Puerto Chacabuco Revisited

In early 1979, when I first headed to Patagonia, I dreamt of the scenic Chilean channels and fjords beyond the city of Puerto Montt, but I had only a limited notion of them. I’d never met anybody who’d sailed the 900 nautical miles to Puerto Natales, the gateway to Torres del Paine.

Part of the Puerto Montt shoreline, with Volcán Calbuco in the background

At that time, the rusty freighter Río Baker carried cargo between Montt and Natales, but without formal passenger service—the captain’s whim determined whether or not you boarded. Instead, I settled for the freight and passenger ferry that then connected Puerto Montt with Puerto Chacabuco, the port for the Aisén regional capital of Coyhaique. That 24-hour voyage was my first Patagonia adventure, a route that I’ve just repeated on Navimag’s ferry Edén.

Waiting to board Navimag's ferry Edén, the night before sailing

The Seno de Reloncaví, as seen from the sea

Puerto Montt’s natural setting on the Seno de Reloncaví always reminds of Puget Sound, where I grew up in Washington State—the Chilean port is no Seattle, but its inland sea has the same densely forested shores and islands, with several snow-topped volcanic summits in the vicinity. To the southwest, the big island of Chiloé compares well with Vancouver Island and, as we sail south, the landscape resembles coastal British Columbia and the Alaska Panhandle.

On the Edén's bridge, a chart of the route through the channels

In fact, nearly the entire route to Chacabuco is an inland sea where the waters are usually calm but, as we pass Chiloé’s southern tip, at the Golfo de Corcovado, there’s a surge of open ocean where the Edén starts rocking slightly—not alarmingly, but noticeably. Soon enough, though, we pass through the gulf and the waters calm down.

Recycling and disposal bins aboard the Edén

Shortly thereafter, I see crew members moving bags of trash and recyclables. In several places around the ship, labeled bins remind me that, on my previous voyage here, that vessel’s crew dumped debris off the stern and into the sea—something that would never happen today. Then, as I visit the bridge, we spot a school of dolphins and the pilot tells me he’s seen orcas in this area. Marine mammals, and the penguins, appreciate the change.

The Fiordo de Asian, approaching Puerto Chacabuco

I can’t recall much about the accommodations back then, but I believe we had narrow reclining “Pullman” seats, rather like those on a Greyhound bus. Nor do I remember anything about the food and, frankly, I didn’t much care—the goal was to see this remote region. Compared with that, the simple though compact cabins on the Edén are almost unimaginably luxurious, and the cafeteria food filling and nutritious enough.

Puerto Chacabuco's ferry ramp awaits the Edén

En route then, I met a pair of young German doctors who had shipped their VW campervan to South America and were headed for Tierra del Fuego—the exact same place I wanted to go. After arriving at Puerto Chacabuco, they drove me and a German backpacker up the narrow verdant valley of the Río Simpson to Coyhaique, across the border to the Argentine town of Río Mayo, and then to the Atlantic coast city of Comodoro Rivadavia. There we all separated, but I soon managed to hitch a lift all the way to Ushuaia with an Argentine trucker.

The Río Simpson valley, between Puerto Chacabuco and Coyhaique

Back then, there wasn’t much opportunity to explore this sector of Chilean Patagonia overland—only parts the now completed Carretera Austral (Southern Highway) even existed. Now I’m fortunate enough to have my own car here, and I’ve since driven the highway many times without ever tiring of its rugged mountains, thundering rivers and pristine lakes, and its scenic coastline and pioneer settlements. I’ll be doing it again for the next couple weeks.

A Park To Oneself? At Laguna San Rafael

When southbound travelers head to Patagonia, a frequent motive is the opportunity to see something “off the beaten path.” One of their bucket-list sights might well be Chile’s glacier-studded Parque Nacional Laguna San Rafael, southwest of the regional capital of Coyhaique, which remains one of the region’s least visited parks – technically, at least.

Laguna San Rafael is one of Chile’s largest national parks, where the ice from the Campo de Hielo Norte, the Northern Patagonian Icefield, still reaches the sea. I have viewed the jagged seracs of the park’s namesake glacier (pictured above) - the world’s lowest-latitude tidewater glacier - on three separate trips, but I have never actually entered the park.

In fact, even though thousands of visitors view the glacier up close and personal every year, only a relative handful ever enter the park – as recently as 2009, only 158 persons (82 Chileans and 76 foreigners) actually set foot in it. That’s because the jurisdiction of the Corporación Nacional Forestal (Conaf), which manages the park, ends at water’s edge – where the Chilean navy exercises authority. Thus, almost everybody arrives on catamarans and cruise ships that spend a few hours before heading back to Puerto Chacabuco (pictured below), the port from which they sailed.

