DAYS19-20 Achao, Castro CHILOE

Not being able to resist another view of penguins, I went with a tour organized by the hostel to visit both the Magellanic and Humboldt species in the same environs. According to the guide, this was the only location on earth where they cohabit together. The boat passed slowly while the penguins waddled about on a hilly, rocky piece of land not far from shore; their grace evident only when diving and swimming in the sea. Despite a few attempts to distinguish one type from the other I’m not sure I succeeded. But no matter, the coast is beautiful and it was a great way to see more of picturesque Chiloé.

I met Beth, originally from Newfoundland, on the tour and she decided to join me for a drive to Castro, stopping en route at an Artisanal market with familiar woolen products but a less expected discussion of Free Jazz with one of the vendors.

Castro, for me, was surprisingly picturesque with multi-colored homes along the water built on wooden stilts the palfitos. Many are in the process of being restored and the results are stunning. We stayed in a hostel of such a structure and a view from the window was one of a changing tide, boats of various sizes, black necked swans and other sea birds.

The following day we joined up with two others from the penguin tour: Nigel, a German, who lived on the Canary Islands for many years and Sanita from Latvia. All traveling individually, for a considerable time. Chiloé is renown for its wooden churches of Unesco status that provide people a place for prayer and a circuit to see these marvelous structures, often colorfully painted and providing the focal point of the many hamlets including on the Isla Quinchao.

Setting off to see these structures and to discover more of Chiloé, the day was filled with unexpected joys: dolphins jumping in front of us while we passed by ferry on to an even smaller island; witnessing a once a year religious festival complete with a procession of the locals carrying statues of saints, others beating drums or sang; enjoying the local cooking of barbecued meat, potatoes, and empanadas; learning what a choncho is by being brought directly to a large hog; eating sweet, delicious oysters with white wine (as the designated driver I sadly had to refrain) steps from the sea, and back in Castro a gourmet dinner of congrio, hake tempura, ceviche of three varieties, delectable dessert and regional wine with an apperitive of the Chile’s Pisco Sour rivaling a drink from Peru with the same name. Blue skies and warm weather completed a perfect day.

Day18
The freedom I enjoyed with the previous rental car was reason to take one again for my trip to the island of Chiloé. Driving out of Puerto Montt I asked a man for the way to the ferry and not unlike a previous request for directions, he offered to lead the way. It turned out he had assumed, as a tourist, that I wanted to go to the Chiloé market, not the ferry for Chiloé. It was a serendipitous mistake. I had a tasty lunch watching the fishing boats pass by and still plenty of time to arrive on the island before nightfall.

The ferry held about twenty vehicles including trucks, a lifeline to the mainland, and public bus. Once on the island, I didn’t know where I would be sleeping and drove along a dirt coastal road looking for a place I had read about, but signs were few. At low tide birds of many varieties were finding their fare and some boats rested on their sides. I offered an elderly man carrying an ungainly parcel of seaweed(?) a ride, until our paths diverged. Eventually the road I took led to a private property and retracing part of the way, thought it best to head into Ancud before sunset. Just before entering the center there was a restaurant posting tourist information. Inside I met Luis who spoke to me at length and suggested places to see, then directed me to a nearby hostel. Although he said it was highly rated, it exceeded my expectations and had clearly been created with love and care. Thirteen Lunes Hostel is a spacious wooden home with vistas, beautifully decorated rooms, hot showers and large comfortable beds with an ample breakfast included too.

That evening I dined on a modification of a traditional dish of Curanto, usually meats and seafood cooked in the ground. Seeing the size of a single serving ample for a family of four I opted soley on the seafood which included mussels the size of my hand, but were remarkably tender and sweet. After finishing this succulent meal I discovered to my dismay that I had left my money back at the hostel. The owner, who was happy to practice his English, offered to drive me there. The rainy night and small scale San Franciscan terrain made my return that evening quicker than I had intended, with no regrets. It had been a long day.

My plans for a boat trip to yet another colony of penguins were set for the morning.

