Cross Country Border Crossing

We´d heard about a border crossing from Argentine El Chaltein to Villa O Higgins in Chilean patagonia that involved a couple of boats combines with a hike and was only possible on foot, horseback or by bike with some pushing. Sounded like an adventure so it was a must do for the both of us.

While hiking Fitzroy we met our first other cyclists on the road who advised us to chat to the owner of the local wine cellar. We chatted with him for an hour or so, he´d cycled from Alaska to Ushuaia with his wife and had plenty of good advice for us, marking our map for dangerous spots, free cyclist houses and even reccomending good places to spend new years or the time with the now infamous "las novias". He also advised us to head for the border crossing early as there was only one boat per week on saturday morning. It was Thursday and we´d need all the time we had to make it across to the port for the boat or end up waiting a week in the middle of nowhere.

The crossing would involve a cycle to Lago del desierto to catch a daily boat. Then a hike a bike through a forest for 7 to 8 hours to reach a farm on the chilean side of the border from where a boat goes to the mainland once a week.

We hit the road out of town after buying food and having a feed, cycling the 34km on bad ripio road round the back of mount fitz roy through stunning valleys. A gaucho herding horses passed us as we headed deeper and deeper away from civilisation, the road passing a huge river that was taking chunks of the road away where the two met, no sign of any crash barriers here!

Late in the evening we reached the boat dock on the freshwater lake and wild camped for the night in the woods nearby. Next morning we loaded the bikes on the boat and were fleeced for a 45 min trip across the lake. It was better than hiking the bikes alongside the lake for what was signposted as a 5 hour hike, we´d been advised that we´d need the time and energy for the other side of the lake anyhow.

After we got off the boat we got our exit stamps on our passports in the small border patrol station. The border here is very disputed, we´d passed the site of a battle where the argentines had routed the chileans along the road here in 65, hence 4 or 5 lads were posted here out in the sticks, with a patrol boat to keep and eye on things on the lake. Seemed like a waste of the guys lives to me to be honest.

The friendly officer pointed us in the direction of the track leading up into the forest and over the pass and wished us the best of luck. We headed into the forest at 12 and it wasn´t long before we had to take our front panniers off as they were getting stuck in the deep trail. Have a look at this photo of Paul pushing his bike.

For the next 4 hours we´d do one run with the bikes for about 500 metres and then go back for our front panniers and rucksacks. It was tough going. A German couple had headed off hiking before us only for us to meet them on one of our trips back to collect our bags with some younger border officers carrying their bags. Turned out the rookie cabelleros had sent the couple on the wrong trail from the border post, having to go out and find them first and then carry their bags through the forest as penance.

We were glad when the track smoothed out a bit and wasnt as deeply rutted after 2 hours so at least we could push the bikes loaded and not have to do three trips over every section, we were going 3 times faster but still it was slow going.

The bridges were in poor condition, a few of them were just a tree trunk over a stream, some were just 3 or 4 saplings left across the streams so we´d have to unload the bikes completely and do a few runs, treading carefully on the often rotten branches and trying to balance the weight of the bags over the streams. Neither of us fancied hiking in wet boots

The photos of some of the track are here

Once we reached the actual border there was just two signs saying welcome to chile or argentina depending on which way you were headed, but never before was anyone as delighted to see what we´d call a bog road at home as the two of us. The sandy, rocky one lane track meant we could cycle again so we headed off towards the farm, not really having an idea of how far we´ d have to go. We´d done about 5 hours hike a bike to get here, it was getting a bit late in the day
and there was still no sign of any fjiord to catch our boat on. Being in a hilly forest we couldn´t see much further, understandably given the tensions over borders neither country had any decent maps of the crossing so we were relying on guesstimation.

Close to 6 the forest started to thin and the mountains of the valley we were in started to decrease in height and we reached a river where the two Germans were standing, scratching their heads. The main bridge had been washed away so we all ended up building a bridge to cross the flooded river with using oak planks from the washed away section of the old bridge. We had a good laugh with the two Germans, calling this the first German Irish bridge built for the chileans.

