“It’s Like Driving to the Edge of Civilization”: An Adventure Along Chile’s Challenging Carretera Austral Trail

Due to time constraints, I had planned to cover the 630km between Chaitén and Bahía Muerta, my next stop, in one day.

It would be a long journey on any trip, but on the more isolated Patagonian route, it quickly became a challenge.

At a small roadside cafe where I stopped to eat grilled (a type of barbecue), I talked to some local truck drivers. Once they discovered my Bahia Muerta ambitions, the drivers couldn’t hide the smile of someone who knew something I didn’t.

I quickly understood why the locals were so attached to their powerful four-wheel drive vehicles. Climbing the curves of loose gravel that wind through the mountain required all my concentration and skill. I clung to the steering wheel, praying that the ABS would work.

Passing through Puyuehuapi, known for its natural hot springs, the road was leveled with a few stretches of asphalt as I approached Coihaique, the last big city on the route.

Then, what emerged were small towns with small grocery stores that doubled as post offices, cafes, gas stations, and fishing stores, all at the same time.

The road stretched out briefly before plunging back into gravel paths that wound through dark ancient forests and flanked the banks of white-water rivers with Andean peaks towering on either side.

When I arrived at Bahía Muerta in the middle of the night, I understood the truck drivers’ smiles.

Bahía Muerta is located about halfway along the Carretera Austral, where the highway follows the shores of General Carrera Lake, the second largest lake in South America.

From there, it was on to Puerto Sanchez and its stunning Marble Caves, a natural wonder whose full potential has only recently been revealed by climate change.

Here I met Valeria Leyva, a resident of the area whose family history is closely linked to the caves’ recent rise as a tourist destination.

“My grandfather, Cirilo Herrera Aguilera, arrived here in 1948, when he was only eight years old,” she told me as we prepared to board the boat in the incredibly blue waters.

“He was one of the first to settle in this area.”

What Dom Cirillo could not have predicted was that his decision to purchase an archipelago of 14 sheep-farming islands would end up being home to one of the world’s stunning natural wonders.

“Everything changed when the lake level started to drop,” Leyva explained.

“Due to global warming, the glaciers are retreating and there is less snow, so marble caves began to appear in the last 40 years.”

The caves themselves have an ethereal appearance: natural rock formations with curved walls covered in undulating mineral patterns, bathed in turquoise waters that bathe the caves in blue light.

Formed between 10,000 and 15,000 years ago when lake waters slowly dissolved minerals in rocks, it embodies the natural beauty and effects of climate change.

I enjoyed the silence and solitude of the gentle undulations of the unimaginable blue of General Carrera Lake and the warmth of the small community of Puerto Sanchez.

Suddenly, I found myself cut off from others and immersed in nature. At the same time, the road was calling to me.

Back on Route 7, the road found its own rhythm. I finally accepted that my meticulously planned schedule had no place here in Patagonia, where a weather change, landslide or ferry delay might mean a full day or two off.

I slowed down to watch two gauchos on horseback leading cattle along the road and turned off the engine: to show respect, not to scare the horses, and because Chilean cowboys are truly admirable.

Dressed in sturdy leather trousers, wool jackets and distinctive hats, carrying long whips and deftly leading their horses, the gauchos drove a herd of at least 20 cattle down the road in a thundering mess of hooves, horns and dust.

Then they disappeared as suddenly as they appeared.

I started the engine again, driving slowly and enjoying the landscape of granite walls, snow-capped Andes, and lush purple, pink, and yellow plants of wildflowers in full bloom.

The final stretch, from Cochrane to Villa O’Higgins, is the most challenging and exciting.

The road narrowed to a single lane carved into steep inclines, but by then I had learned that slow and steady wins the race.

Villa O’Higgins itself seemed like a site on the edge of civilization.

This small border town with a population of less than 500 people is located in a valley surrounded by snowy peaks, where the road literally ends.

Behind it is the southern Patagonian ice field, the third largest in the world, after Antarctica and Greenland.

The city’s only main street was filled with dilapidated wooden buildings. There, residents waved to every vehicle that passed by.

One morning, I woke up to an old red pickup truck announcing over the loudspeaker that fresh cherries and raspberries were for sale out back.

Tempted, I motioned the farmer to stop and bought the sweetest cherries I had ever tasted.

The road ends at Villa O’Higgins, not because the engineers have run out of energy, but because the ground itself is too harsh to be tamed from there.

From there, travelers can take boat trips to the glaciers or embark on multi-day hikes, but for me, it was time to head north.

Reaching the end of Carretera Austral is bittersweet.

The road represents something increasingly rare: a journey where the destination is less important than the road itself.

It’s a road that robs you of the comforts of modern travel and forces you to come into contact with your own landscape, weather, and limitations.