The road chose me

After a few days of intermittent rain, I’m happy to see perfect blue skies when I begin moving North from Villa O’Higgins. My fishing gear is all-but useless, so I camp with a hardcore Dutch fisherman, and together we cook a fresh brown trout in the coals of our campfire – possibly the best “camping” meal of the trip.

Looking out over Villa O'Higgins

Lago General Carrera

I meander my way North, camping in road-side pullouts and exploring tiny local villages as I go. Arriving in Chaitén I can’t believe the level of destruction caused by a volcanic eruption three years earlier. Locals explain it wasn’t so much the eruption itself (though that did produce enormous amounts of ash), but more-so the re-direction of the river that washed away half of the town. So much sand and ash washed down that the “beachfront” is now 500 meters back from the original line. Woah.

Country living

Rivers and mountains

I camp within site of the volcano, still spewing smoke, though heavy rain in the morning prevents me from hiking closer. Maybe that’s for the better.

Mountains of the Austral

Attempt at The Southern Cross

For my last night on the Austral I camp at the hot spring of Termas de Amarillo, soaking long into the night and chatting with locals and ex-pats alike.

-Dan

I’ve met more than a few overlanders who call The Carretera Austral (also called Route 7) in far Southern Chile the most beautiful road in the world – obviously it’s been on my radar for while now.
The two ferries and tiny mud track that connect El Chalten in Argentina with Villa O’Higgins, at the southern terminus of the highway in Chile, are barely large enough for backpackers and bicyclists. The only option for motorbike and car travelers to reach Villa O’Higgins is to enter the highway further North, and meander South along the dead-end road, before returning the same way.

Sitting next to Lago General Carrera

Amazingly blue

I cross the border at Chile Chico and am immediately rewarded with spectacular views of the amazingly blue Lago Buenos Aires / Lago General Carrera, named differently in the two countries. The road is gravel, windy and narrow and closely hugs the mighty lake while passing through tiny farming communities. The Austral proper is continuously surrounded by snow and glacier-capped peaks, dotted with amazingly clear lakes and often winds along next to gorgeous rivers and streams.
I take out my fishing gear for the first time, and discover the $2 reel is broken beyond repair. I try my luck in a few lakes but give up quickly due to the frustration of manually winding the fishing line onto the reel. Small turn-outs on the side of the road are abundant, so I camp for the night, enjoying the extreme remoteness.

The mighty Carretera Austral

Narrow canyon on the Austral (spot the Jeep)

In the morning I catch the free, military-run ferry at Puerto Yungay / Rio Bravo and soon discover why this road is so highly regarded. The road becomes narrower, windier and in places quite steep as it climbs up and over small mountain passes. Somehow, the scenery gets more beautiful too.
In the tiny Villa O’Higgins I post up at the beautiful hostel “El Mosco”, and splurge to sleep in a bed for the first time since Buenos Aires.

Lakes and mountains everywhere

Fantastic Austral scenery

I hike up to a very remote and peaceful little cabin above the village, and pass the rainy and cold afternoon and evening sitting by the fire reading and drinking tea. Spending the night is amazing, and it’s for sure one of the most peaceful places I’ve ever been.

Villa O'Higgins

Which way to the refuge?

There’s nowhere I’d rather be.

The refuge above Villa O'Higgins

-Dan

Immediately after visiting the Perito Moreno Glacier, Sonny and I race around to hike the magic little peak of Cerro Crystal. The view from the top of the solid uphill climb shows a different angle of the glacier, and we can see all the way back to Torres Del Paine, in Chile. At the top we both agree it won’t be out last mountain summit as a team.
Nearby camping is at the beautiful and free Lago Roca.

Sonny and Dan on the summit of Cerro Crystal

In the morning I wave goodbye to Sonny (who is heading South) and immediately pick up more hitchhikers heading North on Route 40. I’m reassured several times I’ll find gas along the way, and pull into the tiny town of Bajo Caracoles after some 500 odd kilometers, just after the gas warning light comes on. The owner inside the gas station doesn’t even look at me during the following conversation, which follows a now all-to-familiar South American trend:

Me: Hi, can I buy some gas please?
Owner: There is none.
Me: Oh, when will there be more gas?
Owner: I don’t know.
Me: When does gas usually come?
Owner: I don’t know.
Me: What day does it normally come?
Owner: I don’t know.
Me: Do you think I should wait here until tomorrow?
Owner: I don’t know.
Me: So, what can I do about getting some gas?
Owner: I don’t know.
Me: Do you think they will have gas in the next town?
Owner: (in a condescending tone, like it’s a stupid question) Of course there is gas there.

