I am feeling old and boring so sometime in early September I fill my pack with wool clothes and hit the road. The primary destination is Yelcho en la Patagonia, a luxury fly fishing resort where I will garden in exchange for food and lodging!
Puyuhuapi
After winding through glorious mountain valleys in humid, coastal Patagonia, the bus rolls into Puyuhuapi at dusk. I ask a local for a good tranquilo place to camp, and decide to crash near the beach at the end of the Fjordo Ventisquero. The rain is steady, and I am near an estuarine river delta – I pitch the tent on ground that seems to be soggy from rain, rather than from daily tidal fluctuations. Listening to raindrops pattering on the tent, I slip into a solid 8-hour stretch of sleep before hopping on another bus at 6am. Around 9am, the rain slows and I hop off at Lago Yelcho!
Lago Yelcho
The resort is absolutely mind-blowing: located on a peninsula at the northern tip of Lago Yelcho, the dark sand beach faces steep glacially-carved ridges topped with misty white ventisqueros.
I amble about the rainforest – after becoming accustomed to the gnarly lenga and ñire forests of eastern Patagonia, the Valdivian rainforest comes as a pleasant surprise! Thick jurassic coigües, broad-leafed canelos, and thin light-roast lumas form the canopy of this soggy jungle, while giant ferns, creeping vines, and fiery lichens abound in the understory.
On my second day, the rain stops entirely and by nightfall, all clouds have vanished from the sky, aside from small wisps of steam rising from the Chaitén volcano. I savor the sunset, and make a plan to rise early the next day to enjoy the clear weather.
The morning is indeed glorious – I run to the nearby mirador, and then spend a couple hours bushwhacking through the jungle attempting to find a trail that a co-worker mentioned. Never did find it…
Later in the day, the same co-worker mentions that there is a trail 5km down the highway that leads up to a nearby ventisquero! I immediately start walking, around 3pm.
What is a ventisquero? It is used in Patagonia to describe alpine glaciers, especially those that are 'hanging', as well as slopes exposed to blizzards and heavy snow that often give rise to ice- and waterfalls.
When I get a peak at the glacier, I’m immediately blown away – I’ve spent most of my time in Patagonia wishing there were more trails up to the snow, and I finally found one! Sadly, by the time I reach the rocky drainage beneath the glacier, the sun has already dipped behind the northwest ridge, and I start to feel a tinge of regret that I didn’t head up here at sunrise. I resolve to return on the next clear magical day, but deep down I know that such days are exceedingly rare in Patagonia…
Ventisquero Yelcho
The time has come for my return to the ventisquero! I haven’t been this wound up with regret in recent memory…'Kicking myself' doesn’t quite seem to capture it. My ‘supervisor’ had mentioned the night before that I should take the morning off, so I figure this is as aligned as the stars will be, and start running bright and early. The forecast is cloudy, little rain. A large black dog accompanies me, one of many in Patagonia who doesn't instinctively know how to run with humans, constantly brushing past and then stopping immediately in front of me…The trail and surrounding forest are dripping with moisture – high ridges seem to keep the sun out of the valley for most of the day. I run up the cobbly drainage, and start climbing towards the glacier. At this point, the dog can’t go any further and starts howling – sorry dude, you’re on your own! Climbing higher, I start to get giddy with the exposure – the route isn’t particularly steep, occasional scrambles, but as the valley falls away and the glacier looms closer, I am struck with humility, awe, and wonder. I spend a while gazing at the glacier from different angles, briefly hopping over a block of ice before making my way down. At a certain point, I stop recognizing the route – after contemplating a while, I decide to backtrack until I find the exact way I had ascended in order to avoid encountering the steep cliffs I had seen from below. I usually like to make a loop and go back a different way, but in this case I err on the side of caution. I am reminded of a story from Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire, in which he is heading down from the top of a mesa. After hopping down a couple waterfalls, he jumps down one that he knows he can’t climb back up, and then finds himself on the edge of a cliff. Doggo has already returned by the time I get back to Yelcho.
