Every day starts out the same. Wipe the dirt off of my eyelids, break down the tent and repack the backpack, complain about the aching calves and hamstrings, come to the realization that this is actually exactly what I want to be doing, and then hit the road. The grunge trail is all about seeing everything and paying nothing, or as close to it as possible.
It really started in Cochrane, a couple of days after my parents left us in desolate Villa Cerro Catillo to return to Puerto Montt. We knew we couldn´t survive in Patagonia the way we had been in the north of the country. Everything down here is three times the price due to the remoteness and difficulties in shipping, and we were already pushing our budget as it was. The first thing we knew we had to cut out was transportation costs, and at first our prospects looked grim. We lugged our bags up to the side of the road in Cerro Castillo and stuck our thumbs out, eager to try out our luck. Then we looked over to our right and noticed two other hitchhikers, then four more to the left. The place was packed with competition, and after a few hours of waiting we admitted defeat and caught the overpriced bus down to Puerto
Tranquilo. Upon arrival we hired a boat to take us out to the Marble Caverns, a series of glowing emerald caves carved out of marble cliffsides. The boat passed us through tunnels filled with sharp stone stalagmites and stalagtites submerged in the brilliant turquoise water. When we got back we shook off our awe and searched for a spot to set up the tent. The second major money drain was lodging, since in Patagonia the options are few and the prices are frightening. We soon found an old man who let us set up camp in his yard, and we passed the night sharing wine from a leather bag (called a ´bota´ in spanish) and exchanging stories by his woodburning stove. The next day we got up and decided to give the hitchhiking another shot, but as soon as we got to the road we saw the same roadside battle for open truck beds, and once again were forced to admit defeat and buy a bus ticket. This time we went down to Cochrane, and were happy to see that about halfway down all of the other tourists got off to follow the ´typical´ tourist route, which leads over through Chile Chico into Argentina. Our plan was to head down to the small fishing village of Caleta Tortel about 6 hours further south on the Carretera Austral. Now the roads were all ours.
It only took two minutes on the road outside Cochrane before we got picked up, and we quickly saw how hitchhiking has many more benefits beyond just a free ride. We had been planning to camp near a laguna several kilometers outside of town, and
after exchanging a few words with our altruistic chauffer we found out that he owned the entire piece of property for many miles south of Cochrane. He laughed at our idea of camping near the lake and insisted that we stay at a special spot on his property. He parked the car and led us through a gate over to a small field at the top of a tremendous waterfall, where he left us to set up camp and cook our pasta in bliss. The next day we started out again, thumbing the wind and playing hacky sack to kill the time. A couple hours of nervous waiting on the deserted road and we found ourselves the sterotypical ride in the back of a pick up truck. Here we found another hidden merit of hitchhiking: the view. This 3 hour ride took us through absolutely stunning canyons filled with glaciers, waterfalls, and all along the largest river in Chile. We arrived in Tortel rocking the Ace Ventura hairstyle, but smiling from ear to ear.
The small town of Tortel could be taken straight out of a fairy tale. It is set on a beautiful fjord surrounded by mountains and steep islands, but its most unique characteristic is its streets, or lack thereof. Upon arriving everyone leaves their vehicles at a small parking lot up on a hill and begins the walk down into town. In
Tortel everything is connected by cypress boardwalks, resembling typical small fishing docks. As we wound through town on the wooden thoroughfares we felt like we were in a fantasy world. Until the completion of the Carretera Austral in 2007 the only access to the town was by boat or airplane, and usually only one or two trips per month were made to the outside world. This atmosphere of self reliance and isolation is still clear in the Tortel culture, although all of this is sure to change with the new road. We spent a couple days exploring the pathways, hiking in the nearby mountains, and drinking wine off the many docks before we continued on, determined to reach the end of the Carretera.
Our luck continued on the roadside again, as a military truck picked us up to bring us over to Puerto Yungay, where a free ferry carries cars and people across a long fjord. This time our driver filled us with stories about the construction of the road and those who had died in the process. He stopped the truck and led us up to a mirador (lookout) he had helped build, which had a sweeping view of the winding canyons below. At Puerto Yungay he left us and we caught the ferry across to Rio
Bravo. It turns out that Rio Bravo is nothing more than a shed with a bathroom. Fortunately for us, and for a Slovenian cyclist friend we had met, the shed was left open. We set up our sleeping bags inside the shed and started a big bonfire outside to cook hot dogs and drink more boxed wine. The next morning our approach was simple. There were three ferry crossings each day; one in the morning, afternoon, and evening. The first one came and went without anyone offering us a ride. Not wanting to spend another night in the middle of nowhere we became very discouraged. However, another hour later our misfortune turned into a blessing as we saw an enormous condor sweep down right next where we were waiting. We had been unsuccessfully chasing the condor through 4 countries and we finally got our perfect view of the giant bird. Perhaps it was our satisfied grins that got us a ride from the next ferry, and we cruised on down to the official end of the road at Villa O´Higgins.
