Which way to the Beech? Trevelin to Coyhaique via Paso Las Pampas

‘Which bits are you looking forward to next?’ my brother asked the last time we spoke on the phone. I replied that I’ve learned not to have expectations on this trip. Quite often with bike touring, it isn’t the famous routes or passes, but the unanticipated places in between that are the most memorable. This last section was one of these instances. We’d viewed it as a bit of a ‘transfer stage’ in our grand tour. A linking route between Argentina and Chile crossing via the little known Paso Las Pampas. This route has gained some notoriety among dirt road tourers, renowned for it’s river crossings and steep hike-a-bikes. 

We left Trevelin with fresh legs, replenished glycogen levels and a large torta galesa stowed in my panniers to keep the Welsh treats alive for a few more days. The ride out of Cwm Hyfryd/Valle 16 de Octubre and south along the Patagonian Steppe was hot and dusty. We could still see the smoke billowing up from the forest fire in Los Alerces and were glad to be riding away from that sad danger.

The combination of heat and bumpy ripio (Spanish for gravel road used only in Argentina and Chile) had us seeking out pockets of shade all the afternoon. Under one tree we met Mathias and Mauro, two Argentinians from Buenos Aires on a bikepacking adventure together. We loved Mathias’ dangle maté cup hanging from his seat pack, such a quintessentially Argentinian bikepacking accessory.

A fun descent into Corcovado, and after sniffing out an ice cream, we rolled down to the municipal campsite by the river to swim, relax and cook up a feast. It’s been hard to wean ourselves out of the food scarcity mindset that was so essential to managing our rations during the remote, high altitude parts of our trip. Argentina has an incredible culture of municipal campsites; on the edge of towns and usually free, they’re a great training ground for us to get back into the habit of picking up extra food for dinner, including perishable treats that would not travel well. Thanks to the easy life in Patagonia I can slowly feel my legs returning to full strength after the depleting effects of our high altitude exploits last year. 

The following day involved more climbing on quiet gravel roads, and just after lunch we bumped into Mauro and Mathias again. This time they were struggling with a puncture, their second of the day. I laughed at how Mauro had secured a bottle of red wine to the top of his pannier rack. Between the wine and the maté they were living up to cultural stereotypes. He told me he had another bottle stashed somewhere. ‘Uno vino cada pincha!’ I replied (a bottle of wine for each puncture!) and Mauro complemented me on my grammar. Between the climbing and some wind, we had also been making slow progress and weren’t sure if we’d make our intended camp spot at Lago General Vintter/Palena (spanning the border hence the two names).

Along the way we passed by scorched trees, landscape still scarred by a previous forest fire. It’s so sad how common these are here – probably something to do with the Chilean and Argentinian penchant for camp fires. They really are a couple of nations of pyromaniacs which is quite tragic when you see the hectares of forest reduced to scorched, bare tree trunks. 

As the gradient eased off, we were soon faced with the ‘welcome back to the mountains’ landscape surrounding this body of water. The wind was whipping up the waves and we could see a lot of weather shrouding the peaks, but thankfully it wasn’t hard to find a nice sheltered spot near the laguna. As we finished pitching the tent Liam, who had been complaining about feeling a bit achey, succumbed to a fever that had been brewing and his dinner consisted of mainly paracetamol after he barely touched his rice and lentils. 

A peaceful night disturbed only by the sound of charging horses (it can be really hard to judge how far away sounds are in the tent) and Liam woke up feeling perkier, managing to take on some porridge. Unfortunately, he deteriorated again once we hit the bumpy gravel road so we decided to detour into the nearby town of Rio Pico for some proper rest. This turned out to be an excellent decision because the municipal campsite had hot showers! Then a small ball of fluff with uncoordinated paws bounded towards us and a small puppy fell into Liam’s lap. His face lit up and the colour was restored to his cheeks. Modern medicine has nothing on baby animal therapy. 

Unfortunately (completely our fault) our furry friend now associated us with excitement and affection and took to flying head first into our tent over the next day and a half as Liam convalesced. Our tent inner is now looking considerably more baggy! I’m relieved he didn’t try chewing our inflatable mattresses – look at those teeth! On our last evening in Rio Pico, we bumped into the Argentinians again! They’d had a nightmare time unable to fix their second puncture so had been forced to hitchike to civilisation. We’d enjoyed hopscotching with our new friends, sharing tales of our woes but here we would part company for good. I hope they got their tyre fixed. 