We headed on on our bikes leaving the two to continue hiking. They were obviously tired but had a tent and supplies so if worst came to worst they could camp but Paul offered to send someone along to collect them if they were still out in the dark when we reached the farm. We´d seen tyre marks on the trail so there was some form of vehicle at the farm.

We cycled downhill on the rough track for about 12kms, the rough track passing a deep ravine along the cliffside. We could finally see a lake ahead so we couldn´t be too far away. At 7 30 we reached the chilean border control and a group of military houses perched high along the coastline where we got our passports stamped and told the officer about the two Germans still out in the woods.

We cycled on, going down steep, gravel with grass in the middle, one lane island roads that reminded me of the aran islands back home and eventually we reached the port only to find there was nothing there bar an empty shed.

Seeing a sign with the now magical symbols of a crossed fork and knife we headed up another rough lane to reach a wooden building farmstead where the Mansilla family lived. We camped there meeting an Italian hiker who was staying there for 3 days waiting for the boat and was helping one of the mancillas build an extension. The 3 of us watched as he cut timber to length using his chainsaw, the only tool he used to turn trees into planks and then a building, dangerous stuff, especially when we found out later that the nearest nurse is in villa o higgins, a boat trip away and the doctor will only fly in to the local airstrip if the injury is serious and the weather permits. Hence as Ricardo Mancilla explained later they don´t rush things and cause accidents. Though the chainsaw still looked like an accident waiting to happen to me as his brother cuts perfectly straight boards from a tree plank using his trainers to hold the timber in place. Skillfull but deadly stuff.

We found out the only vehicle was the army tractor so the poor german couple had to walk the rest of the way, arriving as darkness fell at 10 and opting to stay in the warm farmhouse.

Next day we found out the boat would not be at 11 as usual but at 4 in the evening as it had to call to other farming outposts along the fjiord. Normally Id be deligted at an extra rest day in such a unique spot but we were low on food and had to spend the day hungry on low rations. Later, in the evening we all gathered in the farm kitchen to listen for word of the boat on the radio, we all heard the captain say manyana meaning tomorrow and thought the worst, but Ricardo chatted to the captain and then told us the boat would be late because of the bad weather but it would arrive at 5.

At 5 we all heard the boat sound its horn and headed down to the port, thanking Ricardo and his brother for their hospitality and glad to be headed somewhere where we could get some food. The boat was a comfortable tourist trip type vessel with space up front for cargo, today was it´s day to visit the local farms and on the way to villa o higgins an inflatable went ashore to a farm and over several trips brought a farmer, his dog, chainsaw and 9 lambs aboard. The poor lambs looked a sorry sight as they huddled in the corner up the bows of the boat over the 2-5 hour trip up the Fjiod

It was dark and 11 at night by the time we arrived and we´d not eaten since 12 so we were glad of the lift into town by the local hostel owner, even if he was a bit of crank abouit the bikes. We had no food left to camp with so any way we could get into town in time for a restaraunt would be mighty. Only thing was when we arriveed in town there were no restaraunts or pubs, this was a small town at the absolute end of the carretera austral and nobody had the money to eat or drink out so there was no food for us.

We all put our remaining food together and made a big pot of soup with pasta through us, not enough to fill any of us but enough to sleep on till breakfast in the morning.

In the morning the hostel owner had no breakfast for us, we figured he´s not had a booking so hadn´t bouht anything in seeing as it was the low season. The shops didn´t open till noon so we had a long wait efore we all attacked the local supermarket for what very basic, non perishable items they had. After eating well for the day we all went back together and clubbed in for some bottles of pisco and rum and in celebration of being back in civilisation we polished off the bottles of booze, 3 other cyclists travelling south having joined us in the hostel after a long cycle so everyone had a good reason to celebrate.

We enjoyed the stay in villa o higgins, bar the stingy hostel owner who charged us santiago prices and gave us nothing to eat, a cardinal sin in my book