So as I’ve come to love & hate, he knows absolutely nothing about his own situation but is an absolute expert on something a hundred odd kilometers away. Hmmm.

Woodpecker doing it's thing - amazing to watch

The situation quickly becomes clear in my mind; I can sit around with my new outgoing friend waiting for the remote possibility of arriving gas, or I can hit the road and at least get a lot closer to a town that definitely might have some. The warning light on my Jeep officially indicates 70km remaining, though at the last fill-up I intentionally made it overflow to get in every last drop possible. That knowledge, combined with only 40kms of gravel before paved road, leads me to think I might just pull off 90km.
100km if it’s downhill.

Without much delay, I hit the road with the near certainty of running out of gas before the next station, 130km distant. Needless to say I take hypermiling to the next level, coasting with barely my little toe on the accelerator, and eagerly count down the remaining kilometers. For the first 30km or so the gauge continues to fall, before hitting rock bottom, and staying there for the remainder of the day.
Announcing the kilometers remaining is bittersweet, on one hand I’m moving closer to the gas station, on the other, almost certain failure.

No idea what this strange bird is...

I pass first the 90km mark, then the 100km in total disbelief. 110km rolls by and a tiny speck of hope creeps in.
If I can just make 120km, I’m there.
I clear my throat to announce only 10km remain, and before I can utter a sound, the engine completely dies.
No coughing. No spluttering. Completly dead.
In the now pitch-dark and moonless night I roll into the ditch and setup camp, digging myself in to wait for the new day.
Tomorrow should be interesting.

After walking with my thumb out for less than three minutes, I’m pretty happy when the first car of the day, a chatty Frenchman in a rental, stops to give me a ride. The station has plenty of gas, and the guy there even digs out an old four liter container I can use. Less than five minutes later I’m back walking on the highway, thumbing every passing car.
About half way back, a car going the other direction turns around to get me. They explain they saw my Jeep in the ditch, so I’m a dead giveaway carrying the gas container. Talk about friendly.

With the new lease on life, the Jeep fires up instantly, and has not shown any ill effects from the ordeal since. I always thought the tank was a little more than the stated 72 liters, though try as I might at the station, I don’t get a drop more than 68 liters in.

This guy posed in the early morning

Looking back I have to laugh at the thought and fear of running out of gas. Before this whole adventure began I thought of it as a potential “disaster” and serious problem, something I’ve worked hard to avoid the entire trip.

The reality?
It took about an hour and I met a bunch of nice people

-Dan

The sheer size of Perito Moreno glacier – 30km long, 5km wide and 60 meters high – is surprisingly not the reason so many people flock here. In a world where glaciers seem to all be retreating, this one defies the odds and is advancing around 2 meters per day. All that ice constantly pushing forward means action a plenty at the calving end, conveniently located near a series of boardwalks and viewing platforms.

Nice and close now

The site of the broken arch

From our arrival in the early morning until our reluctant departure in the afternoon, we see, hear and almost feel each time a chunk of ice breaks free and slams into the water below.  The scale is inconceivable, evidenced by the seemingly “tiny” pieces constantly breaking free. These little pieces look small enough for me to carry around, though when they hit the water, the sound takes over a second to reach us, the first sign something is amiss. When it finally reaches our ears, the very loud <crack> is just like a gunshot, causing everyone to jump.

Reflections on the lake

Notice the little bits in the water?

More than a few times we see enormous slabs break free, smashing down into the water with such force the splash reaches back to the top of the glacier, and the ensuing wave triggers ever more collapses. One of the most surreal evens I witness occurs when a couple of enormous pieces rise up from under the water and smash into the face of the glacier – I can only guess they broke off underwater – the volume of water pouring off as they bob to the surface is hard to grasp.

Loving Perito Moreno

Sitting down close to water level watching all this, with explosions, eruptions and cave-ins, complete with sound effects in every direction makes we wonder if we’ve entered the set of some kind of weird war movie. Absolutely unbelievable.

All calm (for now...)

While we didn’t witness a collapse of this magnitude, this youtube video shows just how close it’s possible to get to this spectacle.

Capturing the entire glacier

It may seem a little expensive at $USD25, but I would happily pay it again.

-Dan