So far, we’ve been incredibly lucky with the weather on our trip. The last time we’d cycled in our waterproofs was back in Boliva in November but by now our luck had run out. We received a very Patagonian baptism of drizzle and light rain as we made our way towards the small border post at Paso Las Pampas. 

This was the first Argentinian outpost of the gendarmeria in Patagonia, and it seems like it will be the last to be digitised (or receive any training on how all the other border posts are now digitised!). We caused some consternation as we didn’t have Argentinian entry stamps in our passports, but luckily, we weren’t the first foreigners/bike tourers pass through this season and so we managed to leave without too much confusion. Just as we were packing up to leave the youngest guard ran out towards us…

‘you’re English yes?’ 

I winced, it’s just easier to say yes – ‘si’ 

‘Do you know Morrissey?’ 

‘From the Smiths? Yes! Well not personally, but I know his music. My mum got me a Smiths album for Christmas and I play it in my car’

‘Amazing! I love Morrissey!’ 

He ran back inside so excited – possibly he had just won a bet with his colleagues. Legally exiting the country, we rode away singing ‘to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die’ over the pass, into the clouds and towards the first of many river crossings. 

Friends who have crossed this route before have had mixed experiences with these rivers. Ryan had to wait 5 days for the river levels to drop before a gaucho ferried him and his bicycle across on horseback! Thankfully as we were crossing later in the summer and the only rain had been light, the river was only just over my knees. Nae bother for amphibious sandal lady. We then rode through eerie, misty forest at the top of the pass, oblivious to the excellent views we were probably missing before descending into warmer climes on the Chilean side.

As the Chilean police officer processed our passports we dried out in the square of Lago Verde and messaged our new friend Gaucho Juan who had, by some remarkable turn of events, found our pal Becky’s passport (loyal readers will remember that she had lost it riding this route before Christmas, and so had to miss out on our festive cabin holiday). 

We camped that night near the shores of Lago Verde as the wind blew the rain and mist over in waves. The crystal clear lake water framed by cliffs and forest made us feel like we had, at long last, arrived in true Patagonia.

The next two days would develop into one of the highlights of our South American trip and in hindsight it was the right decision to rest up in Rio Pico. The route from Lago Verde to La Tapiera is broken up by three (and a half) steep and loose hills, with the three main hike a bike sections gaining around 300m of vertical height each.

Setting off from the shore of Lago Verde we climbed back towards the border on a small 4WD track. Previously, the route was just a horse and cattle track, but it seems like even Gauchos are now aspiring to private car/Toyota Hilux ownership. We alternated between open meadow and the canopy of Nothofagus pumilio, the lenga beech native to the southern Andes and so characteristic of this region.

The landscape was spectacular and with good footing we made light work of the hike a bike. The effort to reward ratio of this route was spot on and on top of that we didn’t see a single soul all day.

We set camp at the bottom of a valley next to a river and had a rather bracing swim. 

The following day the terrain and the landscape got even better. I was wondering why I felt so calm and balanced in among the trees, when I remembered the beech tree that grew outside my childhood bedroom window. Whenever I gazed out of my window and up the hill behind our home, that beech tree was there, matching the colour of its leaves to the turn of the season. Liam was excited for another reason – ‘This dirt is just perfect!’

Having not bumped into a single soul on the first day, we were surprised when we saw a lone hiker striding towards us. Quentin, from France, was spending 6 months hiking the Greater Patagonian Trail and had left Ushuaia 3 months ago. Then, at the top of the next push we met a guided group of American hikers. Clearly this untouched corner of Patagonia attracts a small but select crowd. 

At the top of the climb we traversed some open meadows and could see the surrounding jagged peaks protruding high above us. Speeding through the forest, the ground that perfect consistency for good grip we laughed as we cornered and descended through the dappled light. We stopped for lunch near a rickety cabin before continuing on the long descent to the next big river crossing.

The descent was long and gradual and we hadn’t got anywhere near the bottom when we both spied the tell tale signs of a good swimming spot. Out of our peripheral vision we could see the clear blue waters of the stream we’d been riding down disappear behind some large rocks. We pulled on the brakes and gave each other the ‘shall we stop and check that out’ look. 

