Pumalin Park, Patagonia. Part 2: Volcano

We drive then clamber through a forest of skeletons to reach ground zero: flattened trees, decapitated trunks, all-consuming silver-grey ash and rock debris, with a seething mountainous blister backdrop – the Chaitén volcano. Its steam and pervasive eggy smell foretell a still angry volcano god, but scientists assert he is gradually calming down after his 2008 eruption that affected life in this part of the world so much. I’ve never seen anything like this before and struggle, in awe, to imagine what it must have been like here meeting the catastrophic force with the power to snap a four-foot tree trunk like a corn stem.

On the Carretera Austral approaching the forest of skeletons in the distance

Volcan Chaiten steaming angrily in the background

This vista and the drive to get here reinforces in my mind that Patagonian Chile is a geological contortion of immense proportions – a union of geo-forces that contrive a unique landscape – tectonics, volcanoes, wind, rain, sea, ice and snow, and biology. It’s raw, wild, isolated, and spectacular and the people who live here remain at the mercy of these elements, despite their attempts to civilize the land.

Return of the Nalca

Back by the blister in the forest of skeletons, we walk along the new trail being developed by Carlos’ team that will eventually take hikers to the edge of the rusty, steaming dome above us. Among the grey ash and white wooden bones, patches of green re-affirm nature’s own restorative powers without the need for our helping hand. A fern here, a fuchsia there and, most surprisingly to my Cornish garden eyes, gunneras everywhere. Gunneras, iconic garden plants of the country homes of the Cornish gentry, are sprouting everywhere. In Chile they’re called nalcas and there’s a range of different species. Here their leaf stalks used to be eaten in salads or made into marmalades. 

The Chaitén eruption forced the closure of the popular southern part of Pumalin Park for three years as roads were blocked for miles with fallen trees and assorted mineral debris. They have only very recently been re-opened and Carlos is hoping that this summer will see visitor numbers increase. After motoring through forests shadowed by ice-capped mountains and passing reflective lakes, we arrived at the beautifully-appointed El Volcáns camp-site on the flat valley floor of the Rio Rayas, which has just been restored to its former glory after the eruption. It was originally built on a site devastated by poor forestry practices; now, the new buildings and camp-site shelters continue the Pumalin design tradition that I am coming to expect. The camp-site will re-open in the next few days

The regional town of Chaitén was almost erased from the map as the eruption smothered buildings and roads under several feet of volcanic ash, transforming the local geography. The authorities did a sterling job evacuating the population – apparently no-one died – but in the aftermath wrote the town off. Today, over three years since the earth burped, the local geography remains transformed: the beautiful bay is now a new delta of volcanic debris, the town’s river sports the skeleton of a fragmented timber building and many others remain half buried with grey ash. Rows of empty homes and businesses tell that many residents did not return; those that did seem to be slowly turning the volcanic tide. Tourist accommodation is increasing, reflecting the main economic driver based on the surrounding natural splendour. And all the time, the volcano, one of three in the immediate vicinity, steams ominously to the north at the head of its eponymous valley.

Another skeleton forest - view from the back

El Amarillo is a small, roadside village at the south entrance to Pumalin Park, where we stop for lunch. Then Carlos, Irwin – the head of this sector of the park – and I head up the valley to hike a new trail being constructed to an old camp site. Irwin and Carlos are evidently used to this kind of uphill hiking thing as the distance between them and me gradually lengthens, making me feel like I’m walking backwards – I use the excuse that I keep stopping for photos! The trail up is beautiful and courses by the side of the fast-flowing, turquoise Rio Amarillo. As we increase in altitude through the forest, volcanic ash grades from a light dusting to a two-foot coating and the trees around us turn from vibrant spring leaves to silver-grey standing dead – the day’s second skeleton forest. We are a few miles southwest of the Chaitén volcano, but it’s hidden behind an intervening mountain. However, we do have spectacular views of its larger volcanic neighbour, Volcán Michimahuida, with its permanent ice cap and tumbling glaciers. Michimahuida is less explosive that its recently eruptive companion as its more fluid basaltic lava flows rather than explodes; it is this black rock that the river is slowly eroding.

We reach the top of the hill, in the middle of a post-apocalyptic volcanic wasteland, to suddenly happen upon a surprisingly fresh, green field. My first (speechless) reaction is ‘golf course’ – incongruous as it appears, until Irwin explains that this is a very recently restored camp site that was inundated under metre of ash when Chaitén let rip. His team has just finished removing and leveling the ash and planting new grass. They intend it to be open for the first time in three years within a fortnight.

View from the restored camp site: Volcan Michimahuida and one of its glaciers

Gulley in place of the original path

The path we have just walked up is also the way down; however, Irwin is keen to show us the old path that is no longer usable after the damage inflicted by Chaitén. We pick our way through an arboreal obstacle course of fallen trees and use thin trunks as improvised bridges to cross four metre deep, blackened gullies where the path once ran. Quite exciting but, darn it, I just can’t keep up with those boys!

Hidden path

A couple of hours later after a quick drive back, I am in Pumalin’s excellent Caleta Gonzalo café. Carlo and his wife, as usual, serve me scrumptious, home-cooked, local food. It’s getting dark outside and will be a much cooler night than of late. The local ferry has just broken down causing a queue of waiting vehicles up the slipway. Their occupants – people of all ages – are huddling around the welcoming, crackling wood fire in the corner of the café so, for once, I am not eating alone.

Last night: Renihue Fjord from Caleta Gonzalo

Tonight is my last night in Pumalin Park. Tomorrow I venture south on a long road trip along the Carretera Austral with two people I don’t know, for several days of who knows what experiences in the wild wilderness of Patagonia. Bring it on!