At Villa O´Higgins we were stuck. The only way to continue on was to cross the massive Lago O´Higgins, and this wasn´t easy. For starters, there is only one boat that can take you across and it is an expensive tourist boat that takes passengers to the massive O´Higgins glacier. Secondly, once across the lake there is nothing more than a border outpost. No roads, no boats, for 39 kilometers. Along this stretch you cross into Argentina before finally reaching a road that takes you into El Chalten, the typical jump off point for the Fitz-Roy wilderness. Unwilling to return all the way back to Chile Chico to go down through Argentina, a journey which
would undoubtedly take three to four days and cost a fair amount, we loaded up our backpacks with food and bought our boat ticket. The lake crossing was uneventful and when we got off we were ready to hike. Normally when we hike we leave a fair amount of unnecessary gear at a hostal so we dont have to carry it, but this time we carried all. After 22km we had finally crossed the border and set up our camp. The next day we trudged on passing along the side of the beautiful Lago del Desierto on a trail plagued with fallen trees and icy cold stream crossings. Finally we had made it, and we quickly thumbed a ride into town with a porteño (as they call people from Buenos Aires) couple on vacation.
El Chaltèn turned out to be a rather annoying, hideously overpriced little tourist trap and we only spent one day preparing ourselves for our 4 day hike in the Fitz-Roy mountain range. We left in the morning and found the trails to be rather easy after our overloaded tromp across the border. The first night we camped near a glacier that poured out of the mountain into a small lagoon, but it was the second
campsite that was truly the highlight. After arriving at the second site we dropped off our bags and went straight up the steep trail to see the extraordinary Fitz-Roy peak. When we started we were bathed in sunshine, but by the top of the trail it had turned to a complete blizzard and we were unable to see even the closest shore of the lagoon that leads to the mountain. Discouraged and exhausted we returned to the camp and turned in for the night. The next morning we awoke to more glorious sunshine, and although the ascent was painful, we decided to hike up to the lagoon another time to try our luck. This time it was gorgeous. The Fitz-Roy peak juts out of the mountain range at a near 90 degree angle like a giant blade of stone. We snapped a couple hundred photos and continued on, making our way to the final campsite of the trip, and finally back to El Chaltén to continue on to El Calafe.
El Calafate is yet another tourist trap, this time fueled by the hulking Perito Moreno glacier located outside of town. In El Calafate they charge for everything, and it took all our skills to preserve our delicate budget. We camped in the municipal campground and hitchhiked our way to the glacier with some traveling Slovakians. One glimpse of the sparkling glacier and the popularity of the nearby town is immediately justified. The Perito Moreno glacier pours out of the southern continental ice field down into the turbid Lake Argentina like a giant icy tongue lapping up cold milk. Perhaps even more impressive than the initial site is the activity of the glacier, as every couple minutes a massive cracking sound is heard and often followed by a huge boulder of ice falling into the lake and sending immense waves across the surface of the lake. A ride on the tour boat brought us up close to the face where we could stare up at the 180 foot high walls and appreciate the intense hues of blue from the shattered ice. Once again a few porteños came to our rescue and carried us back into town where we hurried to escape the dangerous tourist trap.
All of the tourist offices had told us no one would carry us the long distance down from El Calafate to Puerto Natales, the base for exploring the famous Torres del Payne National Park. We didnt want to fork out the $80 price tag to get to the park, so we decided to defy them and give it a shot. After talking with the authorities at the local police checkpoint, they agreed to allow us to hitchhike right next to their gate, and even help us find a ride if they could. Soon we found a big 16 wheeler that agreed to take us deep into the Argentine pampa, completing about half of the journey to Puerto Natales. The driver was nice and informed us on the history of the region before dropping us off at a gas station nicely located in the middle of nowhere. The Patagonian wind blasted in our faces while we waited on the road, but soon enough another semi truck stopped to take us over to the Chilean border. We spent the night in a small town near the border before continuing on over to Chile. Three short rides connected all the border patrol stations and brought us all the way to Puerto Natales, where we stocked up on gear for a 9 day treck through Torres del Payne.
