Carlos
and I rode 70km of tough ripio from Rio Tranquilo. We encountered hard climbing
the whole day—very steep rolling hills. In the first few hours we faced a tough
headwind, then a tough crosswind. We ran into Martin, the fellow from Uruguay,
and he had a girl on the back of his moto, and they got off and stopped and we
all greeted one another in the wind and then split in opposite directions.
There were some very rough sections of washboard. And when there wasn’t
washboard, there were very steep climbs and rough descents. The sun was strong
most of the day and I took off and put on layers several times during the day.
Lago Carrera was a deep and troubled blue. Then a steep climb and descent to
Lago Bertrand, a town on a lake resembling the Swiss Alps. We inquired of a man
for camping and he was bitter and we walked away. We found free camping on the
lake and armed the tents. Then off to the nearby almacen for pasta, tomato
sauce, dulce de leche, and a dozen eggs, then down the street to a woman’s home
for bread. We cooked pasta with 4 eggs, tomato sauce, then bread. We drank
yerba mate and the whole affair was satisfying in the cold wind. The tent did
well in the wind. I was finally able to temper the stove and it was able to
simmer pasta and then cook the eggs with the full pot of pasta without burning
the food. I am very happy with the stove.
Puerto
Bertrand was a beautiful town, very still. There was a new school but no
students. There were a few fishing boats on the dock but no fishermen.
It
rained very hard during the night and until 11 the next morning. When the rain subsided, we
bought three large breads from one almacen after ringing the bell for several
minutes. We filled water from the hose at the almacen and then set off at about
1 in the afternoon. Time was short, but it had been raining in the morning and
was very cold.
It
would be 50km to Cochrane, the last large town (3000 inhabitants) on the
Carretera Austral.
It
was a very tough day of steep, rolling hills. One very steep descent in
particular, normally something I have had good luck with, was so deeply
washboarded that I had to use the brakes. I feared all racks and bike parts would fail, and the large
water bottle popped out twice. I used the brakes heavily and the hands cramped
on the descents. I am very happy I had replaced the brake pads earlier.
There
was a beautiful confluence of Rio Chacobuco and Rio Baker below a steep climb.
The rivers had cut deep gorges into the mountain which had been softened by
thousands of years of glaciers, although an angrier and taller mountain stood
in the distance, snowcapped and furious. As I ascended I noticed a group of
animals in the road. There were no farms anywhere nearby and no cattle would be
seen on such steep ascents. They were too small to be horses.
The
guanacos did not move at first as I slowly approached. They stared at me, they
consulted among their colleagues, and as I reached within 10 meters of their
congregation, the lead guanaco advised the collective to move to the steep
grassy roadside, where they perched at and angle to gaze at me. They remained
in a tight pack, although I spotted a smaller guanaco scampering far above the
herd. I looked down into the steep gorge and I saw emerald blue water moving
past the dark brown granite. There was still a long stretch of mountain to
climb. If I wanted to pass through to Argentina now, I would have to turn
back and find the road to the mountain pass. I wasn’t paying attention as I
rode. The goal was to reach Cochrane, but the goal was also to contemplate an
earlier mountain pass to Argentina.
I had to opportunities before O’Higgins: Los Antinguos at Chile Chico, now long
in the distance, or Paso Roballo, to the East.
We
had rested earlier that day at the midway point, about 25km in to the steep
ride, to eat ducle de leche and pan in the sun and the wind. We had just passed
a museum for pioneers, but it was closed for the season.
On
one section of a climb, a very steep ascent with stone-covered, loose ripio,
Carlos and I walked the bikes for the first 50 meters. I had been able to clear
similarly steep ascents in the past with similarly bad ripio, but this ascent
took me by surprise, as I thought we had the tough climbing behind us. I didn’t
want to risk a knee injury—it was impossible to gain traction out of the saddle,
and seated, the cadence was too slow, the effort so intense that it wasn’t
worth blowing out a knee for 50 meters.
