Forgotten Patagonia: Chiloe Island, Chile

For most travelers in southern Chile, the island of Chiloe is a mere stepping stone to lands beyond. Lying on the northern edge of Patagonia it is easy to overlook the tranquil, emerald landscape while setting your sights on the wilder and more exotic destinations at the end of the continent. Many see Chiloe as simply the last port of call before embarking on the long ferry ride down to Torres del Paine near the straights of Magellan, at the end of the world. However, those few souls who do decide to explore this tiny, forgotten corner of Patagonia will find rich and diverse lands full of uninhabited wilderness, warm, friendly people and some of the freshest (and cheapest) food the sea has to offer.

We arrived in the small fishing town of Ancud on the northwest shore of Chiloe after 29 hours of traveling from La Serena. Our trip included three buses, a ferry ride and a little tear gas to boot from a demonstration we'd been caught in while stopping in Santiago. Needless to say we were tired. After procuring a hostel and taking a quick siesta, we decided to hit the town.

It was windy.

It may be a bit surprising to those who have never traveled in South America, but the west coast of Chile is actually like a mirror image of the west coast of North America. In the north of Chile lies the Atacama desert which corresponds to the deserts of northern Mexico and Baja, California. Moving south in Chile you eventually run into the central valley around Santiago which is the heart of Chile's agricultural and wine producing region, similar to the vast vinyards and farmland of central California. Continuing with the analogy, the lakes district and Chiloe are the "Pacific northwest" of South America. It seems to fit this description perfectly.

Wildflowers in Chiloe

The country side around Ancud, the northernmost town of Chiloe, features rolling green pasture land broken up by vast tracks of evergreen and eucalyptus forests. Rocky cliffs tumble down into the frigid and turbulent waters of the Pacific Ocean. Much of this part of the world was covered in ice during the last ice age and the retreating glaciers left a jagged, wild shoreline full of deep fjords, steep hills and tiny islands in every direction you look. 

The town of Ancud itself has a feel very similar to many small towns that dot the coast of Oregon or Washington state. A cluster of multicolored, ramshackle houses stand along a zig-zagging streets above the port, each with a perpetual whisp of smoke cheerfully puffing out of the chimney. It is very much a fishing town where many of the locals still depend on the sea to put food on the table. Despite its hardscrabble working class roots, Ancud is a charming little place. The street signs are made of wood and have tiny clipper ships carved on them. Glass-fronted restaurants line the downtown harbor looking out over the water. 

But of course the greatest benefit of this fishing town is the seafood. The fish market makes it feel like the ocean is going out of business and must get rid of everything, FAST. Muscles, clams, and giant Japanese oysters all compete for space with crabs, sea urchins and walls of salmon. The prices are just unbelievable, as well. Wild salmon fillets for $3/pound, sixteen fresh oysters on the half shell for $2, smoked salmon for $6/pound, and shelled dungeness crab meat for $5/pound. Not to mention the incredible seafood stews and salmon ceviche! Needless to say, we went on a hardcore seafood binge... I actually think I might have a bit of the gout now. WORTH IT! 

Bagel and Lox... kinda

Homemade Crab Bisque

The day after we arrived, we took a trip down to the town of Castro, the capital of Chiloe. The bus ride was about an hour and fifteen minutes through rolling hills and tiny farms. Cows and sheep grazed happily on lush green grass. We got into town, scouted out bus times to Chiloe National Park and then went down to the waterfront to grab some seafood. I had had Cuaranto which is basically a hot pot filled with mussels, clams, sausage, smoked ham, chicken and bread all boiled together to create a steaming mountain of tasty treats. Molly had a typical chilean dish. that was basically a salmon sandwich but using two salmon fillets instead of bread and spicy chorizo and cheese as the filling. Somewhat of a Salmon Double Down, for those of you who are privy to the parlance of KFC.

Cuaranto and Sauvignon Blanc

The Aftermath

While in Castro, we visited one of Chiloe's famous wooden churches. Unfortunately, only the inside of the church was made of wood. The outside was constructed from South America's favorite building material, corrugated metal. The inside, however, was beautiful. 

All this city living, seafood and sleeping in beds was making us soft so the next day we decided to head out to Chiloe National Park. We arrived on a grey, cloudy morning in the "village" of Cucao on the southern edge of the park. Maps of the park turned out to be incredibly hard to procure so we didn't really know where we were going. So we just started walking. The park is covered with Valdivian rainforest which is a mix of broad-leaf deciduous and evergreen trees and an extremely dense undergrowth of bamboo, ferns and other plants.

The park is flush up against the west coast of the island. Dark green forests cling to the tops of steep hills that slope down into grass covered dunes and a half-mile expanse of flat sandy beach.

The roaring waters of the Pacific ocean are a constant companion in the park. Waves begin to break about three hundred yards off shore and roll in for what seems like forever. Beyond the waves, whale spouts can be seen for miles in the distance. 

Pacific waters condensing on the west side of the Andes combined with the cold waters of the Humbolt current create huge amounts of rainfall and consequently... mud. At the time of our visit, the interior of the park was inaccessable. Indeed, even parts of the path along the shoreline resembled the Swamp of Sadness from The Neverending Story. We made sure to keep our spirits up and watch out for horse bones.

Artax!

Our hike took us fifteen miles up the coast to a place called Cole Cole beach. There was supposed to be a campsite at this beach, but in fact none of the park services really get going until December.This turned out to be a wonderful blessing. We had the entire place to ourselves. The beach is a long crescent-shaped strip of sand surrounded by jagged rock formations and steep hills. Wild horses and sheep grazed on fairways of short, green grass punctuated by the occasional patches of shade trees and shrubs.

We pitched our tent right on the beach, built a roaring fire and cooked one of the best and simplest meals in the world. We wrapped potatoes and onions in tinfoil and placed them right in the fire (a meal perfected by one Spencer Anderson many years ago in the hills outside of Nice) while we roasted sausages on a stick. Our stomach filled, we went to sleep to the gentle sound of waves lapping against the beach.

The next day we hiked back fifteen miles to Cucao. We had only brought enough food for one night of camping but I could have stayed for a week. True to our hiking luck, the rain came fast and furious that day. There is a saying in Patagonia (and many places in the world) "If you don't like the weather, just wait five minutes and it will change". This turned out to be very true on the way back. The rain stopped and started no less than seven times on the hike. Between rain showers, the sun came out with blinding intensity which meant that we had to stop every twenty minutes to put on rain gear or else strip down to t-shirts because of the heat. 

Despite the weather snafus, it was an amazing trip. When we boarded the bus back to town, I immediately fell asleep still listening the music of the waves crashing in my ears.