Dec10 DAY 22 Tenaún

Beth left in the afternoon for a boat heading south and I needed to plan the next leg of my trip. All that was certain was my contentment to spend another night in Tenaún. My next step was not an obvious one. I was hoping to get to a small village, Raul Marin Balmaceda, across the Gulf of Corcovado but the price of bringing the rental car over and back was prohibitive and space on the next ferry already full anyway. There was also the option of taking the car back to Puerto Montt, returning by bus to the south of Chiloé then taking a ferry from Quellón to Raul Marin-but this idea did not particularly please me.
For the moment I thought it best to take advantage of the day. I took a walk through this charming village of one main street, a restaurant which was closed, three shops, some homes and the church, dwarfing the other structures, with blue stars to mark the exterior. The sound of the sea was ever present. Continuing onto a road that rose high above with a view of the islands, I espied the cows and sheep and they espied me. After my walk, I took a pause to enjoy the sun and write at a table outside the shop where I had bought a drink. The owner came out, a short time later, offering me a piece of homemade “kuchen”(cake) and it wasn’t long before an elderly man came by to join me. He was a long time resident and poet; together we enjoyed some conversation and the warmth of the day.

Returning to the hospedaje with my traveling plans still unsettled, I was offered an unexpected solution. A lovely Austrian couple proposed to travel together the next two days then taking the car back to Puerto Montt while I unencumbered could reserve a place on the ship from Quellon. In addition, a Chilean couple staying at our hospedaje contacted some friends in Raul Marin and organized my stay.

Dec 9 DAYS 21 Tenaún, CHILOE

Beth, Nigel and I headed off to Tenaún with the hopes of visiting the Isla Mechuque. The windy, hilly, sometimes dirt roads side along pastures of cows, sheep, the ever changing sky, views of the nearby waters and the ubiquitous dogs who vary in their earnestness to chase the vehicles passing by. Frequent signs of Tsunami evacuation routes are unnecessary reminders of our proximity to the sea.

A stop in the tiny village of San Juan offered us an array of boats in states of abandon and tender care with a view of large boats being constructed from wood with methods that have not changed over the centuries, a woman turning seaweed to dry on the beach and an elderly gentleman talking non-stop and offering, from what I could understand, insight into the migration of birds.

Although some claim there is little to do on Chiloé, the days pass quickly and we found ourselves planning to visit the Isla Mechuque the following day. Nigel headed back to Castro via bus and Beth and I settled into a hospedaje owned and managed by Mirella who prepares home cooked meals of fish, salad, freshly baked breads and home-made condiments and fruit juices.

The home’s kitchen is kept warm with an ongoing fire while the rest of the house varied from cold to cool. Fortunately the ample supply of blankets provided enough warmth for a sound sleep that night.

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.