Day 17 Puerto Montt, according to the guide books, is best suited as a transit point, but a walk just outside the center offered a lilliputian market with a labyrinth of artisans shops and restaurants. I ate a plate of fresh caught fish piled high with salad and potatoes in a tiny eatery while enjoying the local flavor of both diners and cooks alike. A number of the shops had women knitting sweaters, scarfs and slippers from wool; I spoke at length with a cheese vendor curious about the time and cost of a flight from the States while offering me a taste of “queso del campo” a mild cow’s milk cheese and a stronger variety too. There was a jewelry maker who transformed recycled copper and metal pipes into original, beautiful rings and pendants. He introduced me to his friend with a small shop just steps away who, blind since birth, hand crafted exquisite sea worthy ships to scale, complete with sails.

A short walk further along the shore brought me to small covered motor boat used to transport any one of the 200 inhabitants of a tiny island to the main land. My entrancement must have been obvious; the driver invited me on board to share the short passage which gave me a chance to learn a little of this tiny piece of land.

I eventually made it back to the hotel, stopping to chat with a few more locals as I made my way.

Dec 2-5 DAYS 14-16 The Eden is a very large, Japanese built cargo ship owned by the company Navimag. Apparently the increasing desire for travelers to use this means of transportation has encouraged them to accommodate us. The passage is not cheap and what I thought would be primarily a ship of backpackers was instead mostly older decently-heeled couples traveling in cabins, some with private baths.
My cabin had three berths and I was pleased to discover my roommates were from Spain giving me more opportunity to practice my Spanish which they graciously obliged.
We settled in to our small quarters and managed, somehow, to never be in each others way-not always an easy feat given the compromised square footage of our room which contained a closet for two, a sink, one set of bunk beds and a single bed about three feet away. There were no windows, but the room was cozy, the beds comfortable and overall we slept well,learning that a shoe lodged in the doorway at night provided some cooler air.

The staff did their best to insure the passengers were entertained offering a lecture and several films per day. The extremely violent horror and action films that played seemed to be incongruous to our tastes and not many people partook in this activity except for a few young children who seemed particularly engaged. Our last night on board we played a fiercely competitive game of BINGO.

The food was far better than I could have hoped for and the meals were a kind of on going game of musical chairs giving us all a chance to chat with others, if we were so inclined.

The deck provided a place to see the fiords and if lucky, I wasn’t, a place to spot a whale, dolphins, and seals. The sky and winds were fickle.  One moment was  warm and sunny, the next almost too rainy and windy to bare. The cattle packed tight in open cars on a deck below was an unsettling sight, and emitting a smell incongruous with the sweet open air. But for the human passengers, the voyage passed quickly and easily except one rough day when some of us kept plastic bags within arms reach, just in case.

Soon we were wishing each other well as we head off in a multitude of directions having arrived in Puerto Montt the following day.

DAY 13 PUERTO NATALES
I had booked a passage on the NAVIMAG Cargo ship leaving from Puerto Natales and I was to be on board that evening. Waking up at the Refugio Grey meant the ship was still a distance away. Taking the12:30 Catamaran back to my car, was what I was hoping for. My sore muscles from the ride were pretty much healed but I didn’t want to take any chances missing my boat. I was out of the lodge by 6:10am. More than six hours was surely going to be enough time even if I had to take it slowly. People were talking about the fierce winds and rain that were scheduled for that day. Coming through that path the day before, I knew I had some hands-on scrambling up boulders and a steep path, that was more like a small waterfall, to maneuver.

I headed out in rain gear with my trusty walking stick towards the Catamaran dock,11kms away. This time I too was focused on a destination and was grateful for the time I had spent the day before admiring all the beauty. With rain, wind, the path and time to consider, my focus was on taking care across the rough patches of terrain.

The wind was strong, and at my back but a fierce gust was enough to knock someone off their feet. Fortunately my footing was more assured, as if the last two days were trial runs for the hike today. My primary concern was the gale winds up at the overlooks when their forces were not buffeted by rocks or trees.

It’s fairly instinctual to hunker down, if one gets caught in a gust, but the instructions from the park employees solidified the technique in my mind.