We’d hit the jackpot! White foamy waters roared through a small gap in the rocks, hollowing out a large plunge pool. The blue water swirling and shimmering in the sunlight. It was cold and bracing and wonderful. 

Invigorated, we remounted our steeds and got over the small sneaky hill that wasn’t really visible in the elevation profile, before descending into a drier valley on the other side and down towards the big, wide river crossing. As we approached the water I saw a bike, complete with bikepacking bikes propped up against a tree. But no owner. Then, as we rolled towards the edge of the river there he was… stark bollock naked sat in the water! I felt a little bad for disturbing his bath and equal parts relieved that our only random naked man experience of the trip was so innocent. We bade him a good bath and went paddling. 

The final push was the steepest of the lot, but the advantage was that it was over quickly! The day was pressing on and we wanted to cross the final river and reach La Tapera before the end of the day. Never too in a rush to notice food, I found a clutch of ripe wild strawberries just after the summit.

The thrilling final descent started with more hero dirt among the trees and developed into a loose rocky skid and slide as our tyres failed to find traction, before spitting us out at the monstrous sight of trucks and other heavy machinery building a road. In amongst all this beautiful, untouched landscape they were bulldozing a 50m wide ribbon of carnage to build a road for a new exploratory mine nearby. We knew from Tom and Sarah, two British riders who had ridden this route earlier this season, that this abomination did include a new bridge over the final river. Given our fortune so far with the rivers, we decided to stick on the smaller, more direct track and sure enough the river was no bother for us. We grabbed some goodies and some 0% beers (all we could find, Sunday evenings can be slim pickings in rural towns!) and returned to the river to cook our dinner perfectly timed with a stunning sun set. We toasted our success and reflected on such an unexpectedly brilliant couple of days riding! 

Not even 50km into a block headwind the next morning could dampen our sprits. Early on I found Liam, who often rides ahead and then waits for me, poised patiently near a freshly road-killed hare hoping a hawk might swoop down for a take away breakfast. With no hawk in sight, Liam contemplated whether or not we should take the hare for our own dinner. As neither of us knows how to skin and process a bunny we decided to leave it for the birds. The beautiful Valley of the Rio Cisnes kept us distracted from the monotony of the wind. The first signs of autumn were showing in the verges with most of the lupins having gone to seed. When it’s dry we can sometimes hear the seed pods dehisce.

Early afternoon, the crunch of the tyres silenced as we glided onto the smooth tarmac of the Careterra Austral. One of the most famous bike touring routes in the world and our day was about to get a lot more social! This route attracts riders from all over the world who come on shorter trips just to ride the CA. Chatting to people, we were soon identified as ‘one of those’ long term trippers. Wild camping with a small group by Lago Las Torres, we showed ourselves up for being much more about the riding than the social experience – we were much earlier to bed and had packed up our tent before anyone else had even emerged for breakfast. 

After a rainy morning on the Careterra we were feeling a little disconcerted by how easy it was and I think Liam was struggling with feeling more mainstream. So, at Mañihuales, we turned off up a small gravel road towards the hamlet of El Gato. The rain eased off and the sun got stronger as we rode towards the drier pampa, where we found ourselves riding into clouds of crickets! They had all wandered onto the dirt road to dry off their wings in the sun and as we got close they stated jumping all over, including all over us!

El Gato itself felt totally deserted but apparently it is very popular with fishing enthusiasts as the Rio Ñirehuao famously sports 5,000 trout per km of river. We had hoped to ride a loop through the Valle de la Luna but unfortunately the wind picked up overnight. As we ate our porridge sheltering from the rain we contemplated our life choices. After a horrendous time in crosswinds, we made it to the village of Ñirehuao and checked the wind forecast. With 90km/h gusts predicted for our route, we decided it was more sensible to bail and we only saw the rock formations of the Valle de la Luna from afar as we climbed up and out of the valley.

Exhausted from riding all afternoon with cross winds and head winds, we spent the night in Villa Ortega before a final stretch to Coyhaique in the morning.

Here in Coyhaique we have been very exited to finally bump into long term touring WhatsApp friends Suzie and Ed. It’s amazing how the shared experience of traversing the Andes by bike can accelerate a friendship. Discussing your saddle sores and bowel movements over voice notes for 10 months certainly helps to forge a special kind of relationship.  

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