Abandoned Shack to a Bush Rio Camp

We stayed tucked up in our tent this morning, drinking coffee while the other lads got themselves sorted. Because it was raining, thier tents had to come down before anyone could cook inside the old building, so we just lay there listening to the shuffle and letting them do their thing.

There was no rush. Rain has that effect on us. Plus, I really couldn’t be bothered with a full building shuffle.

Johnny, the wee English bloke who’s been cycling the world for two years, wasn’t looking flash. He sat in my chair, pale as anything. He looked like death warmed up.

Neil, on the other hand, procrastinated hard about leaving. We had a good bit of banter over breakfast while he built up the courage to face the rain.

Eventually, everyone peeled off one by one, and it was just us. By the time we rolled out, the rain had almost stopped and we cruised into a mild, gravelly, bush-lined day.

My legs, however, had other ideas. Constantly tired is becoming a thing, but today they turned properly jelly-like. The hills didn’t actually get steeper, they just felt like they did.

We caught up to Johnny later in the afternoon, pushing his bike up a hill, looking absolutely wrecked. I wished I could help, but I could barely help myself. A few words, a nod, then we rolled on.

Maree and I waited at the top of the hill and gave Johnny a few more words of encouragement before zipping down the gravel like kids, leaving Johnny carefully wrestling his skinny tyres behind us.

Maree was keen to get to town and find somewhere to stay, but just outside it she stopped for something minor and I noticed a wee 4WD track. I wandered down it and boom, one of those moments.

A sheltered little cove. Water’s edge. No broken branches. A perfect grassy glade for the tent.

“Babe… I think we should stay here.”

She wandered down, looked around, and smiled.

“Yeah. I love it.”

I didn’t want town. Didn’t want people. I was spent. Antisocial and unapoligetic. Maree wanted a few supplies, so she stripped the bikes and headed off, leaving me to pitch the tent. Instead, I lay in the grass. Then wandered up to a little peninsula and sat in the sun. Then lay back in the grass again.

When Maree returned in a flap adamant weather coming in and it seems the world was going to end. I stayed calm, I’d been watching the wind howl down the lake but miss us completely, Marlborough Sounds–style. Cove logic.

I grabbed my chair.

“Babe, I know the world’s ending, but grab the chips. Let’s go watch it.”

Side-eye. Then laughter. Then agreement.

We sat on the peninsula as wind and rain smashed the lake, barely touching us. Later, Maree lit a fire. Dinner was meat patties, red wine, potatoes cooked on the flames. We watched night creep in, slowly, because Patagonia doesn’t do dark until late.

Better than any paid campground. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

We had a plan: 47km to nowhere near a town, for a rest day. The map said one decent climb, then rolling bliss.

The map lied.

The first hill was one of those ones. Fake tops. Multiple times. Steep, undulating, and rude.

But at the top, holy hell!! A glacial lake so blue it looked painted, ringed by snow-capped mountains. Worth every swear word.

We expected a gentle roll after that. Instead: downhill, then steep undulation, then another, then another. By the time we hit the valley floor, sleet had joined the party. Cold. Proper cold.

We hid under a bridge for lunch. Not ideal, but it took the edge off. Staying wasn’t an option, rising river, sleet, cold wind, no shelter.

So we pushed on. Stoically. I was absolutely cooked. Cold to the bone. Legs jelly. The kind of tired where thinking feels optional.

Then we realised, only 11km to go to our intended destination.

Somehow, something kicked in. When we rounded a corner to see a final 3km sign. I considered throwing my bike in the ditch and spooning it. Instead, I cranked on.

At the campsite, a little old lady opened the door.

“Frío, frío,” she said... cold, cold.

She didn’t ask for money. Just pointed us to hot showers and lit a fire. Maree set up the tent while I stood under hot water for a very long time, soul returning to body. Soap never crossed my mind.

That night, warm and fed, I crawled into my sleeping bag and drifted into absolute bliss.

I woke to snow-dusted rock formations glowing in the sun. I sat in my chair wrapped in my sleeping bag. Silence. Proper silence.

A camp cat adopted me and brought me a mouse for show-and-tell, then proceeded to toy/ play with it. Hunger Games, Patagonia edition.

Maree made ham and cheese arepas, excellent, next best thing to gluten-free toasties.

