Tag: El Calafate

Day 22: El Chaltén – Puerto Natales

By the time I got into my tent, I would only be getting a maximum of two hours sleep before it was time for me to get up and head for the bus station, aiming for the 3 AM bus to El Calafate.

I got up quickly and packed up my sleeping kit before rushing along to the bus station. There was a slight issue, it was also the bus to El Calafate airport, and the bus was full and wouldn’t take bikes. A sub-optimal start to my day.

All the other buses were full too, the ticket officer said, except that I could get a ticket, with my bike, for the 2 PM bus, so it seemed that I should take it. After I had, she quickly closed up the ticket office and was on her way, and I was left to deliberate the situation. The situation being, that I’d just bought a bus ticket to El Calafate that would arrive at 5 PM, whereby the last bus leaving El Calafate for Puerto Natales that day, would be leaving at half past 4. Oh dear. I’d also been introduced to the idea that some buses in Argentina took bikes, others didn’t.

Starting to worry, I found a number for a private transfer company, and started to message, surprised to find that they messaged back at 4 in the morning. Soon though, they became unresponsive, and I was left not really having had anything confirmed at all.

I checked again online and found other coach companies, so formulated a new plan. Return to the campsite, set my tent back up, and then return to the bus station before 8 o’clock to check on the other buses. A flawless plan, until the morning, when I turned my alarm off, and promptly fell back asleep.

Mid morning, I tried that tactic anyway, rushing around all the various coach company offices in the bus station checking to see if they had any places available. There were not, and suddenly I had a dawning realisation that I was reenacting an episode of Race Across the World, a series I had watched fervently and clearly not learned anything from. The only difference being that I didn’t have a partner-in-crime to complain at when things went wrong. I had gone from the end of the world, to prime tourist season Patagonia in a day, and the transport woes were the same.

The tourist information desk couldn’t help with suggesting a company to provide a transfer with the bike, but I was pointed in the direction of a wall of taxi numbers, so picked one, and thankfully they responded quickly. Yes they could give me a lift the 200 km to El Calafate. The catch? It would cost 300,000 (£155) in Argentinian pesos, or $215 USD. Well, it was that or spend over £300 on a new flight from El Calafate, so it felt like I had little choice.

Clearly the price in pesos was better value, so, as I hadn’t got any Argentinian money yet, I rushed off to a bank. Finding one, I was initially bemused when I couldn’t take out the amount of money I needed, until I realised that the machine would only let me take out up to £50 worth of pesos a day, nowhere near enough. Not to worry I thought, there was a branch of Western Union nearby, I could take out some dollars, apparently at a better rate than they would be usually, which could help reduce the relative price of the transfer. Only problem, Western Union had no dollars.

I was in trouble, I messaged the taxi company back and said that I didn’t have enough cash, could I possibly visit a cash machine in El Calafate when I got there. How about you pay some of it on your card was the response. Well, ok then, I’ll pay all of it on my card if that’s an option!

The transfer passed pleasantly enough, the route comprising flattish roads of beautiful tarmac, as the road navigated its way around two large lakes – Lago Viedma and Lago Argentino – backed by beautiful snow-capped peaks.

Arriving at El Calafate bus station, with some time to spare until the last bus, which I’d already booked online, I made for the company’s ticket office to ensure that my bike would be allowed as luggage. No we don’t take bikes, the woman said, why does no one check these things. Look at the sign, she said pointing at a sign reading ‘no bici’.

Once the bad cop had her say, the good cop checked my passport and then said that she’d need to phone head office to make sure it was ok. It was, it just needed me to pay an additional fee, specifically for bikes, funnily enough.

That sorted, my next thought turned to bike boxes. I was to arrive in Puerto Natales at half past 10 at night, and my flight the next day was at 11 o’clock. The window for picking up a box was small, so it wasn’t with much hope that I messaged a bike shop to ask if they could sell me a box. Thankfully the first one came up trumps, and not only could he sell me a box, but he could open up early to let me have it.

When the bus arrived into Puerto Natales, a full hour early, I took the opportunity to book a hotel for the night and recover a little sleep. After I’d finished discarding all of the unused food out of my panniers, that was.

Day 21: Villa O’Higgins – El Chaltén

Distance: 35.70 miles

Time: 7:33

Elevation Gain: 3,405 feet

At 4:30 AM, I rushed back along the road towards the ferry port, that Desiree and I had paid a visit to, two days before. Slightly concerned not to see any other cyclists travelling that direction, I was almost at the port when I saw the first flashing red bike light in front of me, a French cyclist asked if I could take his picture at the ‘end of the road’ sign. Yes of course, no problem I said, before being slightly less sure when he suggested we should get one together. Later in the day, the cyclist, Manu, clarified that, in the dark, he thought I was someone else.

