El Chalten, Argentina to Rio Grande, Argentina

Leaving El Chalten represented a dramatic change in the scenery....

and the wild life...

Justin arrived by bus in Puerto Natales and his first day back on the road marked his longest day on the bicycle ever.

We clocked in over 65 miles in good time and were able to seek refuge from the wind in a small shack behind a rural police station. Hand it to Justin to celebrate his longest day on a bicycle with two Marlboros.  

That night the structural integrity of the shack was put to the test as the wind speed picked up to a consistent 100kms per hour. When we left the police station they told us that it was gusting at over 100kms per hour. 

Nothing could have readied us for what we experienced on the road that day. We later found out that the wind speeds rose to over 145kms per hour. 

 Rocks the size of golf balls were getting hurled across the roadway and we were constantly tossed all the way across thelanes onto the opposite shoulder. I was riding at nearly a 30% angle to fight back at the crosswind and the massive gusts would put me nearly parallel with the ground....tires slipping across the asphalt. Just when I was sure it could not get any worse I was engulfed by a huge dust storm. When my eyes finally produced enough moisture to rid themselves of some of the sand I was able to make out a small shack in the distance.    

As I jumped off my bicycle to push it towards the shack the winds pulled it out of my hands and drop kicked it across the highway. Using all my strength I made it to the shack, threw open the door and landed inside in a cloud of dust and rocks.

Parker and Kevin were not far behind. We all hunkered down in the small shed, which turned out to be a makeshift workers shed for migrant sheep farmers.

Within an hour or so we were burning cow shit in the small stove. Just in case you thought I was joking... 

  

By the time Justin arrived (he was forced to resort to walking) we had the shed up to about 80 degrees. We rested the remainder of the afternoon and as the sun began to set we sensed a lull in the wind and jumped back on our bikes to push another 20kms to the next known shelter.

The shelter turned out to be a road workers house and when we stopped to ask the caretaker if we could fill up our water he offered us the entire house, including showers, beds and full kitchen. Once again, someone took it upon themselves to go out of their way to help us. He told us that the winds that day had been extreme even for one of the windiest places on earth and that a semi had blown over just a mile down the road from his home.

 In an effort to beat the winds we woke up the following morning at 5am and were on the road just after 6am. We only stopped for a quick lunch mid day and made it all the way to Punta Arenas with not much more than a strong breeze.

When we arrived in Punta Arenas all that separated us from Tierre Del Fuego was the Straight of Magellan and a gasoline strike that shut down Punta Arenas. To protest the reduction in gasoline subsidies the people of southern Argentina set up massive road blocks and burned furniture and tires in the middle of the thoroughfares. No one could leave or enter the city and all ferry services were shut down indefinitely. More than 500 tourists were trapped in the city. The strike was completely unorganized and without a leader or spokesperson. Their was no information available regarding the resumption of the ferry so we were forced to continually ride to the port to check in with the ferry employees about a possible departure. Our patience was further tested when the local government announced they did not intend to compromise and would be willing to wait out a 20 to 30 day strike if necessary.  

When we nearly gave up hope on getting to Tierre Del Fuego our friend Kevin showed up at our campsite and announced that a ferry was leaving in thirty minutes. With nothing packed we started the mad rush to get everything strapped to our bikes. We all took notice that Justin seemed particularly lackadaisical as he broke down camp. When I left for the docks I told Justin he had approximately 20 minutes to get his ass on that boat.

You will notice that there is a bicycle missing from this photo.  

Justin can thank his lucky stars that they decided to run the ferry again the next morning. We waited for him in Povernir and after our rendezvous a mere 300 miles of paved and dirt road lay between us and our final destination of Ushuaia, Argentina.

The road out of Povernir hugs the north western coast of Tierre Del Feugo before bending inland and crossing over to the Atlantic Ocean. This is sparsely inhabited, weather beaten pampa that offered us little to no shelter from the gale force winds that permanently sweep the land.  

We had to get creative to find makeshift shelters that would provide us with enough protection so that our tents would not get torn to shreds. We got separated from Justin on the first day out of Povernir and he ended up camping behind a semi truck while we were able to find a small metal shed.

That night we were treated to a particularly intense Austral Sunset.