Again using our favorite mode of transportation, a father and son duo carried us into the park, and saved us a further $22 each by getting us in as locals instead of tourists. Then we started right in on to first campsite, about 9 km from the trailhead. Our plan was to complete the ´big cicuit,´ which winds around the back of the park before joining the popular section called ´the W.´ Popular is a relative term, and it took on new meaning as we made our way through the park. On the ´remote´ backside we found about 35 tents at each campsite, and at the popular W this number reached 85, more tents than I had ever seen in one spot in my life. Despite the popularity the hike was amazing. The backside consisted mostly of grassland and lazy rivers, finally pushing through some forested area and up into a narrow rocky pass on the third day. For us it took four. Locals are all too ready to tell you how clean and clear their Patagonian water is, and how purification tablets are completely unnecessary in this pristine part of the world. Following suit we drank water straight from the streams during the whole trip, but on the third morning I woke up completely confined to the camping mat, on the verge of vomiting. The entire day I spent lying around miserably, eating only 10 peanuts and a couple spoonfuls of mashed potatoes, and worrying about the fate of our backpacking trip. Luckily the next morning my immune system had won the battle, and we pushed on. On
the fourth night we reached the pass, and our eyes were rewarding with the astounding sight of the Grey Glacier. Although smaller than Perito Moreno, the viewpoint from the pass made this glacier even more impressive in my opinion. The whole thing can be seen stretching 6 kilometers wide and 28 kilometers long as it pours out of the worlds third largest reserve of fresh water. Once we shook off our amazement we continued on along the side of the glacier until we reached the face where it breaks off into a large lake, where we set up camp. The next day marked the official entry point into the W, and we were soon spitting out ´Holas´ to passing hikers until our throats were sore. The next night we saw the ´Horns of Payne,´ large spires of stone that form a sort of
caldera around a beautiful river. We continued on, blessed by good weather, until we reached our final night right near the base of the towers. That night the gods got angry and threw buckets of water on our tent, covering everything with the ricocheting mud from the campsite. In the morning we were miserable, and the towers were completely covered in clouds and rain. We packed up our hideously dirty equipment and ran down the trail out of the park. Our food supply was nearly entirely exhausted, Vivianas shoes were tattered and torn, and we were desperate for food that wasn´t in powder form.
We did not delay long in satisfying our cravings. Last night we feasted on hamburgers with bacon, morron peppers, patacones, olives, beer, pisco, and chocolate. Now we are healing, our legs are feeling stronger than ever, and we are ready for the final dash to the bottom of the world. Some of the grunge trail habits will surely die slowly. Camping will probably remain in the routine, and when the situation is right, we will push our thumbs into the road. However we will probably add a bit more comfort back to life as well. In the last 25 days we have camped 22 times, and taken only 3 bus trips as opposed to 15 hitchhiking rides. According to our calculations, in this amount of time hitchhiking and walking has saved us $212 each. We have walked around 140 miles of trails. Today we head to Punta Arenas and then it is just a hort hop to Ushuaia, where the journey south ends and the long return north finally begins.
exchanging only a handful of words, Viviana and I set out to celebrate our arrival. We started the festivities with some hefty steaks and sub-par piña coladas and kept the night going with stouts and ales. After a few hours at an Irish bar, chatting with perhaps the only 3 irish people in town, we were feeling nice and warm inside. At around 4AM we stumbled back to the house to find that Ricardo was waiting up for us, perhaps worried we had gotten lost along the way. The next day we attempted to show our gratitude by making a filling breakfast and exchanging anecdotes with our host. I had reached Ushuaia, but still didn´t quite feel the closure I sought, after all I could clearly see the road 
continuing south out of town. So the next morning we continued down the road into the Tierra del Fuego National Park. With Ricardos help we entered the park before the toll booth opened and were dropped off near the entrance. After a few hours of walking the road came to a sudden dead end in a parking lot and finally the significance of this impasse started to sink in. My original dream of crossing the Americas is complete. From this point on I won´t be going south again, only north, back, towards home. We passed an hour at the end of the dusty road, sharing memories from the trip and contemplating the time and effort it had taken to get down to the tip of the continent without leaving the ground. Here´s a few numbers I have crunched on what it took me to reach the bottom of the continent:
(hitchhike) and it didn´t take long before we got our first ride, which took us about halfway to the next major town of Rio Grande. For the second half we were picked up by an ex-soccer player turned volleyball coach named Luchi. We chatted along the way and when we got to the town he offered us a free place to stay in the dormitory at the community sports center where he worked. We wanted to conitue on north, but two hours of unsuccessful hitchhiking convinced us to take our futbolista friends offer and we returned to the dorm, where we slept extremely well despite the complaints of an angry clown unhappy about our presence. The next day we hit the road again. After a few hours wait a big 16-wheeler stopped and picked us up. The driver, Fabian, spoke slurred spanish laced with Argentinian slang and expletives at a mile a minute and didn´t hold back in showing us every side of his dynamically disgusting personality. Within an hour we got off to cross the border into Chile. We seriously discussed the option of leaving him behind and looking for another ride, but he had already offered to carry us 8 hours up to Rio Gallegos and he didn´t seem at all dangerous. So we continued on. At Rio Gallegos we were all too ready to hop 
off, but as he pulled into the service station he mentioned that he would be happy to take us further north, all the way to Comodoro Rivadavia, a 12 hour trip exactly where we needed to go. After a hurried discussion in the parking lot we decided to stay on. This led to a painful 12 hours of listening to more wild stories, complete with animated impersonations of all characters involved, as well as watching him throw numerous pieces of trash out the window and into the pampa. Just as I was reaching my boiling point we pulled in to Comodoro where we hurled ourselves from the truck and quickly said goodbye to our chofer. Despite the consistent trash talking, Fabians actions were actually quite noble. He carried us 20 hours without asking for a dime, and even bought us lunch along the way. Nevertheless, we were all too happy to shell out $50 for a ticket to El Bolsón, and now that we are leaving Patagonia, our hitchhiking will probably be limited to short trips only, although the experience was unforgettable to say the least.
