Paddling The Pathways Of Patagonia
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Paddling The Pathways Of Patagonia
Deep In The Heart Of Patagonia
by Kyle Hammons
March 2005

Chile

Adventure Begins

Patagonia. For years that word has conjured fantasies in my mind, visions of sheer granite walls and isolated wilderness. Flying south over the Andes I could hardly contain my excitement as I paced the aisles of the plane attempting to gain a better view of the snow-capped peaks that formed the border between Argentina and Chile.

Like so many explorers, I had anticipated this day for as long as I could read the words on my father’s jacket and now I had reached a land that had once seemed so remote, so forbidding and so impossible.

I would be venturing into one of the world’s great wilderness areas with a group from the National Outdoor Leadership School. Our guides hailed from the countries of Ecuador, Brazil and the United States and between the three, there was hardly a place in North or South America they had yet to explore. Yet each agreed that no place rivaled our playground deep in the heart of Patagonia.

A bus would take our expedition from the town of Coyhaique along the Carretera Austral, a 1000-km dirt and gravel road constructed at the staggering cost of $300 million over the course of 20 years. Built by ex-dictator Augusto Pinochet to battle his paranoia of Argentine encroachment, the road serves as a link between tiny villages and fishing hamlets once accessible only by ferry or plane. Described as “camino ripio,” meaning paved in stones, the road winds through a landscape of rolling hills and long grass, over roaring rivers and past emerald lakes backed by snowy peaks and glaciers.

The Carretera Austral traced a path through temperate rainforests to a tiny village tucked away among the canals and fjords of the desolate Patagonia coast. Though the road was rough and progress moved slowly, our expedition arrived in the town of Tortel in just a few hours, a far cry from the lengthy boat ride required before a new highway linked this village of 500 to the rest of Chile just a few years ago. For more than 50 years, the small community survived without a single road. Instead, residents created a unique network of wooden walkways built from the sweet-smelling lumber of the local cypress trees to link the homes and businesses.

For years, Tortel townspeople earned a living mainly by cutting cypress and coigue trees, but now as the timber businesses are disappearing, the people of Tortel are looking to tourism as their main source of revenue.

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It is the immense glaciers and two national parks just a few hours by boat from Tortel that they hope will draw tourists to this remote village, just as our group had come.

Loaded with a month of supplies, our sea kayaks slipped gently downstream the Rio Baker away from the coastal town of Tortel in southern Chile. We radioed the port authority to notify them of our departure, our last contact for the next 28 days. A drizzle of rain sprinkled upon the water as we maneuvered our kayaks between a chain of islands and disappeared into the mystical fjords of Patagonia. From the Indians who first explored these islands in dugout canoes to the likes of Darwin and Magellan, this area of the world has always been infamous for its fierce, unpredictable weather and revered for its remoteness and beauty. 

We maneuvered down an aquatic avenue where granite slabs rose from the ocean and waterfalls dived down near-vertical rock faces. I stared across the rippling surface of the water at passing coastline swamped in thick flora and experienced the buzz of excitement that comes with a new journey. 

With countless fjords, islands, lakes and glaciers to explore, almost none of which are accessible except by air or sea, kayaking would give us the opportunity to explore the outer reaches of Patagonia where Mother Nature is an explorer’s sole companion. Traveling along a peninsula we paddled between islands which lay between the sea and shore using them as barriers against northerly winds as our expedition moved through this archipelago.Our boats floated through wondrous fjords with our eyes fixed on mammoth waterfalls spilling through the thick vegetation.

Five days of skirting the coast and passing icebergs on open water brought us to Jorge Montt Glacier, the northern terminus of the Southern Patagonia Icefield. Bounded on one side by the Andes and the Pacific Ocean on the other, the world’s largest non-polar expanse of ice extends for 225 miles and, at its widest point, is almost sixty miles across.

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The entrance to the glacier was a labyrinth of floating ice sculptures and with the wind and tides forever changing, this bounty of icebergs was a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of aquatic beauty. We maneuvered our sea kayaks through the gallery of ice and closer to our destination, the glacier which thundered in the distance.

Blue skies and wispy clouds whirled overhead as the Southern Icefield grew closer. Each stroke of our paddles brought us nearer to towers of ice that broke away and crashed into the sea creating waves that rocked our boats and reached the entrance of the bay, miles from initial impact. A sight which had once seemed to exist only in Discovery Channel highlights was followed by an enormous roar, our eyes searching the sky for non-existent thunderheads. This spectacle would become commonplace in our Patagonia fantasyland during several days at Jorge Montt Glacier, as would the army of icebergs which surrounded our camp and changed their position every couple of hours. In the presence of extraordinary wonder, it is amazing how quickly our fantasies can become reality.

