Tag: El Chaltén

Day 19: Caleta Tortel – Puerto Yungay

Distance: 27.18 miles

Time: 3:55

Elevation Gain: 2,336 feet

The next day, Desiree was taking a rest day, and I was pushing on the 45 km or so to Puerto Yungay ferry terminal, ideally in time to make the last ferry at 7 o’clock, and continue the 8 miles to Río Bravo María campsite.

By the time that we headed out for lunch though, that was already seeming optimistic, and I soon started to realise that it was likely I’d be arriving at the ferry port after the last ferry had already left, and I’d be camping in the vicinity of the port.

This feeling was reinforced quite quickly, when Desiree, liking the look of the Calafate cake in a craft shop, proposed the idea of having coffee and cake first, and then going for lunch straight after. Sounded like my kind of plan.

The cake was delicious, and the boardwalk around the harbour offered up fantastic views of the layout of the town, as it reached upwards from the coast. A short chat with some construction workers informed us that the wooden boards used in the creation of the walkways required to be replaced every 12 years, no doubt maintaining the place was a year round occupation.

We moved on to El Mirador restaurant for lunch, and when the waitress pointed out that there were only 3 items on the menu, and one of them was salmon, it was a fairly easy choice in what to have, for both of us.

It was almost 4 PM, before I finally moved on, but it had been a very pleasant day so far, so I wasn’t regretting not getting back on the road in the morning when the forecast was good.

It was a tough stretch back out of Caleta Tortel, into the wind, and I hadn’t got very far at all, when I passed the Colombian couple from 2 nights before on their way into town.

If I thought that the initial part was tough, I hadn’t seen anything yet. Conditions had worsened when I reached the bottom of the climb over to Puerto Yungay, and the sign at the bottom warned of 20 km of dangerous curves. Sounded fun.

The opening hairpins were unrideable and I was forced to push up what seemed like a steep open boulder field. As the road climbed, the views back down towards the river had virtually disappeared into the gloom.

The next part was direct, steep and narrow, and with the addition of a few cars making their way over the pass, it was a tricky part to navigate, but eventually the road climbed onto a plateau and swept past Lago Caiquen.

Dropping down the other side, I had to manoeuvre my way around a truck that had skidded into the safety barrier, and was now stuck, at times having to battle with my bike to stop it doing the same, thanks to brakes that were struggling in the wet conditions.

Eventually, at almost 9 o’clock, I rolled down the hill towards the ferry port at Puerto Yungay, dragging my bike up a ramp towards a building with a porch which offered some shelter from the rain, while I looked for somewhere to pitch my tent.

Soon after, I heard voices from inside, and then someone opened the door. You can sleep in here if you want, said one of a pair of German cyclists, Fabian and Noah, who were inside a waiting area that was apparently there for the usage of cyclists.

Fabian and Noah had teamed up while waiting, for several days, for the boat, at Candelario Mancilla, perhaps a precursor of things to come for myself as I’d be taking the same boat in the opposite direction. Yes they had the phone number for the ferry company they said, and that was the first I’d had the correct one, it was evidently a very popular service, I didn’t have a booking and now I was stuck a day away from Villa O’Higgins, without any signal. There was a boat scheduled for the day after next, and unless I was very lucky, I wouldn’t be on it.

Day 13: Villa Cerro Castillo – Camping Doña Dora

Distance: 51.93 miles

Time: 7:28

Elevation Gain: 3,878 feet

Although the next stop on my itinerary was Doña Dora campsite, more than 50 miles away, I was still riding with Desiree and was aware that she was a lot newer to this than me, so my thought for today was to split the 73 miles to Puerto Río Tranquilo more evenly into two days, and see where we ended up, with the possible option of a wild camp in what was quite a remote section.

We stopped off at a fruteria and the supermarket to stock up on supplies before setting off out of town, there was a long climb to start the day, but the views we were seeing, and the ones we were heading too, of the Cerro Castillo mountain massif made it all worthwhile.

Soon we reached the dreaded ‘fin pavimento’ sign, where, effectively, the tarmac ran out for the rest of the route. And, when it did, it was replaced with the worst surface imaginable, large chunky stones right across the carriageway, and with a regular procession of trucks and pick up trucks for company.