We made a call: a cargo ferry from Puerto Yungay to Puerto Natales instead of the usual bikepacking route. The ferry would be forty-eight hours through fjords. Our Christmas cruise, we are calling it as it leaves Peurto Yungay on xmas day night.

By afternoon the camp filled up, mostly vehicle campers but also a brother-sister USA duo cycling the Carretera Austral.

We had the wood range cranking so the kitchen got packed, everyone doing the warmth shuffle.

That night, in my sleeping bag, I lay thinking about how far we’ve come. Images flickered through my head, rain, gravel, laughter, fatigue, awe.

Then sleep took me.

We let everyone else get moving first. Coffee in bed, no rush. We didn’t roll out until 11:30. The town of Cochrane was 65km away so we planned to just do half of this today.

After a few undulating grunts in, we sheltered under a bridge for a cuppa, as rain spat half-heartedly.

Moving on we began to follow above Río Baker, it was wide, wild, turquoise beyond belief. We rode high above it, bush framing the view. I’ve never seen a glacial river that colour or scale. Mesmerising.

We turned off Route 7 looking for a riverside camp and immediately found a sunny glade — flat grass, scrub for cover, peace. Done.

Relaxing in the evening sun, praising ourselves for sticking to our guns and having a cruisy day.

I cracked the tent door for my morning pee and it was frozen shut. Our glade was white with frost, beautiful and brutal.

Back into the sleeping bag I went, letting Maree sleep while the sun decided to appear. Sure enough, the frost melted and the glade turned into glittering green as we sipped coffee.

Then panic.

“Babe… have you seen my rain jacket?” Maree stressed.

No jacket. Maree retraced her descent. I waited, sunworshipping. She returned empty-handed.

Bugger.

Heading off, ten metres down the road, a stop–go guy told us the road was closed for three hours. We should have rested. Instead, we chose the alternate back road route. Of course we did.

We need our heads read!!

Four hundred metres assent in in five kilometres. I pushed my bike like an old person with a zimmer frame. Everystep painstakingly gruelling. But at the top — jagged snowy peaks with glaciers clinging on. Worth it.

Later, we came back to the Río Baker again thinking we could cross it via a bridge. No bridge!!

But there was a free vehicle pontoon to take us across this wide, boiling, turquoise fury.

That evening, we found a shelf above the road for camp. It had the most intriquging rock formation across the road up in the granit cliffs. It to me, looked like a giant giant snail formed out of sand stone.I was absolutely fascinated by it.

We sat with our snail friend and watch the evening come down.

I woke staring at my giant snail rock and distant snowy peaks. I enjoyed thier company as I sipped my morning g coffee.

As we had run out of breakie food and it was only five kilometres to Cochrane we decided to pack up and head there to curb our hungers.

We found a supermarket brought peaches. yoghurt and real ground coffee. There were picnic tables outside so we transformed them.into our own café.

Locating the only outdoorish store in town

we found Maree a new rain jacket, she only got one option.

The afternoon was grey and unsettled. My legs felt better; Maree’s felt like lead so it was her turn on struggle street! W found an abandoned shack, a clean one room affair complete with wood stove and bikepacker history written in crumbs and scars.

Fire lit. Dinner cooked. No tent needed.

Luxury.

We talked Villa O’Higgins logistics over breakfast — kms, fatigue, desire. We both wanted to go. If we wanted to finish the Carratera Austral and return to Peurto Yungay for our xmas cruise we would have to lifted our pace.

While Maree cooked breakie I took a walk to wash and I found a track that meyandered up behind our shack. Five minutes later, alpine scrub, lake views below, giants rising across the water with glaciers tucked into their bones.

I scrambled back to Maree

“Babe. I found our breakfast spot.”

We ate in silence. No notes needed, we just took in natures offerings.

Then the road. Up first....always up first. We hit a plateau, then a long cold descent back into trees. Dusty gravel, all day with the odd vehicle giving us a good taste of it.

Then like a marage, a food cart. Expensive, yes but please I need topping up. Maree scoffed down a burger while I ate steak eggs and chips. They barely touched the sides but still I was so grateful.

We pedalled off down the road in search of tonight’s camp.

And here we are surrounded by trees next to a river warming by our camp fire.river