Wind. In Patagonia the wind and the rain are omnipresent reminders that nature, not man, is in control. Safe travel mandates regular weather checks: type, speed and direction of the clouds, the condition of the sea, and the movement of shoreline trees. Even diligent scrutiny could not accurately forecast daily weather patterns. A sunny morning with glistening seas frequently camouflaged afternoon storms that could endanger even the most intrepid kayaker. 

Patience is indeed a virtue on Patagonian mountains and seas where mind-numbing weeks spent hunkered in tents waiting for even the slightest break in a storm are common. Having been warned that half of our 28-day sea adventure might well be spent on shore, we rejoiced at being blessed with splendid paddling weather during most of our expedition. And then one day that changed. 

As we approached Canal Martinez, our boats fought against overpowering currents and exploding waves.  We pointed our bow into the waves and attempted to subdue Mother Nature, but for the first time, our expedition was forced to retreat. Returning to a sandy beach that had been the prior night’s camp, we pulled our weary bodies from our boats and unloaded our soggy gear. It would be four days before the Patagonia weather would allow us to enter Canal Martinez.

Weather in Patagonia is characterized by its extreme changes and unpredictable nature. Considered by some to have the world’s worst weather, it is said that “all the seasons can be observed in a single day in Patagonia.”  Outside the tropics, western Patagonia is thought of as the region with the most precipitation in the world.  There is not a single month for which official records are available with more than six days without precipitation.These notorious rains would accompany us through the next three weeks of our journey affording us a taste of the infamous Patagonia weather. We cooked in the rain, packed in the rain and paddled in torrents of rain. My head and upper layers were so drenched that each stroke sent water traveling through my paddling jacket, down my pants and into my boots chilling every inch of my body along the way.

These same rains fueled the beauty that surrounded us as we paddled along a coastline of stone-faced cliffs cloaked in vegetation and literally dripping with moisture. Waterfalls tumbled thousands of feet through a blanket of fluorescent rainforests disappearing and reappearing as they searched for a way down to the sea. The waterways cut narrow channels through fjords so steep that the vegetation clung to the mountainside like a frightened climber. Our kayaks drifted upon currents that sucked us effortlessly through luminous tunnels and into a string of crystal clear lakes linked by waterfalls and streams. Set in a fairy tale setting among a grove of forests and bordered by a fantastic wall of granite, we paddled across still fresh water admiring the splendid location before setting up camp at the mouth of a bubbling stream. Never before has it seemed so true that new wonders lie behind every corner.

From our new base camp, we bushwhacked through dense vegetation sinking up to our knees in an abyss of living and decomposing plant life. Hopping from rock to rock, the hiking group followed the spine of stony ridges surrounded by towers of granite and pillars of bubbling rock. We observed new types of trees and bushes, mosses and lichens, mini-waterfalls spilling out of thick undergrowth and the lake below us which cut a narrow channel through the mountain. Standing high above our camp, my friends and I stood and listened to the patter of rain and rush of wind at our backs.  We didn’t speak a word. We could only smile the sweet bliss of being totally alone in the world, seeing something completely new and knowing that moment would forever be captured in a treasure chest of extraordinary memories.

We spent our last night camped at Rio San Martin, just seven kilometers from our launching point in Tortel.  Together our group sat for the last time, huddled under our tarps drinking mate and cooking dinner. Four weeks earlier when we launched our boats into the Rio Baker, not a person among us could steer his kayak, read a nautical chart nor accurately predict the tides. Now we basked in our own glory, both as individuals and as a group. From learning how to paddle to living through harsh weather, reading the tides and currents to camping on sinking bogs, evaluating weather patterns and practicing navigational skills, our group had learned to apply itself in one of the world’s last great remote regions and, in turn, our expedition was rewarded with some of life’s great unforgettable memories.

As we paddled closer to Tortel, I felt the same buzz of excitement that had overwhelmed me as we paddled down the Rio Baker. I remembered the feeling of heading out, where the river met the sea and the fresh water became more salty. Seeing the islands before us, the channels that carved alleys between them and watching Tortel disappear behind us. It was such a fresh sensation - new and exhilarating - and to have come full circle with so many accomplishments and ageless memories in our wake, our expedition returned to Tortel as seasoned explorers, conquering champions and humbled adventurers.

The following articles are Kyle's previous articles for the magazine:
 


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