Bikepacking the Carretera Austral in Chile as told by Natalie Peet
Bikepacking the Carretera Austral in Chile
words and photos by Natalie Peet
Editor's Note: In this latest addition to the Buffet, Arkansawyer Natalie Peet paints a picture of an epic ride along Chile's famed Carretera Austral. A couple weeks later, Natalie won DOOM for the second year in a row! If you have an epic ride report or story you'd like to share on The Buffet reach out to zach.scsw@gmail.com.
One simple Reddit post was all it took to convince Olivia and me that we needed to go bikepacking in Chile. We live about eight hours from each other, so anytime we are together we scheme up our next adventure. We were captivated by a post on r/bikepacking of a man traversing South America by bike, somewhere in Chilean Patagonia. We were both absolutely enamored by the dramatic mountains in this user's post. We decided we must go there, so the planning began.
It's not that difficult to decide where to bikepack in Patagonia as there are few roads that traverse that area. Our options were to either follow the Carretera Austral in Chile or Ruta 40 in Argentina. Chile has been on my list for a while—not for bikepacking, but for whitewater rafting. There is a river in the Patagonian region called the Futaleufú, full of big waves and crystal blue waters. I first learned of this mystic river when I began river guiding at nineteen, and it has since been on my list to explore. Conveniently, the Futaleufú lies about 30 miles east of the Carretera Austral.
We only had about two and a half weeks to complete this trip due to work and life constraints. Our initial plan was to ride the Carretera north until we departed east toward the Futaleufú to spend a few days rafting. From there, we planned to continue east, crossing the Andes and riding north through Argentina to finish in San Carlos de Bariloche, a Swiss- inspired Alpine town known for its chocolates, mountain bike trails, and epic ski slopes. By heading through Argentina, we would’ve had the opportunity to travel through Los Alerces National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site named for the ancient Alerce trees endemic to that area. This route would’ve offered secluded gravel roads opposed to the highly traveled pavement found on parts of the Carretera.
Unfortunately, two weeks before we were supposed to begin, we learned of the wildfires destroying Los Alerces National Park and decided to come up with a few reroute options in case we were not able to pass. Ultimately, we chose one of those reroutes. We headed north on the Carretera after our detour to "Futa" and then crossed the Andes into Argentina via a series of three remote ferries connected by gravel roads.While the reroute was undeniably beautiful, it also forced us onto more heavily trafficked paved roads in order to reach the ferries.
Even with two and a half weeks, it often felt as if we were rushing through the landscape. Patagonia is like a fine wine; it must be savored, enjoyed, and pondered. You mustn't consume it too quickly, or else you will wind up in a haze, questioning if what you’ve seen was even reality.
Our journey began in the small town of Balmaceda. After roughly 20 hours of travel, we built our bikes in the middle of a crowded airport and set off around 6:00 PM. Thankfully, the sun doesn’t set until 10:30 PM in February that far south, giving us a few hours of daylight to make progress. We were immediately greeted by the starkest headwind I have ever felt in my entire existence—a relentless gale that lasted for three days straight. Welcome to the end of the world. That night, we made camp alongside several other bike tourists on a local's property, a common accommodation where $10 gets you a bathroom, a shower, and a shared kitchen.
Leaving the windy, rolling hills of the southern Balmaceda region, we headed north through Coyhaique, the "Portal for Patagonia." In Coyhaique, we had our first encounter with the Completo. The English translation is "complete," as it is a complete, perfect embodiment of any wienerish desire one may have. Essentially, a completo is a glorified hotdog topped with a mound of avocado, mustard, mayo, ketchup, and occasionally a crunchy topping like little potato strings. Each shop would put their own little spin on it. You could ride the entire Carretera Austral on completos and not need anything else but a few glasses of wine and beer. It is, shall we say, complete.
Anyway... we climbed out of Coyhaique, still battling the horrendous wind. We were greeted with beautiful, steep rock cliffs climbing out of the city. The paved road was narrow and the drivers were fast, however, they did not seem malicious like American drivers. Along the route, it was common for cars to whiz by, but it never truly felt like they were out to harm you like in the American South. Todo fue tranquilo. Everyone was chill; you could feel it in the air. Everyone was just trying to see the next beautiful site, not cast hate upon the poor soul on ye old bicycle.
The headwinds finally subsided as we turned off the pavement and onto the gravel. However, we were met with some ferocious hills. Although they were plentiful, the hills in Patagonia were not the most challenging to climb because they weren't too steep and they were always followed by the most stunning view you had ever seen. We spent the second night in Villa Mañihuales at Ruth's Hospedaje. This was one of my favorite places to stay as Ruth cooked us a delicious breakfast of fresh bread, eggs, and avocado. She showed us her garden tucked beneath the Andes and helped us fill heaping bags of various stone fruit. Fue mágico. On our ride out of town that day, we stumbled upon a rodeo—or perhaps that is just my American association—but it was men, dressed as South American cowboys, riding side by side on horses around a stable. Unsure of the objective, I was enthralled.