On my most recent visit, a few years ago, I took the catamaran Chaitén (pictured above), which sailed from Chacabuco at 8 a.m., arriving at the glacier around 1 p.m. after a couple brief stops to view sea lion colonies en route. Over the next couple hours, the crew shuttled the passengers on rigid inflatables along the glacier’s face - not too close, to avoid the crash of melting towers of ice and the waves they create - on a magnificent day that yielded the best views I’ve ever had of the advancing river of ice and its surrounding peaks.

In the course of my Chilean travels, I have also taken the Navimag ferry from Puerto Montt to Puerto Natales at least half a dozen times, and it still amazes me that, in a world of six billion people, such an enormous area could be almost unpopulated - human settlements, or any sign of population, are virtually absent in an area that resembles the Alaska Panhandle. Verdant forests rise from the sea to mountains bearing the last of the winter snow, among other peaks of perpetual snow and ice, but they remain largely nameless, to me at least.

In reality, except for the handful who earn their livelihood at sea, this is still the nearly trackless wilderness it was when John Byron - grandfather of the famous poet Lord Byron - was shipwrecked here in the 18th century, and when the Beagle, with Darwin and FitzRoy aboard, anchored at Laguna San Rafael in 1835. In one sense, the forested hillsides and islands of archipelagic Chile differ little from the barren wastes of the Atacama desert - there is a verdant monotony to them. Yet in the Atacama the evidence of human habitation and activity is present everywhere, while in the lush south it's simply overgrown, if indeed it ever existed. There is no simple way to orient yourself, other than by the cardinal directions - in general, you’re going north or south.

While seeing Laguna San Rafael other than by sea has been difficult, that’s starting to change. This past year, the total number of visitors rose to 4,728 – still only an average of 13 per day, though that’s misleading because almost everyone goes between mid-October and April. I had hoped to go last January with the operator Río Exploradores, which now takes hikers by road and sea to the park for day trips, and for one- and two-night packages with dome tent camping from the town of Puerto Río Tranquilo, 228 km south of Coyhaique by a mostly paved highway.

It’s not cheap, but prices compare favorably to the catamaran and cruise ship excursions; unfortunately, there was no space available on the one day I had to spend in Tranquilo (which, however, has its own brewpub (pictured above) and several other excursions, like the nearby Capilla de Mármol on Lago General Carrera, pictured below). I’ll give it another shot this upcoming season, though.

Open(ing?) Skies of South America

Those of us who live in North America often resent the “legacy airlines” – I’ll refrain from mentioning any names – because of their arbitrary rules, rigidity and, of course, astronomical fares. Fortunately for me, I fly only rarely in the United States, and am usually able to use a more reasonable regional airline, but I have a bit more experience in southernmost South America.

In some ways, the situation is similar. Both Argentina and Chile have legacy airlines – Aerolíneas Argentinas and LATAM (formerly LAN), respectively – that dominate domestic air services in those countries. Both began as state-run airlines that underwent privatization in the late 20th century (Aerolíneas is once again state-run), and competitors have had a hard time of it. In Argentina, LATAM’s local affiliate runs a distant second and the state-run LADE (the air force’s Patagonia passenger service) a very distant third. In Chile, Sky Airline occupies a secondary role and there have been some small regional carriers, such as Aerovías DAP in the southernmost Patagonian region of Magallanes.

Both Argentina and Chile need extensive air services – Argentina is the world’s eighth-largest country and Chile stretches from the tropics to the sub-Antarctic – but most secondary and tertiary airlines have failed. It doesn’t help that, in both countries, nearly all long-distance flights are routed through the capital cities – because of this, flying from the Argentine coastal city of Puerto Madryn to the Andean resort of Bariloche (a distance of 928 km) takes nearly as long as the bus. Flying is also more expensive and, in addition, foreign passengers in Argentina pay a penalty (described as a discount for Argentine nationals).

Things may be changing, though. According to several reports, the low-cost airlines Ryanair and Avianca are due to start Argentina operations early next year. This is an encouraging development, but it comes with caveats: as the Buenos Aires daily La Nación has noted, there are numerous obstacles to be overcome – most notably, government-set minimum fares, the lack of secondary airports, the absence of night flights, and strong labor unions. In Europe, for instance, Ryanair personnel clean the cabins, but Argentina’s powerful unions will surely raise objections to that.