When we rolled down to the port, there were as many as 20 other cyclists already there, and I started to get a slight tinge of excitement, that despite the stiff breeze, we might be going somewhere today after all, and this was only reinforced when a minibus with a few hikers on board showed up.

We waited in anticipation for some movement around one of the larger boats, before realising that the boats we were looking at weren’t going anywhere, and the boat we were waiting on was really quite small. They started lifting bikes up onto the roof of the boat and I really hoped they knew what they were doing.

Soon underway, the small craft, carrying 28 passengers, mostly other cyclists, all of us wearing life jackets, which hinted towards the fact that we might need them as the small boat crashed through the waves, the 1.5 hours across the lake.

Arriving in Candelario Mancilla, I dawdled a little in getting ready, aware that the rush for the day was over, I was now readying myself for a long day out. The night before, shortly after I’d received the message to say that the first boat would be running, I’d received another message to say that the second boat – across Lago Del Desierto – had been cancelled, for maintenance. Fortunately, some of the other cyclists on the boat had updated information that it would be running today after all, which gave us until 5 o’clock to cover the 20 kilometre stretch to the lake, plenty of time.

I was the last of the cyclists to leave the harbour, after a pair of girls from Colorado. When I reached the Chilean border post, 1 km later, I bumped into an English couple, Sean and Emily, who I had previously met at the Cerro Color campsite. They had been delayed slightly as they hadn’t filled in the Salvoconducto form that was to be filled out to pre-warn the authorities of their intention to leave the country.

Fortunately, I had filled in the safe passage form, but I was still a little worried about the Chilean border post as I’d lost the PDI form, which I received when I entered the country, and which I was meant to keep with me at all times and was to be handed in on leaving. I’d carefully ensured it was in my passport for the last month, but then, when I’d booked the tickets for the boat, the agent removed the slip and gave it back to me separately, and when I’d tried to find it after returning from the BBQ the night before, I couldn’t find it anywhere.

Luckily, when the border control officer realised I’d lost it, he told me ‘it was very important to have it’ but that it was ‘ok’.

The stretch after the Chilean border was a slog, with a 5K climb from sea level up to 2000 feet. The surface was rough, and I couldn’t keep traction with my 45 mm gravel tyres, so I pushed the bike much of the way.

What followed was a much more pleasant section through a sun-dappled forest in a high pass through the mountains.

After 15 km, I reached a sign marking the start of Argentinian territory, and instantly the track petered out to a narrow path over steeply undulating terrain, through woodland. It was an extreme core workout pushing a loaded touring bike over the severe rock, and fallen tree, strewn terrain.

There were regular river crossings, some which could be forded on logs and some which required to be pushed through. By this time I’d caught up with some of the people ahead, so the girls from Colorado and Sean and Emily were also undertaking this section too. At one river crossing, I arrived to find Sean and Emily removing their shoes and throwing them to the far bank to keep them dry as they waded through the shin-deep water.

At the last such crossing, I was on my own again, when I arrived at two logs. Trying to push the bike across one, while walking across the other, the flexion in the trunks was great and the back wheel of the bike slipped off the log, taking me with it. I quickly realised I’d cut my leg on something in the fall and assumed that it was part of the bike, until I looked down at the log and saw two inches of rusty nail sticking out the side. Great.

On making it to the Argentinian border post on the banks of the beautifully situated Lago Del Desierto, I quickly dispatched the order of business of officially entering a new country, and then asked Sean and Emily if they had any first aid supplies with them, somehow the one area in which I’m never properly equipped. Fortunately they did, and Emily brought over a selection of creams and some dressings to cover the wound, which was not deep, but was three inches long.

We all waited on the lawn outside the border post for a couple of hours, in the sunshine, waiting for the boat to arrive to take us across the lake. When the time it was expected came and went and we could see no boat setting off from the other side, we all started to debate the accuracy of the report that the boat would be coming today, but as the time approached half past 5, suddenly the boat was on its way.

Now that I was across the lake, it seemed like the potential hold ups for the day were out of the way, and all I needed to do was cycle the 20+ miles to El Chaltén. But that was in theory, and had not taken into account just how beautiful this stretch was, and also the roughness of the road surface. The mountain scenery of Los Glaciares National Park was mesmerising, but the star of the show was undoubtedly Monte Fitz Roy.

Finally, arriving in town at well after 10 o’clock at night, I found that reception was still open at El Relincho campsite on the main street, so, thankfully, I was able to register and get a shower access code, most important after a hot, difficult, 18 hour day.

Villa O’Higgins: At The End of The Road

I was almost at the end of the road. After Villa O’Higgins, the road continued for 7 kilometres more to Puerto Bahamondez, where the only option was to take a boat across Lago O’Higgins to Candelario Mancilla, 1 km from a Chilean border post and 20 km of no man’s land in a disputed area with Argentina.