When we approached the Argentinian border a huge line of trucks and cars materialized. The protesters were still at it and had effectively shut down the entire Chilean / Argentinian border crossing by dumping piles of dirt on the roadway. With less than 200 miles to Ushuaia there was no way we were going to let a road block get in our way. Without hesitation we rode past a mile of traffic and cruised through the road block like we owned the place. I even stopped to take a photo of Parker rolling through.

  

 That night we camped on the downwind side of a school house which sat adjacent to a huge sheep farm. It had been nearly eleven hours since we had seen Justin and around 10:30pm I gave up hope and began to get into my tent when I heard an unmistakable “heyyooo” from the roadway. Earlier that day Justin had completely lost track of time and fallen asleep at the border crossing and was treated to bad headwinds when he finally mounted his stead to catch back up with us.

Justin erected his supermarket purchased tent next to ours and immediately called it a night. I woke early to the sound of my tent getting ravaged by wind and rain. The wind had shifted directions during the middle of the night and had left us completely exposed. Around 5am I got out of my tent to adjust my stakes and looked over as Justin's makeshift tent was squashed like a bug under the force of a gust of wind. I stood there and laughed to myself as I watched the wind rip his rain fly away from his tent and leave him fully exposed to the sheets of rain. The rains and winds continued to increase in strength until we were forced to make a game time decision and abandon camp to make the 35 mile ride to Rio Grande. By the time we left there were inches of standing water in the bottom of Terremoto's tent. Justin made a sound decision and hitched a ride with a Nestle delivery driver. The bicycle ride took Parker and I over 5 hours to complete as we were blasted with head winds and monsoon rains. To add insult to injury Parkers rear tire decided to abandon its sidewall and he was forced to walk and carry his bicycle the last three miles.

We arrived in Rio Grande, battered and nearly frozen. We set up shop at a kayaking club called Club Nautico on the banks of the Rio Grande. The Rio Grande is perhaps the most famous body of water we have come across in South America and as so much the local government charges a day use fee of nearly a hundred dollars to fish the “public water” which happens to be the least desirable water on the river. The private estancias (farms) that own every other mile of river upstream of here start at about $1000 a day. Unfortunately, at this point we cannot justify spending our combined two month budget on one day of fishing. It is painful to know that we are no more than a hundred yards from 20lb plus browns. Fortunately, we found a few games to keep ourselves occupied and distracted.

After 18,000 miles on the bike my body and mind are overwhelmed with the understanding that this lifestyle is drawing to an end. It was over a year and a half ago that Parker and I abandoned everything we knew. We left behind the comforts of home for the simplicity and uncertainty of bicycle travel and life on the road. Since then our lives have been broken down into basic nomadic survival...eating, biking and sleeping. In a little more than two weeks we will leave behind the elementariness and hopefully return home as better people for having followed a dream.  

Encuentro Lodge, Argentina to El Chalten, Argentina

When the previous blog ended, Parker and I were readying ourselves for a day on a newly discovered body of water with Benjamin Beale.

When will left the Encuentro Lodge mid afternoon and began to ascend a small pass to the secret stretch of water, we found ourselves in the middle of snow flurries. Not to be deterred by freezing temperatures, we continued on towards the river. The three of us got a very late start to the day but it was immediately apparent that Ben had taken us somewhere very special.

Not more than ten casts into the day, I had moved the first fish and within another ten minutes we were reeling in our first monster brown. The day continued in much the same style...blasting fast pocket water with massive streamers and watching enormous browns explode on our offerings. The river was very reminiscent of one of my favorite creeks in Montana and instantly took it's place as one of my favorite rivers in Argentina.  

The Caraterra Austral (two words synonymous for the best f#@*%ing touring cycling on the planet) lived up to it's reputation and offered up some of my favorite stretches of road to date. 

The scenery and fishing provided us with the two biggest distractions. I found it difficult to go a full kilometer without jumping off my bike to take photos. We spent time at every river crossing to evaluate the water and look for feeding fish. It was not unusual for one of us to impulsively rig up a fly rod and go crashing through the thick vegetation (still wearing our helmet) to place a cast into the most enticing waters. To date there has only been one location were we did not move a fish.

This sea run brown was caught in an estuary while standing no more than three feet from the roadway. It was my first sea run to date and from what we have been told a “pretty damn good fish” for the area.