The views along the Río Ibáñez remained sensational, with one sweeping downhill bend offering incredible views of the river’s flood plain and an en-widened meander in the glacially-fed river.

Once we reached level ground, down alongside the river now, the going was tough. There was a strong headwind, the first occasional showers for a week or so, and the road surface itself was punishing, with an occasional smoother track near the middle, and with patches of washboard, alongside deep pools of dry dust as the road dropped towards the edges, oftentimes where we forced by the fast-moving oncoming traffic.

A little low in energy, and certainly in motivation, Desiree had stopped up off the road up ahead, to take on some fuel. She had already forewarned me for what might happen next, that she was going to try to get a lift in a pickup truck. Not happy at having to abandon her by the side of the road, I offered to stay until she found a ride. But she remained resolute, she did this all the time, and she’d be fine, and as someone who’d lived in Argentina, Peru, Ecuador, and Myanmar, she was probably in a better educated position to say that than most.

I re-evaluated the situation, it was nearly 4 o’clock and I’d only covered 15 miles or so, some of which had been extremely rough and punishing, however, I started to make strong progress in the challenging conditions, and quickly re-set my target for the day to Doña Dora campsite, which would be 50 miles for the day.

For 10 miles I pushed on, making good headway, until I reached a long steep slope of thick damp dirt, my wheels skidding on the peculiar surface, until I reached a layby, near the top, and stopped to take in the views of another fine bridge far below.

At that point, there was a toot from a passing pickup and I spotted Desiree happily waving from the passenger seat, it seemed likely she’d continue all the way to Puerto Río Tranquilo today.

After the long steep hill, the road started to undulate steeply along the side of Laguna Verde, and this trend in road profile remained, even when I reached a pronounced bend in the road, with my direction switching from West to South, and the delight of escaping the headwind, tempered by repeatedly energy sapping climbs.

The road was in a high valley along the river when I pedalled the last few miles to Doña Dora campsite at 10 o’clock, only shortly before dark. The camping spot was in sparsely populated forest-land at a farm, and the sole other occupants were an Argentinian couple with a campervan, who were hunkered down in a cosy communal cabin maintaining the fire, it was much appreciated when I was cooking up some pasta in the early hours of the morning.

Day 11: Coyhaique – El Blanco

Distance: 24.5 miles

Time: 3:17

Elevation Gain: 2,018 feet

After a reasonable sleep in the hotel, I was feeling tired after the long day in the hot sun, yesterday. Today was to be even hotter, peaking at 29°, so after breakfast, as I considered the possibility of packing up all my equipment and getting back on the road, I also considered the fact that this was roughly the half way point of the route between Puerto Montt and Villa O’Higgins, and I still had plenty of time to spare, so I came up with a better plan, take a day off. Unheard of for me on a trip, after the pedalling had started, but there we go. I booked another night in the hotel, and made for the sauna as that seemed a sensible idea when it was almost 30° outside. My watch had told me that I was only 32° acclimatised to the heat conditions, so clearly there was some work to do.

In the afternoon, I popped along to the pharmacist to pick up some eyedrops, in case there were dust based issues down the road, and then I made for the hardware store to pick up some WD-40, to give my bike a little TLC before the tarmac ran out for good.

In the evening, I headed into town, with my sights set on the best pizzeria around, Mamma Gaucha, which was handily placed on the one short pedestrianised area in the centre.

As I approached, I suddenly realised that I recognised the party of three sitting at one of the few tables outside. Or I thought I did, before realising that it was the German girl and the Dutch guy from the group of three cyclists that I’d met before, but on this occasion they were with another cyclist, Jan, from Sweden. I didn’t have to wait long for the Australian from the original trio to join the party. Would I like to join them, yes that sounded like an excellent idea.

One Hot Honey Pepperoni pizza and a few IPAs later, someone had the bright idea of finding another bar, and that we did, finding what seemed like a small local bar that was quite empty on what was a Monday night. But, as the night went on the bar got busier and busier, and then the Karaoke started…

As we all made to leave, at after 2 in the morning, I felt that it was no longer too soon to ask the question. So, what are your names? And now I can share for posterity, that the German girl is called Klara, the Dutch guy is Ry and the Australian is Marcus.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the next morning, I was in no rush to leave town, so I headed in the direction of the supermarket, stopping at the bike shop to pick up some handlebar tape en route.

