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Aysén

Patagonia

By Yes Mom I'm Alive

In February 2024, Jeff and I embarked on an 7-day, 80-mile horse-supported backpacking trip through the Patagonian backcountry with Chulengo Expeditions. This was our fourth trip to Patagonia, but our first to the northern region of Aysén.

DAY 1

We loaded into a sprinter van in Coyhaique and drove three hours south to Lago Lapparent, with a pitstop at a market in Villa Cerro Castillo after one of our fellow hikers realized she had forgotten her toothbrush at her hostel.

A toothbrush wasn’t the only thing missing from our van that morning—another hiker’s flight had been cancelled and she was still on her way to Coyhaique. One of our guides Manu stayed behind to pick her up from the airport, with the plan to rush and catch up with us on the trail.

The rest of us arrived at the trailhead, where we met the riders Daniel and Andres and the six horses that would be accompanying us for the next 7 days.

First Camp

After a long steep climb in dense brush, we topped out onto an open ridge. From there we cruised to our first camp on a sloped riverbank. We set up our tents while the riders prepared our dinner (chicken and rice) and the horses grazed on theirs (grass).

After we finished, our guide Nico laid out a map and showed us our route for the next day: We'd hike to a river tributary and set up camp, then continue onward to the Avellanos Towers before returning back to camp. All told, tomorrow we'd cover just under 20 miles.

Huh. I could've sworn the itinerary said we would not reach the towers until our third day, I said to Jeff later in our tent. He shrugged and we slid into our sleeping bags. I guess I read it wrong.

DAY 2

We woke up under a canopy of grey, heavy clouds. Rain was imminent. We had a quick breakfast and broke camp, piling up our camping gear to be packed onto the horses after we left. We started the day walking several miles along an old 4x4 road, passing grazing cows and ominous peaks. We turned into a lenga forest and exited into a wide open valley. And then it started to pour.

Puesto

The rain and wind pelted us from every direction; our rain gear didn't stand a chance. The ground turned to a bog beneath our feet, the water rising to our ankles. The riders caught up to us and told us there was a puesto (backcountry shelter) about 90 minutes away. We pushed on, weaving in and out of rivers and forests. When we arrived at the puesto, we quickly stripped off our soaking layers and huddled together next to the fire. We hung our soaking jackets, gloves, and socks to dry while we ate lunch.

Avellanos Towers

To our great surprise, the rain ceased after an hour and the clouds began to lift. Cautiously optimistic, we continued onward to the Avellanos Towers. We followed a faint trail through a lenga forest into a wide valley. From there, we crisscrossed the river and traversed along a tall moraine. We scrambled across a large boulder field to arrive at the cirque, where two glacial lakes lay 2,000 vertical feet below the soaring granite Avellanos Towers. Although the peaks were shrouded in clouds and the light was flat and grey, we still marveled at their sheer height.

A Late Return

We left the towers around 6:30 PM and began the long walk back to camp. After retracing our way back through the valley, we re-entered the dense forest. Suddenly we heard the galloping of horses; Daniel and Andres came in search of us, concerned that we might be lost or that we may need help finding a safe place to cross the roaring river. They led us to a passable bend of the river and then back to camp. We arrived just before dark to a roaring fire and a hearty dinner of steak, potatoes, and carrots. Fatigued from the long day, we ate in near silence before retreating to our respective tents.

DAY 3

Jeff and I had packed and prepared for Patagonia's notoriously wild weather—rain, snow, sleet, and wind. The only element we hadn't prepared for was the sun. For the remainder of our trip temperatures hovered at around 90 degrees. With most of the trail being exposed and unshaded, we were elated that our third day required no less than 37 river crossings!

Lights Out

We were about 5 minutes from camp, strolling through a sunny forest and feeling high from a great day on the trail, when suddenly my gaiter strap caught on a root and I came crashing to the ground. My forehead slammed down onto a rock. "I hit my head!" I cried, and then everything went black.

I woke up to Jeff calling my name and gently shaking my shoulders. I asked what happened, and then...lights out again. After another 10 seconds, I regained consciousness (and fortunately kept it). Everyone patiently waited as I rested and regained my bearings. Jeff helped me get on my feet and limp the last quarter-mile to camp.

