Dec 12 DAY 24 CUCAO

We headed south west to the Pacific coastal town of Cucao and found some charming cabanas for rent in the woods. Soon after, Bettina and I were arranging to take some horses out with a guide. In the past, I have found it wiser not to mention I have experience riding because the expertise one claims to have seems to be directly proportional to the difficulty or orneriness of the horse one is given. Thus, I mentioned my experience was limited and was directed to a docile looking bay colored horse.

The landscape was breathtaking. Our ride took us across dunes aglow with brilliant yellow flowers, the ubiquitous nalcas (a relative to the rhubarb plant with enormous elephant ear shaped leaves on long stems), a wide dark blue river to our left and the turquoise Pacific ocean before us. Sheep and horses grazed or passed by. It was a moment of serene and overwhelming beauty. However, as we arrived on the long, flat beach the demeanor of my horse changed. I was content to do some galloping on this pristine strip of sand between land and sea but I could feel his strength and excitement mounting; soon we were in a flat out run and he didn’t indicate any desire to slow down. It took consistent determination on my side, steering him to some deeper sand, and considerable effort to bring him to a halt. When I expressed my concern to the guide, he said that this horse wasn’t usually ridden by the tourists. At this point I was happy to switch horses and my return back along the beach required markedly less effort. So much for feigning ignorance in hopes of having an easy ride.

The evening was spent walking toward the legend filled “muelle de las almas” or “pier of the souls” (an aptly named wooden structure built at the edge of a hill overlooking the sea) on a rocky undulating path with a gate, which requires a key. A farmer obliges by giving it to you for a small fee. The path follows verdant steep hills dotted with sheep offering spectacular views. At one point it seemed reaching the destination before nightfall was not feasible. But, stopping a few kilometers before the end prompted a local on horseback to ride up to Matthias and me (Bettina was resting a swollen ankle back in the car) urging us with confidence to continue on. His assessment was correct. We made it to the pier before sunset; the sight before us of sky, land and sea with streaks of sunlight emanating from the clouds took our breaths away.

Driving back in the dark we spotted a white owl perched on a road post awaiting our approach. As we neared, it flew off to another post further down the road, again to await us, then flew off into the night.

Dec 11 DAY 23 Isla Mechuque

With plans thwarted for a visit to Isla Mechuque the two previous days, Mirella organized a boat trip for Bettina, Matthias (my new traveling companions) and me, and an American family, the daughter just finishing up her studies in Chile, who came the night before.

We were to set off around 9am, travel to the island(about 45 minutes away) and return after a short visit of around an hour and one-half. What we had not yet fully understood is that our passage was an arrangement of a slightly dubious nature. Three boats had been hired to take food and everything necessary to entertain fifty people for a corporate party on the isla. And our small group was an under the table arrangement between Mirella and the captain.

We set off to discover what we could in a short time and I wandered off to find an unattended museum with artifacts from life on the isla including the first TV. A photo on the wall resembled a man I had seen outside, taken perhaps thirty years prior. This collection was his labor of love.

I met up with the American family, in a woman’s home and one of the isla’s few restaurants. We had tea not far from an assortment of leaves being prepared for skin balms that were to be prepared and sold. The certificate on the wall clearly legitimatized all transactions. Heading back to the dock for the scheduled departure, I learned of the first delay.

Not far from the dock, a woman was tending to her garden and I stopped to admire it. We chatted briefly before she invited me in for some coffee. Iris had come to this island about sixty years before to teach at the school, met her husband and stayed. The life never suited her but crossword puzzles and tending to her flowers brought joy to her days. I saw Bettina and Matthias passing by and soon we were all sitting at a table with bread and honey and Iris’s husband Luis, speaking of the delinquency and danger present in the cities and clearly nostalgic for life under Pinochet. Iris’s place had changed with her husband’s arrival, she did not sit with us at the table, but a short distance away. But the harshness of their outlook did not mar a softer inner core. Upon our departure we were presented with gifts from the garden, fresh herbs, potatoes and a peony which I previously confessed to Iris to be my favorite.

It soon became clear that our leaving the island was inextricably entwined with the corporate party which would be going on until 4pm or so.

With now more time, my friends and I set off in search for lunch.

We were directed to a new wooden structure that sat high on a small hill. It was virtually bare but a woman soon presented herself and offered her only fare, a “centolla.” I wasn’t sure what we would be eating but soon she was sitting with us cutting up into manageable morsels, what resembled a spiny king crab. The meat was sweet and delectable. Our delayed departure ultimately yielded a fine affair.

With some logistics to take care of my friends and I returned to Castro for the night.

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.