Last of the Austral Highway

Before I knew what happened six days passed like a watery blur in Cochrane. Wading out to fish the crystal clear Rio Cochrane for rainbows noting the weather shift away from the warm sun of late summer to the cool of early fall. Long coffee and egg mornings ostensibly waiting for the day to warm and clear . . . Matt, Evan, Robin, and I stayed in a cozy hospedeja with a crazy cackling old woman that enjoyed harassing us in the mornings and badgering Evan into sweeping the house. We met three French women walking/hitching from Ushuaia to Quito as part of an environmental study with gear sponsorship from North Face (www.incahuella.com). Cecile, Sara, and Mathilde baked bread in the wood stove oven and made compote from fruit poached from neighbors' trees while we grilled lamb, made fettuccine carbonara for eight, and fried fresh trout and eggs for breakfast. Eventually, I received high compliments for my cooking being labeled "cordon bleu" by Mathilde - I am told it is hard to get the French to compliment your cooking. Pretty comfortable situation spending the nights warming up and drying out in front of one of the wood stoves. Eventually the French and ourselves moved to a campground and it started to rain . . . but we were not deterred from grilling more lamb with two trout bumsfrom Ashville, NC, Asher and Bob. Asher was a fly fishing guide in Montana and started a web based community forum focusing on local agriculture, www.agrowingculture.org while Bob was a mountain biking carpenter trout bum so needless to say we had plenty to discuss.
Consequently, Matt and I had a record breaking late start of 6pm (or later) on Monday to finish out the Austral Highway. In our defense it rained all morning and we were busy drinking fresh coffee with everyone made with an old scavenged t-shirt functioning as filter . . . after 4-5 cups the t-shirt flavor started to fade - still beat the hell out of instant.
The important thing was to overcome inertia and get moving down the road. We camped that night under a clearing sky on top of a rise with a fantastic view of the mountains of the Hielo Norte or Northern ice sheet.
I used our campfire to dry out some beautiful King Boletes I gathered from the side of the road that complimented our chorizo, green peppers, and onions over rice brilliantly.
The morning dawned equally beautiful.
We took advantage of the perfect riding weather to motor out 100+km on much improved dirt roads over the previous stretch. Passing along the Rio Baker through cypress forests and innumerable waterfalls tumbling from glaciated peaks towards the ocean. At times dense stands of Patagonian Cypress arch over the road stretching upwards of 200 feet. Formerly, there were stands of Patagonian Cypress as large as 40 feet in diameter but logging has eliminated most of the giants. But it is wonderful to see such huge trees filling the valley.
We eventually arrive, pleasantly beat, at the community of Caleta Tortel 22km off the Austral on the road constructed in 2003.Caleta Tortel sits on a fjord rimming the bay of the Rio Baker without roads but an elaborate series of wooded walkways constructed from the local cypress that the town was founded in 1955 to exploit. Not the most bike friendly environment of either bog or wooden stairs. We rolled in about dark in a light drizzle and realized that most of the lodging and free camping was on the coast . . . many flights down. But we found cheap lodging with a wood stove to dry out our gear while the lights flickered on/off from an an overstressed grid by the burgeoning community of 500. So we grabbed our head lamps used the family's kitchen while kids ran about and neighbors stopped by.

