With Thelma and Louise on the Carretera Austral

After my final, home-cooked breakfast before the homey open fire in Caleta Gonzalo’s cozy cafe, I re-pack of my enormous sack – something at which I am now becoming adept. Leaving my cabaña for the last time I stumble across the rocky beach to welcome Lisi and Jane back onto dry land from their small boat from Reñihue. They are both American and they are accompanied by an affable Argentinian chap, called Rafa, and his wife (more of whom in a later blog). (Lisi, Jane and I first met briefly a few days ago on the ferry rides between where we are now and Puerto Montt – the origin of our Patagonian adventure.) With some trepidation I am about to embark on a journey into the unknown with two people I hardly know,  for several days within the tight confines of a Nissan X-Trail 4WD.

Caleta Gonzalo cabanas

Caleto Gonzalo cafe, with a garden of native plants

Carlo and his wife

I splutter Spanish goodbyes to Carlo and his lovely wife – the king and queen of Caleta Gonzalo and, together with Lisi and Jane, depart the fairytale settlement aiming south on the single-lane, gravel (ripio) Carretera Austral (also the southern end of the trans-continental Pan-American Highway). It’s a bright, sunny day as we motor through the forest and mountains towards Chaitén. We stop briefly at the Chaitén volcano trail that I visited yesterday with Carlos to show them the devastation down-slope of the still steaming volcanic blister (see last blog). We also hop out at Chaitén town for quick pics of half-buried houses. We stop for petrol at the pleasant little village of El Amarillo, at the southern gate of Pumalin Park. Here, park people are working with local home-owners to spruce up their buildings to enhance the area’s tourism potential. At the smart, new grocery store we stock up with essential supplies – chocolate, crisps, biscuits, Pumalin park honey, walnuts and more chocolate – and continue on our journey. Beyond El Amarillo and the gates of Pumalin we enter uncharted territory – a strange new world, boldly going where none of us have gone before.

Route of Carretera Austral through Pumalin Park; panorama over Lago Rio Negro

El Amarillo house after aesthetic improvements

Volcan Michimahuida + ice cap, from El Amarillo, with typical Pumalin farm fencing

The first few hours are relatively easy driving, considering that the Carretera is a single-lane gravel road. The road runs relatively straight along the long, narrow valleys of the Rio Yelcho and the Rio Palena, skirting the Corcovado National Park and its eponymous, perfectly conical volcano. Corcovado National Park is the outcome of another inspirational Conservation Land Trust/ Tompkins project.

Crossing the Rio Yelcho

The snow-capped cordillera funnels us southwards as isolated farm shacks appear sporadically alongside the road to remind us that humanity still exists. Each farm occupies land that was beautiful Valdivian rainforest just a few short decades/ years ago as told by the remains of fallen timber giants and jagged stumps – some still blackened by clearance fires. Cows, horses and the odd sheep graze amongst the wooden debris. Some field boundaries are demarked by vertical sections of cut tree trunks implanted adjacently (are these fences or walls?). Occasionally pastures are returning, gradually, to forest, the hot oranges of the re-growing Chilean fire bush turning distant hillsides ablaze with botanical fire. Intermittently, and with decreasing frequency as we drive on, we happen upon small communities of timber buildings. With each passing mile we are heading ever deeper into the wilderness and I wonder, as usual, how people make a living along this gravel road.

Small village church along the Carretera

Travelling in forced proximity with strangers is a fascinating experiment in human relationships – remember the film Thelma and Louise? In our version of the celluloid story I guess, by default, that I must be the Brad Pitt character – a respectfully toned-down version I hasten to add! Initially our discussions are rather polite, even professional, focusing mainly on our independent Pumalin experiences over the past few days and our respective jobs. There are few awkward pauses in conversation though, which augers well for the future of this journey. Lisi is an ecological economist and I am keen to discover what one of these is – but not that keen – so we park that conversation for later. Lisi drives for the first few hours, with her thankfully vast experience of gravel road driving in Wyoming/ Montana. By the way, the winner of the self-made snack competition was Jane’s walnut and Pumalin Park honey combo! Heston Blumenthal eat your heart out!

After 165 km we reach Puyuhuapi – the largest village for hours, but with a population of only 500, located at the head of a long, sea fjord. Founded in 1935 by ethnic Germans, the village is (apparently) world famous for alfombras (carpets)! We don’t stop.

By now I’m driving. The Carretera Austral takes a turn for the worse and continues in that vein for the much of the rest of the day. After Puyuhuapi it contours and sinuates along the edge of the fjord, carved out of the cliff-face, single-laned, corrugated, pot-holed and with nothing to guard against the 100 foot drop to the sea below. In a matter of minutes we’ve gone from Thelma and Louise to the Top Gear Christmas special! It’s probably the most dangerous road I’ve ever driven on; there’s no warning of on-coming buses and lorries, but thankfully they arrive from nowhere only once every half an hour or so. We meet about four vehicles an hour and the occasional pairs of heavily-laden cyclists about to eat our dust! The lack of traffic has the effect of lulling one into a false sense of security. On one instance I glanced sideways, momentarily, at the map being read by Jane in the passenger seat only to be jerked back to reality by weird, voluminous animal noises emanating from back seat Lisi. Instinctively I looked up to have my vision filled by a looming Mercedes-Benz logo on the radiator grill of an on-coming truck. I braked and swerved into the edge as two lorries scraped past – we ate their dust! Lisi (Thelma) had been rendered speechless as she saw the scene unfolding and was only able to warn us through some primeaval, residual jungle tongue from the depths of her subconscious. Anyway, it did the trick.

With Thelma and Louise hanging on the edge of Puyuhuapi fjord

After a nerve-settling break we carried on for a few minutes, only for the car to hit loose gravel beyond the imprinted dusty tyre tracks down the centre of the road. I momentarily lost control as the car skidded on marble-like stones. Like Top Gear’s Clarkson, I steered into the skid as the superficially vegetated, sheer drop arrived in slow motion, through a cloud of road dust. Thankfully the Nissan had chosen its moment to lose control by the only crash barrier for hundreds of kilometres. We stopped within millimetres of it. Thelma, Louise and Brad breathed a collective sigh of relief, giggled nervously, and then rested our jangled nerves again.

The Carretera continues inland, gaining altitude, and we climb mountain sides via an endless series of hair-pin bends (or switchbacks if you’re American). Lots of minor skidding on the steep, gravelly bends, but we manage and have a long break at the pass on the tree-line surrounded by majestic peaks, knowing that descending the other side will only be worse. It is. But, again, we survive.

Mountain pass

It’s now getting late – the light is mellowing, the shadows lengthening, and I’m growing secretly anxious about negotiating this road in the dark. Then, out of nowhere, a short, black ribbon of tarmac appears, sporadically at first, then becoming continuous, and we motor along the curvaceous, new, empty road at (relatively) high speed, through river valleys carpeted with (introduced) purple lupins.

Lupins

Coyhaique (population 44,000) is the biggest town for hundreds of kilometres and is located in a mountain bowl. Lit by an orange setting sun as we approach, it’s a very welcome sight after 12 hours of gruelling driving. Our only thoughts are food and bed. Jane’s excellent urban map-reading finds our germanic bed and breakfast easily. We check in, go out, eat pizza, drink pisco sours, then sleep. We’ve got it all to come again tomorrow!

To be continued…