On reaching the supermarket, one of the German couple was guarding their bikes outside, so I went to say hello. This was Fabian and his partner was Helena. 100 yards down the street I bumped I into the Swiss couple from the campsite the other night, on their way to lunch. Pierre and Claire, who were keen to know that my eyes had improved. Coyhaique had been an excellent place to be for bumping into fellow Carretera cyclists, and even better for finding out their names.

Before I left town, I sat in the square and wrapped a second roll of handlebar tape around my bars, anticipating that my hands would be less keen on the gravel roads than they had been on the tarmac.

After lunch, I set off on what would be part 2 of the Carretera Austral, things were about to become a little more challenging, but first I’d amble along the 20 miles to El Blanco, and leave the climbing for tomorrow.

Day 10: Villa Mañihuales – Coyhaique


Distance: 58.35 miles

Time: 6:54

Elevation Gain: 3,599 feet

On exiting the campground, I rolled back down to the main road, seeing the German couple whizz past just as I was reaching it.

Setting off along Ruta 7, I’d only gone a couple of miles when I saw the couple again, down off the road, exploring a fine-looking pedestrian suspension bridge, and as I slowed to a stop, I discovered the large group of cyclists from yesterday, gathered at a bus stop.

One of the Australians was needing a 10mm Allen key, as his crank had worked itself loose, so I checked my multitool, but as expected 8mm was the largest I had.

Two of the group, stepped forward to introduce themselves, Connor and Gregor, from Glenrothes, and as they pointed out to the others, we only lived half an hour apart. They were over here for a 5 month trip, and it seemed to be going quite well.

Soon afterwards, I reached a major junction, and one of the few places where there was a choice of routes. Ruta 7 took a more direct route towards Coyhaique, but featured a large climb, and the road surface was ripio, or gravel. The alternative route, following highways X-500 and 240, took a pronounced dogleg in the direction of the coastal resort of Puerto Aysén, but was tarmac and flatter, and like many of the cyclists I met, was the choice I made.

As I pedalled along a picturesque but long-drawn out valley, I was listening to a podcast featuring the women’s winner of the 2025 West Highland Way race, and was amused by the fact that she waited until the last few moments of the podcast to share her real opinion on the race, that it wasn’t her favourite race in the world and that sections of it were dull and monotonous. Probably not a popular response in a podcast promoting the race, but after I’d spent the last 30 miles following the Río Mañihuales in the same direction, I could sympathise a little.

Eventually, I reached the junction with the road to Puerto Aysén and started to head upriver alongside the Río Simpson, a point of interest for any of my readers named Simpson, no doubt. From the sudden increase in the amount of traffic, it was clear that Puerto Aysén must be a busy town, and traffic-wise, this was the busiest stretch of road so far.

Luckily, the road had a shoulder for the most part, but I was still pleased to take opportunities to get off the bike, to stop for a late lunch in Villa Los Torreones, and to scope out, the cascada la virgen, waterfall.

On approaching 50 miles for the day, I knew there was still a climb ahead, so was dismayed when a sign at the bottom warned of ‘pavimento mal’ for 12 km, not what I was hoping to see.

The climb started steeply, before disappearing into first an open tunnel, and then an enclosed tunnel, for which I stopped and put on my lights. As I exited the tunnel at the top, the views down over the Río Simpson were fantastic in the early evening light, and as I continued to force my way up the ever busier road, the surface turned into a sort of poorly-laid monoblock, the sort of surface that the phrase rolling resistance was invented for.

Over the top of the climb Coyhaique came into view, situated across the valley it looked very much like progress would be of the down then up nature, with the road plummeting down into the valley, before climbing steeply up the other side, into the town.

I had booked a nice looking hotel, the Hotel Diego de Almagro, but by the time I arrived, it was after 9 o’clock, and I still needed to pop out for dinner, so I wouldn’t have long to enjoy it.