March 30th, 2015

After spending my first full day in Puerto Varas back at Saltos de Petrohue wandering, appreciating it’s incomparable beauty, and starting the 1st draft of a brand new book I decided to do something a little more adventurous the next day, setting out to manage a circuit of the stunning mountain lake named Llanquihue using a combination of buses, my feet, and my handy thumb.  Oh and did I mention a stop at a 60 meter waterfall an hour or so back from the lake through dense pine groves full or babbling brooks and near total isolation.  Sounds like fun.

I leave Margouya Patagonia’s charming high ceilings and head down to the same bus stop you use to get to Saltos de Petrohue on Portales and San Bernardo Streets and wait for a bus to Frutillar, the first of several stops on my circuit, and probably the simplest of them all as buses leave roughly every 15 minutes  and cost under 1000 Chilean Pesos.  800 if recall correctly.

The driver has promised to tell me when to get off for the next bus I need onwards to Puerto Octay but we actually end up passing the terminal for a few blocks when I start to feel sure he’s missed his cue. I ask and he nods stopping immediately and apologizing as I climb off and walk the few minutes back to the terminal only to find out that buses to Puerto Octay are a lot less frequent than I’ve been led to believe.  Here’s the schedule.

I wander around Frutillar but don’t get far deciding to get a blog written in the terminal as I wait for the 12:15 bus.  It arrives right on time and soon I’m tearing down a country road in a bus that looks and feels thirty years past it’s prime. If the roads had have been worse it would have reminded me of Nepal.  While the bus may or may not be an antique it gets us to Puerto Octay and that’s what’s important.

As we pull into Puerto Octay, a very charming little lakeside town with definite german influence in the architecture, I’m almost sad to find my next bus waiting in the station.  This town appealed to me a lot more for exploring than Frutillar.  Oh well, since I’m not sure when or if the next bus will go I climb in and ask to be let off at Las Cascadas, the aptly named town built in the shadows of Volcan Osorno home to the biggest waterfall around this lake.

Now this is where it gets a little complicated.  The bus driver stops and indicates it’s my time to get off just 15 minutes after leaving Puerto Octay.  I pay my 800 CLP far and climb out to a crossroads where I man might look to make a deal with a demon at night.  One problem, there’s not a town in sight.

Before the driver pulls away I hop back in and ask him where we are.  He indicates that I need to catch another bus here, that might or might not come by.  He seems fairly unsure, that said there’s a few locals climbing out so I follow suit not knowing what else to do and trusting that I will find a way to get there.. There’s a good rule for travel in there, when in doubt do as the locals do, and do it with the best smile you can muster.

One of the waiting chileans is clearly planning to hitchhike the roughly 30 km to Las Cascadas and so, after taking a quick picture of the incredible volcano which dominates every landscape in the area on a clear day, I join him.  Within ten minutes a car has stopped, a solo driver about my age inviting us all in.  The man who hailed him down takes the front seat and I’m sandwiched in the back between a woman nursing her incredibly adorable 2 month old baby and an older lady.  As seems the standard in South America, all of them are very friendly.

The young driver smiles, turns up the music which brings me back to the early 90’s in a moment, and then talks over the ruckus to all of us.  Now, I speak pretty good Spanish these days,  I’ve been in South America for over 6 months, but for the first few minutes in the car I am utterly lost as they spit out words faster than cheetahs chasing a gazelle, cutting entire syllables and making plenty of words and sounds that I’m sure don’t exist in Spanish.  I thought I’d adjusted to the difficulty of the Chilean accent over the past month but this conversation has me lost before they realize it and graciously slow down.

One by one the hitchhikers are dropped off along the road and we cycle up to the front seat where there’s more space.  Once the other chileans are gone I manage a much better conversation with this friendly young man who works as a mathematics teacher in Las Cascadas. As it turned out 4 of the 6 people in the car were teachers, and that’s including a 2 month old baby, who, and I’m only guessing here, wasn’t.

He drops me off in the heart of Las Cascadas and is kind enough to point me in the direction of the waterfall which is basically just up the biggest crossroad leading away from the lake.  If you’re confused just ask anyone, they’ll help you out for sure.  It’s a dirt road and after maybe 15 minutes of walking I see the first of many signs to help make sure no one gets lost.