I spend the afternoon separating old raspberry stalks from the new, and then winding the new stalks around horizontal wires. It feels great to work with my hands for a while and clear the mind. My days continue on this way until I finally decide to head north and get a ticket for the ferry from Chaitén to Puerto Montt.
Chaitén:
I have ~8 hours between the bus to Chaitén and the ferry departure, so I hit up a nearby Couchsurfing host for a place to spend the day out of the rain. I help him out with some wood stacking, and he throws me a few empanadas – not a bad deal. Fairly eccentric dude: attempting to start up a hostel + cabin business on some property he bought after leaving Santiago. The land is basically a muddy drainage, small creeks winding around, some at the very edge of the building foundation. He doesn’t seem to have a handle on the situation, and is taking reservations even though the hostel isn't very habitable. I meet some Argentinians who are renting another cabin on the property that is much more habitable. Around this time, I learn that the ferry is delayed until 7pm the next day… looks like I’m stuck. I decide to stay with the Argentinians and we make a night of it. I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair for a long time, and when one of the Argentinians offers, I let him shave a chunk off the left side of my head – I’m pretty excited about it! We go out in Chaitén to a Fiestas Patrias event (it is now Sunday leading into the Monday-Wednesday holiday). Chileans are dancing cueca and a Girl Scout troop is selling empanadas – I may have eaten upwards of six empanadas, super stoked on the idea of supporting scouts and eating empanadas. Unfortunately, the night ends at the police station after we are pulled over and the Argentinian driving is over the legal limit (which I think is zero?). I was immediately surprised at the crucifix displayed prominently in the police station – as I was taking a photo, one of the aggressive cops said, ‘oh is this funny to you?’, took my phone, and then deleted the photos…I fully appreciate the moral value of Christianity these days, but I'm not super excited about ideologically-motivated law enforcement, nor resistance to accountability.
Ride north!
I get a refund for my ferry ticket, and take the first bus out in the morning. This is a great decision, as I get to watch Parque Pumalín go by during the day! About half of the journey to Puerto Montt is completed via ferry – I spend most of the time outside taking photos, completely blown away by the Patagonian fjords.
Chiloé
I have minimal expectations for Chiloé (how great can a mountainless place really be?), but I figure I might as well explore a bit as I make my way down to the ferry terminal in Quellón at the southern end of the island. In Castro, I smash some empanadas, stock up on canned mussels and peanuts, and then hop on a bus to the small village of Cucao near Parque Nacional Chiloé. At the entrance, CONAF staff give me a map and tell me the route towards playa Colé-Colé, a trekking I had read about earlier. It’s about 3pm, so I figure I should be on my way, and start walking down the beach; there are occasional downpours, but the wind is so strong that my rain gear is dry within minutes. I walk for some hours along the roaring coastline, eventually cross a bridge inland over a river, and then find myself in the indigenous village of Huentemó. Supposedly a tsunami destroyed their traditional wooden palafito homes a while back, so the village isn’t noticeably different from others in Chile – vulnerable structures of mostly tin. I roll in around dusk to the Refugio Huentemó, where a representative informs me that it costs $5.000 clp (~$7). I figure a night out of the wind would be nice – tents have a way of magnifying gusts and preventing sleep… The refugio is nothing fancy – no toilet paper, wood for the stove, hot water – but an hour later a thunderstorm brings howling wind and sheets of rain down on the roof, and I feel justified in my decision. (Interestingly, this is the first time I’ve seen lightning and heard thunder in Chile). The next morning, I leave my pack locked in the refugio and make my way another hour or so up and over a ridge towards the remote playa Colé-Colé: the route is a combination of Florida everglades with the iconic Irish cliffs I’ve seen in photos. I imagine the beach enjoys a handful of sunny clear days in summer, but is otherwise a harsh and hostile place – still, I’m completely blown away by the roaring Pacific surf, the mossy cliffs rising out of the sea, and the soggy coastal jungle, trees bent away from the steady ocean wind. On the way back, I find the beach trail is much more inundated than the previous day, likely a combination of a high tide and flooding from a week of steady rain. By the end, my socks and shoes are soaked through, so it takes me a fraction of a second to decide to head back to Castro when I see a bus waiting (magically) at the trailhead.