And then there I was on the overlook hunkering down as low as I could go as the fierce winds almost kept me at bay. My stick helped me considerably in being able to move forward, but it’s not as if I had a choice.

Getting across that overlook was one of my most challenging moments and if I had been with someone I would have been certain that I couldn’t managed it alone.

The winds behind my back continued to nudge me along and much to my surprise I arrived back at the lodge at 9:20, in time to catch a 10am Catamaran. I offered a ride out of the park to three pals traveling together from the USA. My early arrival gave me time in Puerto Natales to organize my affairs, do some writing and have a nice dinner with a woman I had met the day before.

At 9pm I was boarding the cargo ship Navimag where I will spend the next 4 days.

DAY 12 REFUGIO GREY
With the new day and my body well rested, I started out for Refugio Grey. It was 11kms away, but I had booked a bed with full board so I carried the least possible in my day pack. The wind is a constant presence in Patagonia and in this area it is particularly acute. I found a large walking stick, a remnant of some unknown tree, and headed slowly but surely to my sleeping place for the night.

I had given myself the better part of the day to arrive and with the sun up until 10pm there was no need to rush. The persistent headwinds made a quick ramble difficult anyway and some of the paths required rock scrambling, but the way was well marked and for the most part fairly easy to manage. The stick proved to be a faithful companion. About 4kms into the walk I got my first glimpse of a massive glacier in the distance, but small ice floes had already arrived in the lake below.

Since arriving at the refugio the day before, my encounters with other foreigners was no longer unusual. This was the multi-national land of hikers with mostly european origin. Many hiked in line while their walking poles moved along side in synchronization like the wheels of locomotive trains. The pace was often rapid and their gaze ahead indicated a purpose of stride like an efficient machine.

When I arrived at the refugio grey, I was tired but content. This refugio is smaller in scale than refugio grand paine and decorated with wood and care. After a brief rest, I walked up to the massive glacier grey, face to face.

DAY 11 Refugio Grande Paine

Feeling refreshed from a good sleep and breakfast I planned to take the Catamaran which connects Lago Pehoe to a part of the “W” or main hiking trail of the park. One can reserve a bed, with or without sheets, and blankets in a few of the refugios in the park conveniently offering an alternative to hike the trails with all ones gear.
I made the boat, just barely, having misread the schedule and I ran up to the boat as the only traveler pulling a bag with wheels. The Catamaran was packed with hikers making their way to this part of the circuit all carrying back packs. The incongruence of my traveling gear amongst theirs gave me a chuckle. If the staff was equally amused they never let on, but I think I was the only one whose bag they loaded on and off the boat.

The Refugio Grande Paine is a large, carefully designed building that blends fairly unobtrusively into its environment and houses a dining area, bar, and numerous dormitory style beds.

As a part of the “W,” there is a hike of 14kms. I thought I would give it a try, but after my arduous ride the day before, my muscles were disinclined toward any major efforts.There are many hikes in my past where the pace lent itself to my looking mostly at my feet, but today because of my slow pace, I took in the sights that I would have likely passed by. About 6kms was all I could manage, but wildflowers, the exquisite silver bark of trees burnt in a fire some years back, numerous birds serenading me from branches just an arm length way, and the magnificent lake that dodged in and out of view was a wondrous reward for my efforts. Although I had not made it to my proposed destination, the riches of the day far outweighed any feelings of disappointment. On the contrary it was a reminder of what we often miss out on when the end supersedes the journey in importance.

DAY 10 continued

After leaving los boqueanos, I made my way to what I thought was the road for Lago Pehoe camping, but turned off the main road too quickly and found my way at a dead end. Fortunately no road in this park is without its merits and I found myself in awe of the magnificent vistas of mountains, sky, boulders, condors, and an unexpected cattle ranch at the end. As lovely as the area was, there was no camping available except inside a bare and not very inviting structure designed to house those in need with a roof and floor but nothing more. I decided to retrace my steps and drive another 1.5 hours. Seeing the same views twice however is virtually impossible. The sky is constantly changing and with it the light and landscape.