The morning was wet and we started late to ride over a small pass and drop down to a ferry linking sections of the road at Puerto Yungay.
Traffic was light cows were plentiful.
But we missed the ferry by 20 minutes which in the end was a blessing but with pouring rain we felt less than blessed.
We moved into an old shed own the beach and accelerated the decay of the two abandoned houses flanking our shed to gather some dry wood for a blazing fire. We were not the first cyclists to camp in the old shed as evidenced by the spokes/meat skewers in the fire pit. The dry spot was much appreciated and we bought a jar of fresh salmon for dinner from a kiosko that opened each time the ferry arrived.
I guess we were roughing it but felt pretty deluxe.
We caught the 10 am ferry to Rio Bravo about 45 minutes away - it rained.
Dog is in charge.
The rain prompted us to shoot for Villa O'Higgins 100+km away.
The day was not my most stellar performance on the bike combined with minor but persistent mechanical issues that I stopped beside the road to fix - in the rain.
I was feeling a little demoralized but resigned to grinding out the distance when I stopped at the top of a long climb up the river valley. Then over the ridge two immense condors glided by at eye level riding the thermals close enough to see their faces. At one point they dipped below me so I could look down on their 8-10 foot wingspan. I considered digging out my camera, hidden from the rain, but enjoyed the moment that quickly passed the condors cruising down the river valley without a sound over the wail of the wind.
The hills relented for the last 60km into Villa O'Higgins and the weather cleared as I rode underneath a rainbow spanning the valley giving way to perfect evening light.
Matt, Evan, Robin, and I regrouped at El Mosco Hostel in O'Higgins to take a rest day before catching the second to last ferry of the season off the end of the Austral Highway. As the only guests we cooked on the wood stove, visited with other cyclists discussing the route ahead and recounting past days.

Shiftless

We were seven or eight cyclists pulling into Coyhaique making for some long nights that could be more tiring than riding the bike. I could escape to the relative serenity of hanging out with Joos - a friend from Mendoza that lived and guided climbing in Coyhaique - but that meant going out with local fishing and climbing guides . . . relative serenity. Always nice to meet locals in a town given over to tourism. Matt Kelly (www.pedalpanam.com) and I met up again after parting ways in Futuleufu but Matt had booked his flight home and was on a tight schedule to catch his flight in Buenos Aires and we would not be able to finish together . . . disappointing but understandable. Matt is a fantastic travel partner but has been on the road for nearly two years from northern Alaska and was ready to motor to the end - while I have planned to take it slow fishing my way down the Austral Highway. So we said our goodbyes until we see each other again in the United States.
Matt Hawkins is kinder than I. We left Coyhaique behind late – his trailer carrying an extra load of the mooch's things because she lacked racks on her bicycle. We acquired the mooch courtesy of Nat who left her behind to finish the Austral in time to return to Europe coaching the Canadian national cycling team. A mooch takes everything they need from you while contributing as little as possible - not cooking, not cleaning, not buying food but always there with cup and plate in hand. She left three hours ahead of us but we were not particularly concerned to catch her – sleeping and eating could be her concern for a change.The riding out of Coyhaique was a beautiful paved road through another national park where we camped beside a small river - without the mooch.The area is sparsely settled with small communities that would be a stretch to call a town but one small community had a local museum about mate . . . though there was nothing about mate in the museum. However, there were some great photos of the first settlers to this region in the 1930's and 40's.We rolled into Cerro Castillo where the road returned to dirt and the mooch was waiting for us by the side of the road - pleased to see her things she did not carry, our food, and the cooks.













