We decided to abandon our original plans and head to Chile earlier, via El Bolson Pass. This meant shouldering all of our stuff, no mean feat. We slimmed down our stuff by sending some home in Bolson, waited an extra day for the weather and my health to improve then went south to Lago Puelo National Park. The seemingly easiest part of our trek turned out very complicated because the Park had no informes. After I walked 4km back into the town for no result I returned in a taxi and we had lunch under a tree. We then happened upon a ranger who gave us the drill. Under the tree a helpful dog, ´The Littlest Hobo´ joined our cause, barking at passers of our tree and following us on our 2km round trip walk, even waiting outside the registry. We registered and returned to organise a quick but bouncy powerboat ride to the other side of the collapsed bridge over Rio Azul. The Littlest Hobo howled in discontent as we left the jetty.
After disembarking from the boat we set off up a slow incline through warm temperate rainforest, with more tree and shrub species than Los Alerces and much less bamboo. It was beautiful. We slowly descended late in the afternoon after a relatively easy hike of 6km or so. We checked in with the relaxed Argentinian gendarmerie (army) at the border post, found a lovely camp spot by the lake and ate.
The next day we started later than we wanted and were further delayed by a double river crossing without bridges. After navigating these, Michelle without shoes and I rockhopping, we continued, this time to a steeper incline. The day´s walk was tough, invigorating and challenging. We reached the actual border by lunch and after observing single-seat manual cable crossings of the wild River Puelo, ate lunch under the rainforest in between Chile and Argentina. After the border, poplars, willows and other weeds marked an abandoned farm which upon retrospect made an interesting contrast to the dark green Nothofagus canopy. Our schedule was tight, so we set off into Chile for more unbridged creeks, steep undulations hugging the mountains and the occasional splendour of seeing our broader surroundings. We came across a cool green lizard.
The afternoon dragged as we searched for the Chilean caribineros (police) border post to finalise our crossing. After much anticipation and being at the point of exhaustion we finally arrived, promptly had our passports stamped and were sent on our way. No bag checks for produce as we had experienced previously coming into Chile... bugger - our food shopping was based around not buying meat, fresh fruit and veg or dairy. Our objective for the day was Segundo Corral, a two-horse town some two hours walk from the caribineros, but first we had to cross the 50m wide river. We coaxed the official procedure from the policeman - shout, wave and whistle at that distant house you can see and a person will come and get you. Of course. But, sure enough this happened, although the ferrywoman was blind drunk. By the time we had been hand-rowed across the river it was quite late, and the predictable petitions of the ferrywoman Leonita to stay at her property won us over, so with her young daughter we walked through the wheat field, past the rustic wooden buildings and grazing pigs, said hello to the 5 dogs, kid goat, calf and cat and set camp. It was then Michelle discovered her sunglasses were missing and so continued the legend of the Pass of El Bolson.
Essentially when you backpack for any decent period of time you lose stuff. But for us in this section of our trip we seemed to have strayed into the ´Bermuda Triangle´of the Andes. It began when I lost my expensive Leatherman knife somewhere in El Bolson - gone. Then on the first night of our hike I (briefly) misplaced my headphones. Found. The next morning Michelle could not for the life of her find her watch. We searched high and low before leaving it to the Gods and hopefully her backpack. But actually it was on her wrist.
Now, all of the above could probably be attributed to sheer stupidity, but the latest sunglass event was mind-boggling. These sunglasses Michelle paid over AU$80 for in Bolson, after breaking her others earlier. She retraced her steps around the property and eventually all the way back to the river to no avail, before the generous ferrywoman offered to return her the other side. Upon doing so the glasses were found in the water near the bank having fallen off in the struggle into the boat. Phew!! Found. But the legend of the pass had not ended yet... to be continued.