I follow the dirt and gravel road winding back through thick pine forests and sing along to my I-pod, very happy that I’m not seeing anyone on the road.  A few cars pass by, but not many.

After walking for just over half an hour I reach the parking area where a friendly Chilean man takes my name and passport number and tells me the waterfall itself is another half hour into the forest and that I’ll have to cross three very simple wooden bridges.   There’s no entry fee to this stunning natural attraction which is something of a rarity for Chile, and only serves to make the experience more enjoyable.

I walk  along a lovely narrow trail, immersing myself in nature and shutting off my music to listen to the trickling sound of running water seeping through the thick undergrowth, complimented by the occasional buzz of colourful hummingbirds zipping from flower to flower all around me.  Unfortunately, skittish and tiny as they are, they prove impossible to catch on camera.

I weave my way through the woods and cross all three very rustic wooden bridges over the small river, which is surely a continuation of the waterfall.  The sun starts to tuck behind the clouds but a blue sky is less important here, the forest too thick and tall to allow for any views of Osorno’s snow capped peak.

As I cross the third bridge I get my first glimpse of the waterfall, only a small section of it is visible, but already my heart is beating faster, and my feet certainly increase their pace.

As I reach the end of the trail I meet a lovely chilean family and take a few photos for them and they happy return the favour, the father dropping to his knees in the mud before I can say anything to snap these photos.

They’re on their way out so I head down a narrow path to get closer to the raging waterfalls, the sun blocked entirely by the high cliffs surrounding the waterfall and the gusting mist bringing a chill to the air.

I climb up along the cliff right beside the waterfall and do my best to shield my camera from the wetness in the air while snapping a few more photos, then it’s back to stash my stuff behind a huge log.  I quickly peel off my clothes down to my boxers and head back to the waterfall, climbing along the rocks behind it and entering the truly frigid water.

I slide in though the rocks below the murky surface are rather sharp and ever shifting, the water chilling my bones and setting my head to aching before I ever even make it under the cascades.  Still it’s a waterfall and I’m me, so I crab walk out slowly into the pool until I’m under the cascade of plummeting white water, holding my arms out to the focal point of the flow before stumbling out back the way I’ve come with frozen limbs, teeth chattering, but exposed to the soaked air in a wide grin.  I still maintain, there’s no better feeling.

I head out and start to put my clothes back on, though I soon decide I’ve not had enough, take my shirt off again and work my way up through the icy cold stream to the base of the pool, revelling in the wild wind driven mists, staring up at the falls and smiling wide.

Eventually the cold overcomes even me and I return to my bag, going off trail to answer nature’s call before coming back and leaving the falls behind.  I’d love to spend more time there but I’ve got no idea how I’m going to make it back to Puerto Varas today.

I head back along the trail passing a few small groups of Chileans on my way out.  I thank the man who took my name and head down the dirt road again.  Shortly after that a very fancy SUV passes by me and pulls up ahead.  A young Chilean man ducks his head out and asks me if I’d like a ride.  Perfect.

I climb in and get to know a charming young couple from the Santiago Area who take me almost all the way to Ensenada. They pull up at the parking lot to Laguna Verde on my advice to go visit the foxes there, and then since it’s only 5 they decide they will be heading to Saltos de Petrohue to enjoy the clear sky.  I’m tempted to come with them but don’t want to overstay my welcome so instead I walk the ten minutes back to the main road in Ensenada and hop on a bus bound for Puerto Varas for 1,400  CLP.

I arrive in time to head to Cruz Del Sur bus station on San Francisco street up the hill from the center of town to book a whim bus to Bariloche in Argentina.  That’s right!  Coming soon some brief adventures in a brand new country.  Get excited!

I walk briefly down to the lake one last time to say goodbye to Volcan Osorno, it’s a special mountain to me now, and tomorrow’s forecast calls for rain, which means most likely it will have disappeared from the horizon by the time the sun rises. Sadly the clouds are already collecting, and what I think be my last sight of this volcano for a long time, is muted by the grey masses crowding around the pure white snow atop it’s peak.

If you’re in Chile do yourself a favour, and don’t miss out on Puerto Varas and the surrounding areas. They are truly special places.