“Like Traveling to the End of Civilization”: An Adventure Along Chile’s Challenging Carretera Austral

It’s a long drive by any standards, but on the more isolated Patagonian route, it quickly becomes a challenge.

At a small roadside café, where I stopped for a barbecue, I spoke with some local truck drivers. Once they learned of my Bahia Muerta ambitions, the drivers couldn’t hide their confident smiles.

I quickly understood why locals stuck to their rugged 4×4 trucks.

Climbing the cobblestone slopes that jut upward over a mountain pass required all my concentration and skill.

I squeezed the wheel, calling for the anti-lock braking system.

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

After that, towns were small settlements with basic grocery stores that served as post offices, cafes, gas stations, and fishing stores at one time.

The road leveled out briefly before diving back into gravel paths that wound through dark ancient forests and along 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 heard the laughter of the truck drivers.

Bahia Muerta lies about halfway along the Carretera Austral, and here the highway hugs the shores of General Carrera Lake, the second largest lake in South America.

From here I turned towards Puerto Sanchez and its magnificent Marble Caves, a natural wonder that has recently been exposed in greater depth due to climate change.

Here I met Valeria Leyva, a local woman whose family history is intertwined with the caves’ recent emergence as a tourist destination.

“My grandfather, Don Cirilo Herrera Aguilera, arrived here in 1948 when he was only 8 years old,” he told me as we prepared for the boat ride through the incredibly blue waters. “He was one of the first to settle in this area.”

What Don Cirillo could not have predicted was that his decision to purchase an archipelago of 14 sheep-farming islands would eventually become home to one of the most incredible natural wonders in the world.

“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 swirling mineral patterns, bathed in turquoise waters that fill the caverns with blue light.

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

He 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 disconnecting from the grid and into nature.

However, the road was calling me.

Back on Route 7, the highway found its own rhythm. I finally accepted that my carefully 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 see two gauchos on horseback crossing the cattle on the road, and I turned off the engine: to show respect and not to frighten the horses, and because Chilean cowboys are something to be admired.

Dressed in sturdy leather, wool jackets and distinctive hats, brandishing long whips and expertly directing their horses, the gauchos drove a herd of at least 20 head of 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, moved slowly and enjoyed the landscape of granite walls, snow-capped Andes and lush vegetation dyed purple, pink and yellow through the blooming wildflowers.

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

The road narrows to a single lane carved into the cliffs with terrifying drops, but by then I’ve learned that going slow and steady is the way to go.

Ohiggins Villa itself looked like an outpost on the edge of civilization.

This small border town with a population of less than 500 is located in a valley surrounded by icy peaks, where there is no land to cross.

Behind it lies the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, the third largest ice field in the world after Antarctica and Greenland.

The city’s only main street was filled with dilapidated wooden buildings. Here, locals waved to every passing vehicle.

One morning, I woke up to a rickety red pickup truck announcing over the loudspeaker, “Blueberries and Cherries”—blueberries and cherries being sold fresh out the back. Tempted, I waved the farmer to stop and bought the sweetest cherries I had ever tasted.

Villa O’Higgins is where the road ends, not because the engineers have exhausted their strength, but because the land itself is too wild to be tamed.

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

It is bittersweet to reach the end of Carretera Austral.

The road represents something increasingly extraordinary: a journey in which the destination is less important than the path.

It’s a path that eliminates the comforts of modern travel and forces you to get in touch with your own landscape, climate, and limitations.

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