The next morning we arose tired, sore and early knowing we had 15km of heavy trekking ahead of us. We hiked the path next to the river to Segundo Corral, a tiny outpost in the tamed wilderness with a government office, store and maybe ten houses, that serviced the surrounding farmlands. A crew of electricity workers were endeavouring to install permanent hydro electrticty for the town. As such when we finally tracked down the owner of the store to buy out their chocloate supplies we found they had none. Nor biscuits. Nor bread. Nor much useful to us. This put quite a dint in our spirits, as we had been looking forward to getting stuff to help with energy for the big days ahead. Cest la vie. We asked a few different folks for directions to Primer Corral, our next destination but eventually aborted back to town due to not really understanding what they said. Then came our saviour, dressed in a white singlet and jeans - tall, tanned, dark and handsome, riding a valiant steed and smoking what were undoubtably Malboros.
This girl was about 17. She hoisted Michelle´s 25kg pack onto her shoulders without getting off her horse with ciggy in mouth and lead us on a series of tracks past farms, through gates and alongside rivers to the alternate bridge, in use because the primary bridge was destroyed. We eventually parted ways, Michelle loving every minute of freedom. We then followed Marlboro girl´s directions to the river but still got lost in a sheep paddock. The path was finally re-found climbing into the side of the mountain. It then dropped back down again, then up, then down. While it was an easy trail to walk the constant up and down immediately started taking its toll on us, particularly Michelle. We trekked through altered landscapes, the lush and humid rainforest hacked down in places by pioneers to reveal rustic and simple wooden cottages and healthy livestock. The forest was as usual amazing, hiding the fast-flowing and aqua-blue rapids of River Puelo. We both saw the same type of snake.
On and on the day went, we asked the one person we saw how far Primer Corral was. One hour, mas o menos. Two hours later we still weren´t there. The sickness I had been fighting in Bolson re-emerged after I took a few kgs from Michelle in the form of her day-pack. The final hour´s walk was possible only through sheer determination and adrenaline. We finally came late in the day to a cleared area and met a man, who told us "this is Primer Corral" and to our relief promised his mum would let us stay for the night. He also mentioned a bus leaving for the bigger town of Llanada Grande in the morning. Our ears pricked, then we hurried to the house.
As promised, Mrs. Primer Corral was a lovely lady, offering the yard for our camping and for us to come inside and share the warmth of the fire. I was a zombie, completely exhausted, but kept myself intact enough to share in the broken Spanish, bread rolls with home-made honey, cups of tea and mate with camomile and sugar. The promised bus for the next day, however, was not radioed for, due to no batteries. We were too exhausted to push the issue.
Rising early we pushed through the pain to prepare, breakfast and share in the obligatory farewell and mate sharing. Unfortunately this made us late in leaving for the bus. Again our lack of Spanish or a decent map made for confusion and frustration at the next bridge over the wild river, where we were somehow supposed to find another house, ask them to radio the bus and for directions and walk to the distant bus stop, all in 40 minutes. The likelihood of success looked slim, but as fate had it another local on horseback came our way at that precise moment, and he happened to carry a working radio!! He radioed the bus for us, which told him we had very little time to get there. He lead the way for us and we walked as fast as we could following him, but he soon disappeared. I went ahead of Michelle to drop off my bag and return for hers, but almost got lost again, saved again by another local lady who directed me through her horse yard, and I motioned Michelle through as well. Again I took off ahead and came across the man on the horse who immediately went back to shoulder Michelle´s backpack. I absolutely exhausted myself walking as fast as I could uphill to the bus stop - situated near the end of a new road ploughed through the hills and rainforest wilderness and over pristine blue waters. Michelle and the gaucho (cowboy) arrived at roughly the same time. We piled into the waiting bus after thanking our helper and I promptly melted into the bus seat. We were back on easy street.