After my various peregrinations around the park, some anticipated and others not, the gas in my car was running low. However filling my car in the park was deemed, after several inquiries, virtually impossible and most suggested that I head back the two hours to Porto Natales and then return. This option did not appeal to me.

On my way to the camping, taking my chances, and figuring something was likely to come my way, as I watched the gas gauge dipping closer to empty, I stopped at a lovely little hotel with a magnificent view. I couldn’t help but ask, once again, about some gas. There was a young man at the reception and after my inquiry he turned to an older gentleman who was standing less than a foot away. In minutes I was following him to my car where he brought over 10 liters of gas and at a fair price I was again on my way.

My decision to carry on to the camping at Lago Pehoe had paid off. I found myself along another beautiful lake at a very well maintained camping area with hot showers, an excellent restaurant, extremely kind, helpful staff and where I happily settled in after a long day.

DAY 10  The stars that night filled the sky. I slept well.
When I came in the next morning, I was offered some biscuits and coffee for breakfast and told to be ready for my ride at 9am. Then I watched as effectively used lassos encouraged a few reluctant horses to leave their corral.
About six horses were already tacked up and I disappointingly envisioned being joined by tourists, but soon two baqueanos and I set off on our own. They had asked me if I knew how to ride and I said yes.
We began cantering across the land. I anticipated the typical, scenic ride to a lake in the distance. But we started moving along at a good pace over rough ground and our direction changed. There were steep embankments to manage, streams that the horses either jumped over or ran through and terrain that included high brush on the plain. The exact paths we took were now our own and the baqueanos only turned once or twice to see if I was still there. About an hour later we arrived at another horse ranch. They dismounted, unsaddled their horses and led them to a corral. I was offered some water which I was happy to have. I was already warm and thirsty from the ride. They disappeared a short while, but soon they were on new mounts. I returned to my horse and we were on our way. But this time they had brought along fifteen horses, unbridled and free. I, out of habit, thought it best to follow behind as one does with a guide, but was told to get on the other side of this small herd. Watching numerous westerns in the past, it didn’t take long to realize that I was being asked to assist them in a round-up; to bring these horses home. Within minutes I was chasing the strays, then galloping alongside them until they were amongst the herd. This continued on until we arrived back at the ranch. The job was done. The only word directed my way was “bueno,” until I was invited to lunch. Fed, exhausted and exhilarated, I packed my things, said goodbye and headed to camp at a lake not far away. I drove away knowing that I had just experienced the most memorable ride of my life and an extraordinary two days with los baqueanos.

DAY 9
I was hoping to do some riding in Torres del Paine. My new friend Victor suggested los baqueanos (the cowboys) who lived and worked about a two hour drive away. He had given me a hefty care package of food for his buddies, so when I showed up at the farm with no one there I felt obligated to wait for their return. Fortunately there was an exquisite resort nearby, with an extremely kind manager who was sympathetic to my predicament; it is there I passed the time. About 4 hours later, los baqueanos returned. They had just spent a long day tagging untold numbers of sheep, and entertaining a stranger did not seem to be foremost in their desires. But they welcomed me into their home and asked me in Spanish, “Where are you from?” The fact that a woman traveling alone from New York City happened upon their doorstep, as a friend of a friend, elicited no further questions. The home contained a wood burning stove to keep them warm, cook the meals and keep a kettle of water hot for their maté. Their attire spoke of a long tradition: beret, boots, baggy pants, neck scarf and three belts. One belt, closest to the body, was worn for the usual reasons, the second, a long band of woven cloth was wrapped around the waist several times and held a knife, the outermost belt was for ornamentation, wide and handcrafted with leather and silver. Every inch of them exuded machismo. Yet they were completely enthralled by a sappy romantic soap opera on TV. We sat in the living room/kitchen eating a simple, but tasty-for me, thanksgiving dinner- meal of meat and pasta. Their horses, dogs, and cat were not far from the door, and neither were the hawks, condors, rheas, rabbits, sheep and guanacos.
I left shortly after dinner to set up my tent outback and left them sipping their tea. Riding would have to wait until the following day. The stars filled the sky. I slept well.