Leaving Villa Mañihuales, we quickly became consumed by the mountains. The landscape turned a lush green as we climbed up and up towards Queulat National Park. We later learned that the giant-leaved plants along the route were Chilean Rhubarb. The vegetation was so dense it reminded me of what the dinosaurs used to play in. The road towards Queulat was windy but not too steep. A five-mile climb brought us to the top, giving us views of steep mountainsides filled with crystal blue glaciers and waterfalls. We descended the other side on a tight switchback gravel road. Not only were the gnarly switchbacks a challenge, but the oncoming speeding cars made for a thrilling and risky descent. That evening we camped outside of the park alongside a crystal blue river created by the glacial runoff. It was serene. I have spent much time in the cold rivers of the American West, but that was probably the coldest river I have had the pleasure of submerging in.
The next day we traveled to Puyuhuapi, a quiet town tucked away where the lush jungle mountains meet the edge of the sea. We followed a gravel road winding through the jungle, hugging a fjord along the way, and stopped for a roadside cerveza from a local vendor. In town, we dined on some of the freshest ceviche known to man. Leaving was a slog, due to the hot sun and a few too many pisco sours consumed at lunch. This became a common trend for me on our trip; I would over-indulge in adult beverages at lunch because I was excited to try something new, only to suffer the consequences for the next two hours until I sweated out every last drop.
After a few more days, we turned east toward Futaleufú. This detour ended up being my favorite part of the trip. The route through the valley was stunning as we passed Lago Yelcho, a turquoise lake fed by the draining rivers of the surrounding mountains. We stayed for three days at the rafting outpost Cara del Indio, where we were met with torrential rain and spent most of our time sheltering in a small cabaña perched high above the Futa, overlooking the crystal-blue water below. It truly felt like a dream.
The owners of the outpost were incredibly hospitable, bringing us food throughout the day while we hid from the storm. On the second day, the weather finally broke long enough for us to get on the river. We rafted about eight miles and even flipped in the infamous Mundaca rapid. The experience filled my cup, but it also left me with a deep longing for the river, reminding me of the life I once lived as a guide.
I had always dreamed of seeing the Futa, but nineteen-year-old Natalie never could have imagined riding a bike hundreds of miles just to reach it. That realization filled me with an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude. On the third day, when the rain finally lifted, we made our way back toward the Carretera.
The ride north offered more coastal views as we passed through small fishing towns. We took a four-hour ferry to connect a section of our route, but there was a catch: we weren’t sure if we’d be allowed to bring our bikes without an extra charge that doubled our ticket price. Thankfully, we met another bike tourist coming from the opposite direction who told us about a different ferry with reasonable rates. The only issue was that it departed in just a few hours, and we still had a massive distance to cover to reach the port. We packed up camp and pushed as hard as we could to make it. We didn’t even know if we could board without advanced tickets, but we made it by the skin of our teeth. On that ferry trip, we saw penguins swimming alongside our boat.
After another 200 miles of riding, we reached Volcán Osorno, a dramatic volcano acting as our last landmark in Chile. We camped beneath the volcano alongside a river for the most serene campsite we could’ve asked for. That night we dined on empanadas heated by our camp stove. It was a perfect evening, one I will cherish for the rest of my life.
The following day we made our crossing into Argentina via the “Cruce Andino, Tres Lagos” ferry route. It was an incredible experience in terms of scenery, though I can’t say I would strongly recommend the company, Turisur. Due to miscommunication between their Argentinian and Chilean offices, we were told at one point that our bicycles would not fit on the final ferry. We were given two options: pay $250 for a hotel room while waiting for the next departure, or turn around and return to Chile.
Turning back wasn’t really an option, as our flight out of Argentina was in two days. There was also a significant climb we would have had to redo just to re-enter the country, and we did not want to ride again. We were told we couldn’t camp and, in effect, that we would need to either pay or return. Eventually, by explaining that we simply didn’t have the funds and would miss our flights, we were able to get on the last ferry.
I only include this as a caution for anyone considering a similar route. That said, the experience of linking three ferries by bike while crossing from Chile into Argentina was unforgettable. The friction of navigating a poorly coordinated company and the uncertainty of if we would be able to arrive on time to our final destination embellished the trip with an additional sense of adventure.
We spent our last two days exploring San Carlos de Bariloche. We rode mountain bike trails without the weight of our luggage, ate a lot of chocolate, drank a lot of wine, and explored a Patagonian History Museum. Conveniently, they were celebrating Carnival that week. We partook in the celebrations as the streets were filled with live music, parades, and dancers. I even got some beautiful cornrows in my hair to look super swaggy. We spent these last few moments of our trip indulging and enjoying each other's company.
It would be remiss of me not to mention the massive sun blister that formed on my index finger throughout the trip. It grew so large over time that it started to feel like my little buddy. I named him Erb. On one of our final days, Erb finally popped. It was a strange but fittingly symbolic end to the trip.
I didn't realize at the time of planning just how much I would need an experience like this. In February I was consumed by seasonal depression and being sucked into the negative vortex of my phone and social media. This trip was a great mental reset. It reminded me that with bikes, good food, and even better company, even the biggest dumpster fire doesn't feel that hot.
