift that way than just standing in the road with my thumb out. In the end, a couple from Puyuhuapi, driving a small Suzuki jeep, shifted some of their stuff to make room in the back for my backpack, letting me squeeze onto the small part of the backseat that was still visible.

The driver was by no means a reckless driver, but the road was a bit much for the poor little jeep. The wife did her best to point out potholes as we approached them, but as the car bounced from side to side, her husband let out oohs and ahhhs, as if he were on a fairground ride!

Carretera Austral

We arrived safely at Villa Santa Lucia sometime after 12.30, and after sharing some chocolate with the couple before they continued to Chaiten, I joined five Chileans who had been waiting for transport to Futuleufu for about three hours, they told me: probably not helping themselves by staying together as a group. After a while, three of them decided to start walking, and set off - after giving us all the farewell hug and peck on the cheek that appears to be the standard greeting or farewell, in Chile and Argentina. (They had only met me half-an-hour beforehand!).

Again my luck was in: within half an hour, along came another small jeep. It stopped, and the couple in it told us that they had room for one person, but one only. Since the others didn´t want to split, that left me. They were on holiday from Santiago, and spoke fluent English. The weather improved, and the scenery opened out, with forest covered hills that resembled those around Machu Pichu in shape, the occasional meadow, and some lakes. Nearing Futuleufu, the rivers, famous for rafting, were green and fast flowing.

After thanking the couple, I found a campsite (space for 4 or 5 tents under some apple trees in someone´s garden), and set off in the sunshine for a look around the small town - just 10 km from the Argentinian border. When I got back, I noticed that an extra tent had gone up. Chatting to two guys there, who told me they were medical students from Santiago, I mentioned that I had been camping with a second year medical student from Santiago, the day before. "She wasn´t travelling with a biologist, was she?" he asked. Sure enough, the extra tent was Pilar and Valentina´s! Ten minutes later, we bumped into one another in town, and celebrated at a local cafe.

The girls were going rafting next day, but really white water rafting isn´t my thing. However, they spoke to the agent, who said that if there was room in the van, I could go and watch, if I wanted to. Next day started off fine, so following a buzz around town, I duly turned up at the appointed time - to find the couple who had given me a lift the day before chatting to Pilar and Valentina: they were going for the softer rafting option. Before I knew it, I´d been talked into going as well - how that happened, I will never know: but the guide appeared to be doing most of the work, so really it wasn't ´proper rafting´. By the afternoon, it was raining yet again: time to continue over the border to Esquel (Argentina) by bus, next day. . . .