When we arrived in Coyhaique we once again met up with Justin who was forced to resort to old fashioned hitch hiking after his bike and gear had became so water logged that he could no longer pedal. We settled into a local hostel and by some sort of divine intervention I received an email from a Montana friend who wanted to see if we had reached Coyhaique. As it turns out he had a local buddy, Carlos, who was ready to meet up with us, show us the town and take us fishing. It's phenomenal how these things work out sometimes.

Within minutes we were in Carlos' car headed to a local establishment, to share some stories and plan the following days fishing trip. Excited to mix things up and jazzed at the prospect of hooking into something huge, we made plans to go after a local run of Chinook Salmon. A run that has slowly started to take hold in a small river just outside of town. The day was great but we were preparing to walk away skunked when Carlos came though in the clutch with some massive spinning gear and triggered an explosion of a hit from a healthy chinook. Thanks to Carlos' fishing skills and hospitality we left Coyhaique having over indulged and over eaten. Once again chance placed us into the life of a new friend and once again we were overwhelmed by generosity. We both hope to see Carlos' again soon.  

Fortunately our time with Carlos transitioned flawlessly (save a massive hangover) into our visit to Tomango Lake Lodge with Skip, the owner and proprietor of Nic Fin Outfitters. A friend of a friend put us into contact with Skip and something about our adventure struck a cord with him. Skip offered us a once in a life time opportunity to join him at his lodge. We helped Skip with a few minor chores and in return he blew our minds. Nothing could have prepared us for the experiences that Skip shared with us.

Without talking too much about the specific fisheries I will say that Skip has access to fishing and fish that I only dreamed existed. I am talking about browns as long as your arm that would want nothing more than to eat your hummingbird sized dry fly. Our time on the water with Skip was semi limited due to the insane “w” word. See photo:

But we were able to get more than a sampling of something so, so special. 

 There is something so wrong but so right about a 20 plus inch brown doing aerial acrobatics to eat a huge foam dry fly. The lodge has it all, the scenery, the fishing, and the comforts but does not jeopardize a true South American / Patagonian experience.   

We've already made plans to meet back up with Skip in Idaho.

We left Coyhaique on the second half of the Caraterra Austral. I wasn't sure if there was anyway to top the scenery of the first half but true to form the Austral continued to get better and better. The pictures can do it more justice than my descriptions.

By the last day of the Austral we resorted to actually riding with rigged fly rods in hand which allowed us to hit every body of water we crossed. It does not get much better than only spending five minutes on your bike to get to a completely new fishery. Every drainage ditch, every creek, every pond and every lake held fish. 

This fish was particularly memorable because it was spotted while riding and hooked from the seat of my bicycle.

Where the Careterra Austral ends in Villa O'Higgins; our adventure began. 

South of town we hopped onto a ferry that shuttled us across Lago San Martin, visiting O'Higgins glacier on the way and dropped us at the beginning of a horse track that lead over the Andes and back into Argentina. 

There were large sections of road that were unridable by loaded touring bike but we were prepared for it and were able to take our time and really enjoy the experience. Once again I will rely on the photos to do the talking...

Our first glimpse of the mighty Mt. Fitzroy

When we arrived at the north end of Lago Del Desierto we were greeted with surreal views of Mt Fitzroy. 

We liked the spot so much that we decided to hang out for an extra day even despite the fact that we were totally out of food. Thanks to the abundance of rainbows in the lake we easily sustained ourselves.

From the lake we had a short ferry ride and forty kilometers of dirt to El Chalten. We arrived in El Chalten on New Years Eve and spent and uneventful but perfect evening with some Argentinian wine and a couple of kilos of steaks.

As it turned out our friend La Paz Kevin was also spending New Years in El Chalten and despite our attempts to spend the holidays together Justin had somehow managed to end up in Villa O'Higgins (the southern most town on the Careterra Austral) with no money for the ferry of food. Kevin, Parker and I hit the road on New Years with plans to reunite with Justin somewhere close to Puerto Natales.

Leaving El Chalten marked a dramatic change in the scenery. We traded the jagged spires of Mt Fitzroy...

and the lush vegetation near Lago Del Desierto....

 for the pampa, which reminded us a lot of the altiplano in Bolivia, leaving us completely exposed to the elements, particularly the WIND. By mere chance we managed to avoid the wind for the first couple of days. As we approached Puerto Natales it decided to rear it's ugly head. For roughly 170 kms we battled through head and cross winds which topped out at about 100kms per hour. Thanks to our naïvety we thought we had seen the worst.