We rise early today as the boat we will take across Lago O’Higgins leaves at 8:30am and it is 7 km away. After the various surfaces of gravel road yesterday, I know those 7k could take anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour. Happily the road is flat, wide, and relatively free of washboard and rocks. We arrive at the boat with plenty of time to spare. On this sunny day, gazing over the long expanse of the turquoise green waters of the glacier carved and fed lake, flanked by low mountains I revel in the beauty and quiet of the wilderness. I also think about the difficult road ahead into Argentina. Chileno cyclists do not come this way. They end or begin their journey on the Carreterra Austral at the sea port town of Caleta Tortel taking the ferry to or from the north of Chile. They perhaps shake their heads wondering why foreign cyclists bother with the difficult border crossing. In our original plans we, too, had opted to avoid this stretch; but in talking with other cyclists who had made the crossing we decided we should do it. It seemed the best route to Ushuaia. We were told to expect the first 12 km of gravel road to climb about 400 meters to the pass and Argentine border. Then a 6 km path will lead us down to the shores of Lago Desierto (even that name suggests desolation and despair!) where we will camp and take another boat across in the morning and then ride 40k to El Chalten. On this dirt path are deep narrow ditches impossible to ride or push a loaded bike through so we will need to remove our panniers, push the bike for 2 km or so and then go back and portage our luggage. All comment these 18k will take the whole day and it may be painful; but as the ferry leaves the shore on this crisp, beautiful, clear day so also leave the dreaded thoughts of what the day will bring. I enjoy conversations with Canadian cyclists Julian and Shauna, Austrian cyclist Phillipe, Spanish cyclists Santiago and Gari who join us on this crossing as we take in the views, feeling the breeze chill as the boat approaches the southern ice fields.

Two hours slip by and the boat lands. After a visit to Chilean customs for our exit stamp and a quick lunch the group disperses as people will continue at their own pace. David and I fall in behind as the road deteriorates quickly into a jeep path, rocky and steep. We didn’t know we would push so early. Hoping the road surface improves we slowly make our way up the pass. Two hours later, riding some, pushing mostly we reach a high point with views of a forested area leading up to the pass. The jeep path into the forest is much more pleasant and interesting than the rocky road.  We ride some, but push mostly as the path now climbs and falls, making its way through the old forest over and around roots, rocks, streams. There is much to distract me when walking in an old woods, but I must focus and forge ahead.  I don´t want to stumble.  I hear hollow knocks and I stop. The sound is very near and I am rewarded by the sight of a large red-headed male and a female Carpenteria (Magellanic)Woodpecker (relatives of the fabled Ivory-billed and looking very much like Woody) on a nearby hollow tree. They are fun for me because I had seen them on a poster when first entering Chile months ago, and though common I had not yet seen one.

We push on, aware now that we have gone several kilometers past 12k and there is no sign we have reached the pass. When will that last 6k of the REALLY difficult path begin? Then, through the darkened trees, in the light, is framed the barren granite peak of Fitz Roy, a name for a mountain at the bottom of a map I had seen many months ago in Colombia when looking at possible routes through South America. It had captured my imagination then, perhaps because of its Scottish name in a Spanish country, and because it was a world away from my trip’s beginning. Seeing it so close and so strikingly beautiful here, I feel what ever difficulties there are on this path I am very happy to have come this way.

Fitz Roy disappears as the path heads down through the trees. We finally reach the top of the pass and the border of Argentina after almost an hour and a half in the woods (3 1/2 hrs total and 18k from the shore.  Our information is sometimes wrong…does this mean the 6k will really be 10?) So, do we begin portaging here? The path doesn’t look that much different from where we have come, it is mostly downhill, and we continue pushing on. To cross a fairly large stream we pick our way carefully over fallen logs, portaging our luggage for the crossing and up the steep hill on the other side. Our bags are heavy and we happily put them back on our bikes at the top as we continue. There is very little riding now. We come to a marshy, mucky area. No bridge. No fallen logs to help us. No easy way around. Only to slog through it. I laugh, as I am sure I have never been in a more ridiculous place with my bike. After 3 hours on this 6k path of many obstacles we reach an opening in the woods and we see Fitz Roy again looming behind Lago Desierto. We are almost done. Only 2k left. The path descends sharply. Then it deepens and narrows and it is difficult with our panniers. When too narrow we take them off. We put them back on the bike as soon as we can. It is sometimes easier to walk on the banks above the ditch giving the bike more space as I bend and hold tightly on the brakes. I hear a call from our friends who are camped below us. (I later find out it was just a random Austrian hoot from Phillippe) I am encouraged and I quicken my pace. My bike is even more encouraged and she is getting away from me. I trip up and find myself flung head first, sprawling on my face in the ditch, my bike safely wedged behind me. Happily I am wearing my helmet and my head takes most of the force of the fall (I think this is a good thing as all I have is a bruised shoulder). David runs up. I’m laughing because otherwise I would be crying. He asks if I am okay and then suggests I reenact the scene for a photo. Then I take off the front panniers, leave them (David offers to go back and get them later) and I carefully walk my bike down that last k. When I arrive at the rustic Argentine Customs I share with the four young men that this was the most difficult road I have taken in all the Andes… Their faces fall. ….but it was among the most beautiful. They smile, stamp my passport and I join my friends at the campground.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010 at 11:42 and is filed under Julie's Blog. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.