Or so we thought. A kilometre up the road Michelle discovered one of her boots was missing. She became very distraught after learning the bus could not turn back due to a ferry connection later and essentially sat down to cry, lamenting the loss of her expensive, perfectly fitting shoe. A fellow passenger radioed back to Primer Corral but to no effect, it had not been found. Oh bugger... The final solution was to ask the caribineros in Llanada, a more populous town with 2 mini-markets and electricity, to help by radioing around once we arrived. This we did but achieved the same result, no luck. Michelle at last resolved herself to returning by bus to Primer Corral that afternoon, hopefuly find her boot, stay overnight somewhere and return the next morning. A huge blow to her - we were both exhausted already. With a plan in place and chocolate soothing our wounds we trudged down the road to find the promised camping. Then a Hilux stopped and we were offered a lift by Marcelo, a civil engineer from Santiago working on GPS stuff in Lllanada and a local lady who owned the cabaña (cabin) where he was staying while in town. When we arrived at the cabaña we decided to take it for the night, despite it being quite expensive and us forgetting that Michelle wouldn´t be there.
Then as we sat and discussed in rough español the situation, Marcelo - on his day off - offered to take us back to the bus stop for Primer Corral (a long way) to search for it. Hallelujah!! Before leaving I stressed though that the shoe may not have been there, that it might have been found and taken already. We jumped back into his ute and took off back to the scene of the crime, feeling quite useless and a bit of a nuisance, but Marcelo didn´t seem to mind a bit. When we arrived we both exited and ran the trail back to where Michelle gave her backpack to the gaucho, but it wasn´t there. We then split off in different directions, I to the closest farmhouse and Michelle back upon the trail to Primer Corral. I went to the farmhouse and hurriedly asked about the shoe - it was there! While he fetched it I sprinted back to retrieve Michelle and we thanked him and asked to pass on our sincerest thanks to the gaucho, then returned to our waiting ute. What a crazy-arsed mission!!
Upon returning to the cabaña we thanked Marcelo again, showered, ate and retired to the luxurious bed and pillows. Satisfied and relieved, we watched the rain fall outside onto the beautiful Lake Totoral, glad we weren´t out in it. The night passed pleasantly, conversing in broken English and Spanish with Marcelo, who showed us his collection of horror films on his laptop, some of his work and his two children. The next morning we were treated to a lovely breakfast before we said our grateful goodbyes and caught the bus to Lake Tagua-tagua. The community spirit in this place is real and comforting to experience. Upon getting on the bus the people are all smiles for everyone, stopping to kiss and greet their neighbours and friends. One lovely old lady had kisses for all - including us gringos.
During the trip I had time to reflect on the paradox of this amazing place. The locals have a varying amount of material wealth, but neary all seem to live off the land, growing wheat and other vegetables and farming animals. There seem to be no chemicals or pesticides or herbicides in use. Yet there is also a lack of respect for habitat and a seeming lack of understanding of the negative consequences of actions such as landclearing, roadbuilding, hunting and fishing. Obviously the Chilean Government does little to mitigate or educate around these issues, as they are the ones building the roads. It was quite a contrast crossing from the national park of Argentina to the still-being-tamed frontier of Chile, despite Chile´s side of the mountains being more spectacular and more biodiverse and therefore more ripe for ecotourism.
After transferring to the diesel ferry we cruised Lake Tagua-tagua. The 2000m mountains rose sharply from the water´s edge - on the way we observed some remarkable settlements on the lake. Note in the top photo a tiny wooden shack near the shore´s edge. Upon reaching the road at the other end of the lake we transferred to a waiting bus, which then took us down the River Puelo Valley, following the river and a large lake. Here we were still fringed by awesome mountains, and our road was narrow and a bit hairy at times. The locals here were farming salmon in the lake. I dropped off to sleep, and while I was sleeping a disconcerting rattling sound started under the bus. We didn´t stop to check it out, and nothing became of it but it sure was loud! After finally leaving the picturesque valley in Cochamo we continued on to much flatter and farmed country and Puerto Varas, on the way passing the massive Osorno Volcano and the inland-sea like Lake Llanquihue. Puerto Varas was essentially a lot like Noosa, tourists funding a rich Western capitalism like we hadn´t experience in South America before. But it was convenient for us, stopping long enough to sample the German heritage in the form of beautiful 19th century architechture, küchen and berliners (cakes and doughnuts). We re-stocked food and money and prepared for the next leg of our journey.