The next several days were spent riding and camping along beautiful lakes stopping to fish when the opportunity presented itself. I peruse the clear depths of every shoreline for fish cruising and rising. Matt purchased a rod in Coyhaique and was ready to use it - the second time we stopped to fish we caught eight nice Rainbows in less than an hour - he was hooked. And I now felt justified lugging around my fishing gear. First cast with a dry fly to a rising trout and wham - fish on!
Undoubtedly, two guys in full ride regalia with fishing rods beside the road made for an interesting picture and we receive honks and waves from the few passing trucks.
Also, makes for some good eating. . .
We camped on the shore of Lago Gral. Carrera in the small community of Bahia Murta after purchasing supplies from a wonderful Palestinian woman, that had lived there for over 2o years, and directed us to the free camping.
The site offered scenic morning of fishing under a rainbow that lasted for well over one hour but no rainbows of the fishy variety.
Day four of riding out of Coyhaique we met up with Robin and Evan in Puerto Tranquillo and continued on as a group of five riders.
Continuing along the shores of the second largest lake in South America, Lago Gral. Carrera
We stopped on the shore of Lago Bertrand pulled out our fishing rods and landed some nice rainbows for lunch.We strung the fish and placed them in the water while continuing to fish - this was Evan's responsibility . . . I glanced at the stringer in the water and began to question the security of our lunch but Evan told me, "have some faith man, I can tie up fish." Hmmmmm . . . I felt bad for questioning him . . . within about 15 minutes I hear Evan wailing, "oh shit"! Sure enough the fish were sinking 15 feet off shore still tied together . . . Evan was momentarily paralyzed by the agony of our loss while I commanded, "jump in, now!" He did not hesitate long enough for me to push and stripped down to retrieve our lunch while the police happened to drive by and wave to buck naked Evan.So, I guess, Evan caught five fish that afternoon and we laughed our asses off.Robin started the fire while we prepared the fish and the mooch made guacamole with Evan and Robin's avocados, Matt's crackers, and my spices in our containers leaving us to clean up . . . Meanwhile a cycling couple on year three of their around the world tour, Doug and Janice, pulled up to enjoy our fish snack. You can check out their travels at http://www.toorguide.com/"se venden cerezas," looks pretty close to cervesas especially at the end of the day Matt and Robin were inspired to stop figuring we would be up for a beer before finding a camp spot. But cerezas are cherries not beers though the cherries and plums were excellent! I have been suckered by the cerezas signs more than once only to buy fruit. That night we camped on a river meeting up with two other solo cyclists, a German and Colombiana, making for a campsite of seven cyclists - sometimes I think bikes outnumber cars on this road.
We stopped for the night in the Lago Bertrand where the mooch would catch a bus back north. We were relieved because she was bringing out the worse in all of us – a niggardly resentment that felt ugly but justified. I felt reluctant to write about the experience, however, some things need to be said. . . and names have been changed to protect the guilty. Don't be a mooch!
That evening Matt started a conversation with a guy in the store in fishing gear who turned out to be the director of "Fly Cast America" - http://flycastamerica.com. Gabriel Bendersky was intrigued by our story and invited us to the Green Baker Lodge the next morning to go fishing and shoot a small color piece for his show! We rode over in a light rain to fish and film - a great experience with some fantastic guys but talk about performance anxiety. This was high pressure casting in a strong gusty wet wind from a cataraft to large rainbows sipping ants on the surface of the Rio Baker. I will let you know when Matt and I have our Fox Sports debut.
We left Bertrand in the late afternoon after our shoot for a cold wet afternoon of riding on horrendous washboard with outrageously steep climbs that is reputed to be the toughest section for cyclists.
Late in the evening the clouds briefly parted for a view of the confluence of the Rios Baker and Chacabuco otherwise we were head down for the warm dry stables of Cochrane.

The saying goes, “If you hurry in Patagonia you are wasting your time.” We rolled into into Cochrane cold, wet, and sandy from the road – Evan in a truck after a catastrophic tire failure. We decided to take another week to ride the remaining 230km to the ferry crossing at Villa O'Higgins. There is a fishing to be done then not much of anything. We found a place in Cochrane to stay with other travelers grilling lamb, drinking wine and reading Raymond Carver aloud by the wood stove, a little drunk, until falling asleep by the fire with a kitten.

Shiftless

The people who were better than us were comfortable.

They lived in painted houses with flush toilets.

Drove cars whose year and make were recognizable.

The ones worse off were sorry and didn't work.

Their strange cars sat on blocks in dusty yards.

The years go by and everything and everyone

gets replaced. But this much is still true -

I never liked work. My goal was always

to be shiftless. I saw the merit in that.

I liked the idea of sitting in a chair

in front of your house and drinking cola.

What's wrong with that?

Drawing on a cigarette from time to time.

Spitting. Making things out of wood with a knife.

Where's the harm there? Now and then calling

the dogs to hunt rabbits. Try it sometime.

Once in a while hailing a fat, blond kid like me

and saying, “Don't I know you?”

Not, “What are you going to be when you grow up?

by Raymond Carver