Eventually, I’d reach the Argentinian border post, and then have to cross Lago Del Desierto on a small tourist boat, before pedalling out the 20 or so miles to the Argentinian mountain resort of El Chaltén, in a popular hiking area.

The next morning, I made for the Ruedas De La Patagonia office as soon as I got up, only to find that it wouldn’t be opening until 11 o’clock. After a wander around town and finding what was clearly the best stocked supermarket, I returned to check on the possibility of booking a place on the boat.

The ticket agent shook his head, ‘oh no no no no, Monday’, he said. Ok great, I said. That would be fine. He asked if I also wanted booked on the second boat, across Lago Del Desierto while I was at it. Yes, please, and thank you.

On the Friday night, on my last stretch into Villa O’Higgins, I’d finally had reception after a day and a half in the wilderness, and I received numerous messages from Desiree all at once. She was hoping I was doing ok in the bad weather, telling me that her accommodation at Giselle’s in Caleta Tortel was great, that she was feeling exhausted on her day off, that she’d got up for an early morning hike, and that she’d got back on the road, before taking a lift to the Puerto Yungay ferry, from Felipe, who was Chilean, was travelling in a campervan, and she had met before back down the road at El Blanco campsite.

From the ferry, she’d then pedalled to the Río Blanco María campsite, so she was now only around 50 miles from Villa O’Higgins. Her rental bike was to be returned in Villa O’Higgins on the Monday, and my ferry was now scheduled for the Monday too, it seemed possible now, that I might see her again, beforehand.

As it happened, she had a great day on the Saturday, in beautiful weather, making it 50 km to the glacier-clad mountain that I’d seen the day before, and leaving herself 30 km to do on the Sunday, to reach Villa O’Higgins.

The rest of my weekend was largely spent wandering backwards and forwards between the campsite and the town, a walk of under ten minutes. It was a picturesque little location, but an incredibly sleepy town. I did need to stock up on some supplies for my planned long day to El Chaltén, and of course I needed to keep stocking up for my extended stay in Villa O’Higgins as well.

Then late on the Sunday afternoon, just as Desiree was arriving in town, she messaged me asking if I wanted to cycle with her to the end of the road, as her bike would be getting returned the next day, and she wanted to make it to the end before she took it back.

We had a pleasant ride in warm sunshine, and soon covered the 7 km to the port, despite having to wait for a campervan to be rescued from a ditch, a short distance from the end.
It was a lovely moment and Desiree, was delighted to accomplish what had probably seemed like a – potentially – unrealistic goal, for someone with no previous experience of this type of trip.

We decided to celebrate by going out for dinner, and were almost ready to go when I received the bombshell news, that the boat crossing on the Monday was cancelled. I looked ahead at the forecast, the weather didn’t look any better on the Tuesday. Oh dear, I thought, before accepting that I could now have an extra couple of beers to accompany the excellent burger at La Travesia, restaurant. And, what would be the harm in a little Calafate Pisco Sour as well?

After an unintentional cake breakfast at Café Norwest 340 – due to it being all that they served – it was now Monday afternoon, and I still had not received an update about the boat, and wasn’t really sure about what to do next. The options were, wait for a boat, which was – very much – at the mercy of the weather, before taking 2 buses, totalling over 400 km: the first from El Chaltén to El Calafate, in Argentina, and the second from El Calafate to Puerto Natales, back into Chile, where I had a flight booked on the Thursday morning. The alternative was, it seemed, to get myself back along the Carretera Austral to Coyhaique, with my bike, hope to pick up a box there, and then make for Balmaceda airport – by Thursday evening – when a flight was available. A third, more costly, option was to keep waiting for a boat, and hope I could eventually make it for a 7 hour flight from El Calafate airport, to Santiago, via Buenos Aires.

Desiree, left me pondering the decision, to help Felipe set up a BBQ, at his campsite, that he’d invited us to that evening. Too tired to decide what best to do, I fell asleep, only to awake 45 minutes later to several messages from her to say that she’d heard from the boat company and there was a sailing on the Tuesday. The message she forwarded didn’t seem to state that, but it did say that the safe passage form I’d filled in to cross the border would still be valid for the next day, which only seemed relevant if there was to be a boat.

I rushed along to the office, and was delighted to find out that it was true, there was a boat scheduled for 5 AM on the Tuesday morning, and the man would WhatsApp me the details. In an instant, my trip was saved. I rushed along to the BBQ to tell the the others the good news, and then we had a very pleasant evening taking it in turns to jam on Felipe’s 3/4-sized travel guitar that he carried in the van.