We
arrived at Cochrane at around 7:15 and it was already cold and getting dark and
inquired with a woman about camping, and she gave directions to a hospedeja. No
one was at the hospedeja to answer, so we went across to a market, where the
woman told us to knock on a white house. The old woman told us 6000 pesos for a
bed with the ability to use the kitchen. We continued on, inquiring in the
street, until we reached a home with both alojamiento and camping. It was 3000
for the camping, with hot water, kitchen with gas, and outdoor light. A
Siberian Husky, Aro—short for Arogante—had dug his hole near the kitchen and
slept near us all.
After
I set up my tent and changed into dryer, wool clothes, Carlos and I walked to a
bus that had been converted into an empanadaria, and ate two fried turkey empanadas
with queso and free papas fritas and a cup of hot tea. The interior was warmed
by a wood stove and Carlos and I spoke with the woman who owned the empanadaria
and she had been in Cochrane since 1985 coming from just South of Santiago. The
Carretera Austral had just been completed in Cochrane in 1985—before, access
was by boat, or by a passenger pane that served 5 (for professors, doctors,
those with money).
In
the first year the Carretera Austral there was a great snowstorm that covered
the roads in a meter of snow. Coyhaique was declared a disaster zone but
Cochrane didn’t have enough inhabitants for there to be a disaster.
She
said the people south of Puerto
Mont are lazy, addicted to
paternalism of the government. Money from government projects flood the areas
and many local women pass the day watching television and hardly working. Few
businesses are open before ten. Those on government assistance don’t even pay
their electricity bills. They arrive, make excuses, fill out forms, and are
excused. The men are too macho. The women do all the work in the house—the
macho men live only for their yerba mate at the beginning and end of the day.
I
didn’t like the part about the government hand outs but the part about the
yerba mate made great sense to me. It seemed like a good goal at the beginning
and end of each day. I didn’t care about the politics or the work ethic of the
businesses. The wilderness is important here.
All
around Carretera Austral there are signs and graffiti: Patagonia Sin Represas,
Patagonia Without Damns. It is a campaign against damning the rivers to create
a large hydroelectric project, most of the electricity which would go to
industrial purposes. The American founder of the clothing company Patagonia,
who owns millions of acres in northern Patagonia,
sponsors many of the billboards against the hydroelectric project.
Nearly
all the locals I speak with support paving the Carretera Austral. What is
beautiful suffering for some simply means to others danger and wear and tear on
their autos. It makes it tough for the ambulances, if there are any. Pavement
will bring an influx of tourism and development.
At the rate development is going, in 3 years, pavement and
pollution and tourist devilment will spoil what can now be seen from the road. You will be able to hike and still see the wilderness, but the pavement and the roadside pollution and the cabanas and the supermarkets and fences will ruin what is now a rare thing: seeing wilderness from the roadside.
How many places still strike a man with both wonder and great solitude?
When I see such a place I do not want to pave to roads and damn the rivers. I
don’t understand the men who want to pave to roads and damn the rivers.
There
may not be much time to explore the Carretera Austral in its current state. 13
years ago it was incredibly raw. You could ride your horse from Puerto Mont to Villa O'Higgins. Now most of it is still raw. But they are widening the roads, they are paving other sections. There is a thirst to pave ever last section, to fence off every last piece of land. Soon it will grow
tamer. There will be less wonder. It will be one less place to strike a man with wonder, to inspire him, to shock a man back into a primitive state.
Out here the matrix is a joke--the rat race seems a horribly sad and foolish path men have taken. Yet to be away from it all creates a certain rage in such men. They want to have it all. They want to kill what wonder remains.
I only think about such things as I sit and am off the road and write in this cybercafe in a town of 3000 in southern Chile. I will be back to the wonder tomorrow, to the climbing and descending and rain and streams and rivers and lakes and lagoons and glaciers and guanacos. But I come from the West and I'm not stupid and I know what men do to such lands. May the gods strike down the men who wish to destroy the remaining wonder.
Aro, short for "arogante," the Siberian.