Meanwhile, across the Andes, the ironically named Chilean Airways – financed by Bolivian capital, despite diplomatic distance between the two countries over lingering border disputes – has begun services from Santiago to northern domestic destinations including La Serena, Antofagasta, Calama, Iquique and Arica, and international routes that include Buenos Aires, Asunción (Paraguay), and Bolivian cities. If it lasts, this would supplement the northern Chilean services of LATAM and Sky Airline (currently reinventing itself as a budget airline).

Farther south, in Chilean Patagonia, DAP (seen above landing in Antarctica) has recently announced that it will fly twice weekly between the southern Patagonian city of Punta Arenas and the northern Patagonian airport of Balmaceda (pictured below, near the Aisén regional capital of Coyhaique). This would make it easier for Patagonian travelers to visit both Torres del Paine and do the Carretera Austral – Patagonia’s greatest road trip.

No less importantly, DAP will also start flying between Punta Arenas and the Argentine city of Ushuaia (pictured below) – helping travelers avoid the tiresome full-day bus trip between the two cities. This will be a particular boon to those who take the Cruceros Australis cruise between the two cities, but don’t wish to travel both ways by sea.

Food Trucks for Patagonia

Perhaps my favorite route in southernmost South America remains Chile’s Carretera Austral, running through a region as wild as the Alaska Panhandle and the Canadian Yukon. Its downside, though, is the paucity of services – there is only one city, the regional capital of Coyhaique, and except for scattered resorts, there are few places to grab a bite along the highway.

That’s changing, though, even in some of the smaller settlements as the highway improves and road trips become more common. One intriguing aspect is the arrival of food trucks such as Coyhaique’s Kawescar (pictured at top), just a block off the pentagonal Plaza de Armas, but also in out of the way places such as Villa Cerro Castillo, where La Cocina de Sole (pictured above) occupies two parked buses where the southbound pavement ends (though preparations for paving the next segment are well underway).

Lupe’s is basically a roadside sandwich shop, with quality versions of Chilean comfort food such as the Barros Luco (beef and grilled cheese) or ave palta (chicken with avocado, pictured below) on homemade pan frica (hold the mayo, please!). It’s comfortable inside, prices are modest, and it gets plenty of motorists and cyclists passing through town (or staying in town, for that matter). For me, it’s the best of the bunch.

On the way north, though, I found another appealing food truck (a bus really, like Sole’s) in the town of Chaitén, which is making an impressive comeback after a major volcanic eruption and subsequent forced evacuation in May of 2008. I still wouldn’t buy property there, but I’m happy to stay in a town that hasn’t completely recovered an already limited restaurant scene, the new Natour food bus is a welcome development.

That said, the region’s food truck scene is in its infancy compared to more northerly destinations. The resort town of Puerto Varas, outside the ferry port of Puerto Montt, has the most diverse food truck scene along its lakeshore. Varas also has many fine dining options, but the food trucks (and buses) – with Chilean, French, German and even Mexican choices, are a welcome change of pace.

Patagonia's Marbled Caverns

Frequently, on this blog, I have described the Carretera Austral as Patagonia’s top road trip. I’m fortunate enough to revisit the area almost every year, but I haven’t yet described many of its attractions – which, despite the wild country, are often close to the highway.

At the town of Puerto Río Tranquilo, about 220 km south of the Aisén regional capital of Coyhaique via a mostly paved route, a cluster of roadside trailers, tents and containers advertise tours to the Capilla de Mármol, a string of swirling marble grottos at the west end of Lago General Carrera. It’s a huge lake, covering nearly 2,000 square kilometers in Chile and Argentina (where it goes by the name Lago Buenos Aires), but motorboat excursions to the caverns take only a couple hours – wind permitting. Trips are usually on a first-come, first-served basis.

Boatmen from Río Tranquilo carry half a dozen passengers or so to the grottos, gradually exposed to view by wave action over several thousand years. Marble is physically strong but chemically weak, accounting for the smooth surfaces.

Some of the grottos are small islands, but most of them hug the shore where, in good weather, the boats can enter. In some cases, passengers can leave the boat to explore the caverns, but walking even short distances on slippery marble entails a risk. The excursion is best in late summer or early autumn, when lake levels are at their lowest and boats can approach more closely and enter more deeply.

Puerto Río Tranquilo’s just a village with only about 500 residents but, returnin from the boat ride, there’s a new brewpub restaurant, Cervecería Río Tranquilo, just across the two-lane road. There’s also an improving accommodations scene, led by Refugio El Puesto.