In Castro, I splurge on a hostel ($10.000 clp, ~$15) across the street from the bus station – I eat a milcao Chilote (fried potato dough with pork rinds – real healthy stuff) and a couple roasted meat kabobs from a street vendor. The night is a bit of a bummer, as loud trucks roar down the street all night long, and other occupants of the hostel have no qualms with smoking cigarettes indoors. The next morning, the rain has stopped so I explore the port and take in the colonial church before hopping on a bus to Quellón. I share mate and explore a mossy beach with another Couchsurfing host to pass the time waiting for the ferry at 11pm. In talking to some other folks in town, I hear that the city is apparently roamed by drug-addicts by night, so after saying goodbye to my new friend, I immediately make my way to the ferry office to wait in safety!
Naviera Austral:
The Naviera Austral is a passenger ferry that travels along the coast of Aysén and Los Lagos, with many destinations and routes in between. I’ve been meaning to ride the ferry for some time as an interesting way to see the fjords – again, I love to make loops with my adventures, so I opt to take the ferry home on the 30-hour route between Quellón and Puerto Chacabuco. The seats recline, but I’m unable to sleep in a reclined position, so I set up my yoga mat, thermarest, and sleeping bag on a window sill with a sliding curtain and large windows. When I wake up in the morning and see green mountains rising out of the sea, I feel like I have my own private cabin! The sleep was interrupted at times by frequent, loud phone notifications throughout the ferry, as well as by folks watching boxing matches loudly on their devices – I won’t pretend like this doesn’t happen in the United States, but in Chile, there seems to be absolutely no social stigma around loud phone noises in public. I continue to be surprised by folks’ willingness to stream loud music on buses without headphones (although not unlike the lightrail in the Twin Cities).
The next morning, the sun comes out briefly, and a few of us are out on the main deck taking in the views. With almost reality-show-like speed, two Italians, a Spaniard, and I gravitate toward each other and spend most of the journey together attempting to communicate – one Italian speaks good English and some Spanish, the other speaks some Spanish and some English, and the Spaniard speaks Spanish. We got an exclusive tour of the cockpit, geeked out on all the navigation equipment, and asked lots of questions about pirate. The journey is absolutely fantastic – stunning views of dramatic green mountains rising out of the churning sea, clouds unleashing waves of rain as they collide with the high peaks. I am impressed by many isolated communities in the remote fjords that are only accessible by boat. At one point, we pull into a small bay and drop off a single person, and as we’re pulling away, we see him paddle his sea kayak across the bay towards his homestead on the shoreline.
The next morning, we arrive at Puerto Chacabuco and take a couple buses to Coyhaique; I say goodbye to the Europeans, and then hitchhike my way back to Lago Atravesado where Ailén is waiting. I share a few mates and good conversation with Doña Ada, a neighbor who sometimes cleans and babysits at House Antarctica, and I am home.
1. My time at Lago Yelcho was easily the highlight of the trip! I loved working with my hands in the greenhouse, meditating on the shoreline, and going on day adventures. This reaffirms my long-standing philosophy of experiencing new regions with some form of meaningful labor and spending more time grounded in one place.
2. The sea lions in Valdivia awoke in me a latent animal magnetism! In recent years, I have mostly been following a fundamental fascination with land – mountains, streams, soils, trees – and forgot how powerful it can be to see wild animals! I’m really grateful I witnessed the Chilean woman at the fish market and the sea lion eating her fish heads. Zero food waste! No plastic involved!
3. I realized during this trip that I have developed in Patagonia an ability to be completely content in the moment without physical or mental activity. I've always enjoyed ‘flow activities’ (e.g. skiing, music, yoga, running, coding, thinking, gardening), but something about my time in Patagonia has taught me how to be still, silent, with a quiet mind.