When we arrived, Andres whispered something to Manu; the only word I caught was mantequilla (butter). Manu explained Andres told her it was an old country remedy to put butter on cuts and abrasions. As we were deep in the backcountry, I was willing to try anything. With stifled laughter, Andres gently spread butter on my head with a knife. And wouldn't you know it? By the morning, the cuts on my forehead had already started to heal.

(This became a running joke on the trip. A few days later I dropped my phone into a waterfall and when I pulled it out to survey the damage Daniel quipped that I should "put some butter on it.")

DAY 4

This was the hottest day on the trail – but mercifully, also the shortest.

Asado

Our camp that night was at the home of one of the few families living in the remote Avellanos valley. While the horses settled into the pasture, we took a tour of their estancia: a small corton steel cabin, vegetable greenhouse, outhouse, and an asado shed. As we set up tents, Daniel, Andres, and our hosts butterflied a goat, then roasted it next to a slow-burning fire. A few hours later it was carved and served alongside sopapillas with blackberry jam, boiled potatoes, and Chilean red wine.

A Change of Schedule

At some point during the day, our guide Nico revisited the last half of our hike, and ended with: "...and then we drop you off at the airport on Friday."

The hikers looked at each other. "Do you mean Saturday?" one of us asked.

"No, no – Friday. We just have two more nights on the trail."

There was a long pause. "But we all have flights on Saturday..."

And that's when everyone realized we were a day ahead of schedule. We were supposed to split the grueling 20 miles to the Avellanos Towers into two days, not one! As the realization of what happened sank in for our guide, a ripple of laughter spread among the hikers. We pulled out the maps and revised our route to add an extra day.

DAY 5

The silver lining of my sleeping pad popping a seam and deflating in the middle of the night was that I was wide awake for an incredible sunrise.

Lago Gen. Carerra

While the 4x4 road to our next camp was relatively flat, it seemed to stretch on forever. On the horizon, the bright blue Lago General Carrera—a massive 710 square-mile glacial lake shared by Chile and Argentina—beckoned us. For hours we walked toward the lake, yet it seemed to never get any closer.

At long last, we arrived at our camp, a community center made from two adjoined shipping containers on the lake's shore. Our guides explained that families living in the valley use this place for gatherings or as a resting spot during the multi-day horseback journey to Puerto Ibañez.

Tonight it was the hiker's turn to cook dinner. We made pasta with vegetables while Nico, Manu, Andres and Daniel showed us folk dances the chamamé and cueca.

DAY 6

We started our morning hiking along the massive lake, guided by the light of our headlamps and the slowly rising sun. It felt like we were walking beside an ocean, with waves gently lapping against the rocky shore.

Ugly Canyon

In the late morning we passed over a sketchy wooden bridge over a deep ravine known locally as the Ugly Canyon. Andres said it was so named because before the bridge was built, grazing cattle from the nearby estancias frequently fell into the canyon and die. Daniel had a simpler explanation; it got its name because it was, well, ugly.

Lake Swim

After a long, hot, and dusty morning, we stopped for lunch in the shade of some alamo trees. We moved down to the lake and took turns jumping off boulders into the cool blue waters. Eventually, we reluctantly toweled off and continued on our way. The worst was yet to come: a steep 1,300-foot climb up an unshaded hill at the height of the day's heat. At the top, we found our impromptu campsite for the night at a farm owned by Andres's family.

DAY 7

On our final morning, we were gifted a late start and a feast for breakfast—all of the remaining eggs, tortillas, and bacon that needed to be finished. We were more than happy to help lighten the load on the horses.

Afterward, the hikers packed up—more efficient than ever after six mornings of practice—and got a head start while the riders finished packing up the horses. It didn't take long for the horses to catch up to us as we crossed the arid grassland, weaving tediously around the shrub brush.

The End

The last mile of any hike is always the longest, and this trail was no exception. I wasn't eager to leave the beautiful backcountry, per se, but I was very aware on the other side of this final mile a hot shower and clean change of clothes waited for us.

Finally, we turned a bend and saw down the road a pair of trucks waiting to pick us up and take us to our final destination, the small town of Puerto Ibañez.

We had made it–7 days, 80 miles, almost 11,000 feet. A trip easy to put in numbers, hard to put into words. I'm going to blame that on the head injury.

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