Patagonia--Arrival--February 16-17

There's something so romantic and intriguing about Patagonia; there's a reason Tom and I have visited southern Chile three times. We don't go there for the weather. We don't go there because it's a place easily reached. We keep returning because it's so remote and untouched, and we love the feeling of being almost at the end of the world (or maybe the top of the world if you flip the typical globe upside down). It's wild, untamed, sometimes wet, often windy. Unless you climb one of its spectacular high peaks with upwards of a 12,000-foot vertical, most of your time is likely spent at not far above sea level. There is an allure to Patagonia and its people. It beckons.

Seattle to LAX, overnight to Santiago, and another two hours on to Balmaceda. Then, if all had gone as planned, John Hauf of Patagonia Frontiers would have met us at the airport to start our 6-hour drive south to our 45-minute boat trip to Lake Plomo. Upon arrival in Santiago, we were apprised of a rather unusual situation. John had emailed to say that the fishermen in Coyhaique (the nearest city to Balmaceda) had gone on strike. There had been a run on gas in town. John immediately put his truck in line, only to be number four from the pumps when the station closed. No more gas. His advice was that we hop on a transfer shuttle for the 45-minute trip from Balmaceda to Coyhaique; he would meet us at the hostel where he stays on his trips for supplies. In the meantime, he would continue to hunt for the gas we needed to make the trip south.

By the time we arrived in Balmaceda, the strikes had grown and the slogan "Tu problema es mi problema" had been adopted in Chile's District XI, the Aysen region. If you fishermen have a beef, the rest of us are going to jump on the bandwagon. The powers that be in Santiago will have to listen to our growing voice. Piles of tires were burned, road blocks were erected. And gas was in very short supply. John continued to ask around town to see if anyone would sell him some gas. It quickly became evident that we would not be southbound that day.

Tom and I settled into Maria Esther's homey, friendly hostel; took a brief nap to battle our jet lag; and then set off to explore town. It's very refreshing to walk through a town without seeing any other norteamericanos. Nary a one. Tom's lighter coloring and 6'5" stature garnered many stares. We perused some small shops, the pedestrian plaza, and two huge grocery stores (always a fun glimpse into the local ways). John led us to the local fire station's restaurant for dinner, where we enjoyed delicious fish and a mid-meal power outage. The entire town was dark on our walk back to the hostel. No particular reason for the blackout, and the power was restored by the next morning.

John was up and out early and finally convinced someone to sell us 20 liters of gas for an exorbitant fee. The Chileno drained the gas from the bottom of his car, and we transferred it to the truck. Loaded up with a full bed of luggage, food, and supplies, John steered the truck onto the Carretera Austral to begin our long journey to his ranch. A short distance outside of town, we picked up NOLS guide Frank Preston who was coming to help John with our trek. I stole the shotgun seat; putting me in the back on twisty mountain roads is not a good idea. Trust me.