Chile to Argentina
The six-hour struggle in
high seas from the island of Chiloé back to the southern mainland of Chile had
been tedious. We arrived in darkness at a small cove. The ferryboat lowered its
ramp like a huge sigh, allowing a dozen cars and a lone Japanese girl on a
small motorcycle to drive off into the night. We made our way ashore in driving
rain and joined a group of foot-passengers huddled under a solitary quayside
lamp.
A
bedraggled teenage girl approached and touted us with an offer of accommodation.
We glanced briefly at her plastic book of wet photographs and hurriedly
accepted. A waiting van took us to her hospedaje
above a family laundry shop..
Welcome
to Chaitén – gateway to the Ruta Austral,
southern Chile.
Our
objective was to travel to the far end of Ruta Austral, to the small pioneer
hamlet of Villa O’Higgins, where the track was blocked from further travel by huge
mountains topped with ice fields, and glaciers that plunged into the sea. We
had heard a rumour that horses could be hired from O’Higgins to cross over the
Andes into Argentina. If that was so, then it was too good a challenge to
ignore.
But first we had almost 1,000 kilometres of narrow unpaved track ahead of us, along a narrow strip sandwiched between the mountains of the Andes and the Pacific Ocean. The route had been recently built by the Chilean corps of army engineers – an amazing feat comparable to that of the Alaskan Highway.
But first we had almost 1,000 kilometres of narrow unpaved track ahead of us, along a narrow strip sandwiched between the mountains of the Andes and the Pacific Ocean. The route had been recently built by the Chilean corps of army engineers – an amazing feat comparable to that of the Alaskan Highway.
It
took us eleven days to reach Villa O’Higgins, using various private minibuses
and trucks that ran unscheduled services between the sparse towns and villages.
The journey, over a packed gravel track, went through some of the most
spectacular and varied scenery in the world; past stunning mountains, hanging
glaciers, lakes and rain forests, and with frequent sightings of soaring condors.
Overnight accommodation was basic and often difficult to find.
The
further south we travelled, the colder and wetter it became. We befriended a
woman and her two children on the final minibus into the grey, soggy hamlet of
Villa O’Higgins. She confirmed that horses were occasionally available from the
Chilean border post on the far side of Lago
San Martín. She kindly offered to accommodate us for a few days whilst we
made enquiries.
O’Higgins
seemed an improbable Irish name to find in Chile, yet airports, streets, universities,
even naval ships, are named after him. Bernardo O’Higgins was the illegitimate
son of an Irishman, who, with José de San Martín, freed Chile from Spanish rule
in the Chilean War of Independence 1810-1821. His name has since been revered
as a famous son of Chile.
Chilean Farewell
Within
two days of arrival, we had made tentative arrangements to trek across the
Andes into Argentina. We were unsure what to expect, except that a truck would
call to collect us at 5 a.m.
It duly arrived and also stopped at other
lodgings around the village to collect an elderly French couple, a middle-aged
Chilean couple and an Argentinian girl.
It
was there that we found an ancient Chilean campesino
waiting with eight very suspect-looking horses, and two pack ponies. He spoke a
barely intelligible dialect of Spanish, and avoided conversation by busying
himself with sorting out a ragbag of questionable looking bridles and
saddles.
Although
none of our newly acquired international companions was skilled in
horsemanship, we at least had a common language of English with which to
communicate.
Our
journey across the Andean continental divide was cold and wet, but unimaginably
stimulating. We rode through forests and glacial streams on stout horses using
a motley collection of saddles ranging from English and Spanish to just a
sheepskin.
Ruta Austral |
Unfortunately, just one kilometre from the western end of Lage Deseado, the well-chewed rope bit on Jean’s horse gave way when it got into difficulty on a slippery 60-degree slope. Jean ended up going over the horse’s head with one foot trapped in the stirrup. Fortunately she suffered only a slightly sprained ankle, but horrendous bruising. She completed the trek on foot, which required wading through two glacial streams that had the effect of numbing the pain in her sprained ankle.
We
had aimed to arrive at the lakeside in time to catch a small launch, which
called once a week with supplies for the six-man military border control post.
The boat was not there; it had broken down and was awaiting spare parts.
The
army’s own boat was also out of action. We were stuck! No food, no tents, no
Argentinean money, but lots of camaraderie. We pooled what little food we had, set
up camp in a mountain refuge and made a damp smoky fire to keep warm from the
overnight snowstorm.
Meanwhile,
the army captain had radioed an S.O.S. to the nearest provincial government for
help. An inflatable rescue dingy was located at a mountaineer’s village at the
base of Mount Fitz Roy and hauled overnight to the other end of Lago Deseado.
Ouch! |
Its arrival the following
afternoon was a welcome sight. However, the drama was not yet over. Two-thirds
into our fifteen-kilometre journey across the choppy glacial lake, one of the
outboard engines failed. Silent prayers were said for the remaining engine
until we finally limped cold and wet into a deserted jetty.
Happiness is a bunkhouse
We arrived in darkness and promptly found a timber bunkhouse hostel,
complete with a roaring fire, hot showers and a nearby café selling pizzas. It proved to be a welcome retreat
to catch our breath for a couple of days, during which we planned the next stage of our journey - the 2,753 km journey north
through Patagonia to Buenos Aries.
A traveller's journey is ever onward.
Visit the itravelstories library for more travel talesYour Comments are always welcome
Roy and Jean,
ReplyDeleteI continue to admire your spirit of adventure and while you have not mentioned it, your readiness to face whatever unforeseen obstacles you meet. I guess this is the key criteria for any intrepid traveller. A great yarn, one that has me reaching for an atlas to attempt to orientate myself with the territory covered. Little mention, however, of the trials and tribulations of the ride other than Jean's tumble and near brush with disaster. What of possible saddle soreness or of bonding between man and beast during the ride? Looking forward to the next leg.
Nice blog!!Great information!!
ReplyDeleteSilent prayers were said for the remaining engine until we finally limped cold and wet into a deserted jetty. travel stories
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