A highway named Austral, a park named Pumalin

 

Leaving mighty Mt. Fitz Roy behind

 

 

I return to Ruta 40 following earlier stints further north on this glorified adventure highway which runs the length of Argentina. It takes me up most of the way to the crossing back into Chile. There's some sections of freshly laid gravel with little compaction which makes for a slow journey, the landscape is flat with little to see other than watching the guanacos scurry away as I approach and stopping to witness a condor circle above me.     

Within a couple of days later I was focusing on working my way up Chile's narrow corridor. My stint of hiking days on end may have taken a breather but there was so much more of those Patagonian forests to experience and the roads were about to get more interesting, more curves, more gravel and less wind.  It's a fascinating country geographically - it's thirteen times longer than it is wide, the Pacific stretches along its entire western frontier until it meets the Atlantic, the Andes soar to its east, the desert to its north is the driest place on earth yet cloudy and cool and the south is islands, mountains, glaciers, fjords, plains, lakes and pristine temperate rainforests. The beauty of the south resounds in the words of the national poet, Pablo Neruda - 'He who does not know the Chilean forests, does not know the planet'. If the variety is not enough the country is famously prone to natural disasters - it sits near an earthquake prone belt and is home to over 2,000 volcanoes, 48 of which have erupted in the last 100 years.

I'm sure I've written this one before, it's yet another Latin American country where the U.S supported a military coup. Within three years of Allende's democratically elected Marxist government coming to power in 1970 under a policy of nationalisation of industry it was overthrown by the armed forces and federal police with strong backing from the U.S. Nowadays, it's cleary the most progressive country in Latin America at face value. Things seem to work and move here, advice is more reliable, my pockets are full of unnecessary receipts and it's difficult to bargain with people. Hostel owners are more likely to walk with me down the street to a cheaper place rather than settle for my slightly lower suggested price.     

Naturally, it's also the most expensive country, for food, a campsite, a hostel bed and putting petrol in the tank. It still confuses me that a litre of beer and a litre of petrol are of similiar price. I've learnt to stock a bag with bread rolls which suprisingly stay edible for few days and go well with a glug of argentinian olive oil and a tomato or two.

I crossed back into Chile, maybe the fourth time now, from near the southern end of the Carretera Austral, that famed southern highway which was built by the military during the 70's and 80's to connect the isolated communities of southern Chile with the rest of country. I'm told that before this, there were very little people living down here, the extreme weather conditions even kept the indigenous away. With improved access, the government gave land away to those willing to maintain it in an attempt to encourage development and protect the country.  

I wish I had better photos but I clumsy left my camera atop my bags when I was filling up on my first day on the Austral, once I eventually realised I found it a couple hundred metres away crushed on the road, memory card still intact. I should have some footage from the video I'm putting together though. My ipod also stopped working that day and to top it off, I snapped my fishing rod in half when I tried to loosen the lure from a rock on an evening fish. I found a great secluded spot to camp by the river than clear night, gaining solace in my ideal surroundings.

I rode a 500km stretch of the highway for over a week along mainly unpaved, curvy roads through the steep mountains and thick forests, stopping at isloated villages and taking several ferries across a lake and through the majestic fjords. It's a quiet, adventurous road with very little traffic, mainly trucks, some cyclists, hitchhikers and the odd stop for roadworks. When a car passes, there's always a wave. On taking some back trails I find some untouched areas, perfect for fishing in the clear waters or to stop for lunch. I also found an interesting trout farm to visit.

 

 

I stopped in Chaiten one evening, a so called ghost town since the nearby volcano erupted six years ago and covered much of the town with a metre of ash, reaching the windowsills of homes. It's previous eruption was 9,000 years ago. The devastation occured after the second eruption, four days after the initial one well after the town, 20km's to the south, was safely evacuated. Chaiten remained unoccupied for two years until with permission, residents began returning. Six years on, the population is less than 20% of what it was. After camping at a friendly lady's front yard, I stocked up on supplies (bread, pasta, tomato paste, tuna, sardines, chocolate and nuts) and entered into the nearby Park Pumalin, a paradise of temperate rainforest which is home to Volcan Chaiten and another larger volcano along with stunning lakes, rivers and diverse flora. 



The Park was set up several years ago by Doug Tompkins' Conservation Trust - he's commonly known as the founder of 'The North Face' outdoor clothing label. His ambition is to protect the native area from logging, his larger focus is to protect and save vast areas of Patagonia, the world's last remaining wilderness. It's a brilliant park, truly beautiful. I hide away here for four days, having a campsite and most of the park to myself, getting to know some of the workers, feeding the birds, watching the rain fall for four continuous days and celebrating Sixto's first birthday with some cask wine. There was great trails to hidden waterfalls and lakes but the highlight was hiking up to the crater of Volcan Chaiten. It was quite an eerie and exciting experience, few of the trees are more than trunks but alot of the plants have re-grown. The foggy and misty weather made the track quite unclear so I needed to made deep footprints in the soils in order to trace my path back down, reminded of what happened when I last climbed a volcano solo in Nicaragua. I finally leave the rain behind and push north through some blisteringly cold and windy days of ferries and muddy roads, reaching Puerto Montt. Sadly, raw Patagonia disappearing behind me but I'll be back shortly I hope.