With Thelma and Louise on the Carretera Austral (continued)

Apologies for taking so long posting the second part of this journey along the Carretera Austral.

After a fine breakfast in our Germanic bed and breakfast in Coyhaique, we venture into the town centre to acquire provisions for the next part of our Carretera Austral adventure deeper into Patagonian Chile.



Downtown Coyhaique

This bustling town is the largest for hundreds of kilometres (population 45,000 and growing). There’s a lot going on on this island of civilisation surrounded by seemingly endless emptiness. Coyhaique was founded in 1929 and is now the equivalent of Keswick in the English Lake District, with its abundance of outdoor/ mountain sports shops. The Carretera Austral, pushed through this area in the 1980s, has driven the development of the town.

We find the supermarket and stock up on feel-good essentials like biscuits and Christmas cake for the long days ahead. Lisi buys a spare petrol can as petrol stations will be very few and very, very far between and there is no guarantee that they will have any fuel when you arrive.

Setting off, we head south through denuded, pastoral terrain. The new, black-topped road glides us smoothly through empty panoramas. Volcanic bluffs intimate a violent past, with lurid green layers sandwiched between darker basalts, or sub-vertical, dark basalt columns reminiscent of the Northern Irelands Giant’s Causeway. Burnt orange and brown geological contortions contrast with the purity of the perfect blue sky and blinding snowfields as we motor through the Cerro Castillo National Reserve. Over the mountain pass, the still tarmacked road winds downhill with breathtaking views of impossible peaks and distant ranges.

Why the green layer? Answers on a postcard please.

Reserva Nacional Cerro Castillo

Cerro Castillo

Chilean Firebush

Eventually the black road ends and we are back on the familiar, rattling ripio for the rest of our journey, paralleling the Rio Ibáñez as it networks along its broad, flat valley floor. The standing and fallen silver timber dead extensively tell of great fires, logging and over-grazing reducing the valley to a meagre forest patchwork at best; the arboreal blanket of Patagonia has been laid threadbare over huge areas and its regrowth is hindered by repeated burning and over-grazing – it’s like this for hundreds and hundreds of miles. The forest is returning sporadically in some areas – maybe the fundo (farm) has closed – but it’s not yet enough to make a substantial difference. The occasional hardy cow grazes its way through the tragedy, oblivious.

We stop every few minutes for yet more photographs of yet more mountains. I already have hundreds (– it takes ages to pick the ones to include in this blog!). The benefits of driving yourself, compared to being in a bus or train, is that you can stop when and where you want for pictures, or for any other reason. And the joy of travelling with others who become friends, especially in the wilderness, enhances the experience and relieves you from the unsettling discovery of how boring you really are.

Rising through the valley of the Rio Cajon we approach an apparently impenetrable mountain wall of rock and glaciers. The Carretera skirts it, taking a sharp left down the densely forested valley of the Rio Murta to the shores of the Lago General Carrera. The lake straddles the border with Argentina, where it is called the Lagos Buenos Aires, and is the second largest lake in South America at 2,240 km2. The turquoise lake is squeezed between mountains, and the Carretera is squeezed even more tightly between the mountains and the shore. Every few minutes, from the seat behind me where Lisi (Thelma) is sitting, I hear a quiet, private gasp – usually containing an expletive or two – at the unfolding geographical drama enveloping us; it’s a sensory overload and it’s only going to increase.

We stop at the tiny village of Puerto Rio Tranquilo for lunch, entering a small café-shop for the empanadas (the South American equivalent of the Cornish pasty) it advertises outside. At the side of the room, otherwise filled with tables and small chairs, is a large chest freezer dribbling with blood – like a scene from a video nasty – as a lady butchers a sheep atop it. Gruesome, but at least the meaty empanadas should be fresh!

Lisi/Thelma and the Rio Baker

Back on the road we hug the lake shore south, glimpsing to the west the high peaks and glaciers bleeding from the Campo de Hielo Norte – the Northern Ice Field. Leaving the lake behind we trace the course of the Rio Baker – a deep turquoise, awesome river – its barely rippling, shimmering surface belying the power beneath. It’s the most voluminous river in Chile and we follow it for miles as it cuts through mountains like lava through ice.      

The elements of geographic beauty that forge such a majestic, natural spectacle are the same elements that conspire to make this river an ideal location for hydroelectric power. The Rio Baker is ear-marked to be tamed in Chile’s largest ever hydroelectric power scheme. And, despite the lack of people in the area, there is graffiti and posters on every turn proclaiming ¡Patagonia SinRepresas! (Patagonia Without Dams!). Personally, I believe the future value in these landscapes has to be in their unique, untrammeled, natural beauty and our aspirations of wilderness – that we all need to know that wild places exist as part of our human condition. A vocal pressure group, with some impressive backers, is determined to prevent the taming of the river in this way. And good luck to ‘em!

Is this the right place for a massive hydroelectric scheme?

Narrow artery through the Valle Chacabuco

This southern extremity of the Carretera Austral is really deserted; we see probably one other car every 30 minutes. The directions to our destination in the Valle Chacabuco are open to interpretation; we take the dirt road turning that “feels right” and then immerse ourselves into the wild end of wilderness. After some minor stressing we agree to give ourselves 8 km to achieve our goal, but we don’t really know what we are looking for! The gravel road narrows and a grass strip gradually emerges between its tyre grooves indicating the lack of traffic. A weird-looking creature – like a camel-sheep chimera or one half of Dr. Dolittle’s Pushmi-pullyu – appears in a small herd, lying in the road. Jane informs us that it’s a guanaco – a relative of the llama. It seems nonplussed, if not disdainful at our presence; but we’ll get used to their superiority complex over the next few days. Just as we feel that we are getting lost in the wilderness, a fully laden four wheel drive hurtles towards us trailing a cloud of yellow dust. The driver responds to our garbled Spanish request for directions with a pointed finger and grunts that we are virtually there. We carry on a few hundred metres to happen upon a complex of the most unexpected architecture and activity among the poplar trees (– characteristic non-native trees introduced by pioneering farmers during the 20th century as windbreaks around their estancias). We finally arrive at the Lodge of Estancia Chacabuco where we are met by a blue-eyed, blond, American lady called Kate, which serves to disorientate us still further. We are at the heart of Conservacion Patagonica’s future Patagonia National Park, and our bewilderment is only going to increase over the next few days. Story of my life!

A pushmi-pullyu too far!