Friday, Oct 7th.
A solid sleep and a slow morning. The rain never stopped through the night and didn’t look like it would any time soon. Our options were stay there for a long day in the room or head out and see where we got to. There were thermal springs along the way and a bridge 45km away where Lago Yelcho flowed into a river that might offer shelter. The three of us were hesitant to leave the warmth of the cabaña but we started packing up anyway and stopped off for an hot empanada, stood outside the shop watching the rain bounce off the dirt. The minute we crossed the bridge out of town an icy wind turned on us and drove the rain into our faces. The flat valley road was an enjoyable change to the hills of previous days and as the rain eased up later on it turned into a fast cruise towards blue skies. The thermal pools were closed so we carried on to the lake, passing small a few small villages along the way.
Arriving at Puente Yelcho, a tall suspension bridge at the north end of the lake, we found our campsite for the night. Underneath the far side of the bridge was a large flat and sheltered area that seemed to be a well-known fishing spot. Four pick-ups with trailers were parked and a group of Chileans were fly-fishing from the bank. We set-up a fire pit between the legs of the bridge and sourced soaked fire-wood from a clearing area near-by. The Aussies knew what they were doing and with the help of isopropyl and a tiny air-bed inflator we had a fire big enough to warm ourselves and dry out the next bits of wood as it burned. I placed my gloves on one of the bigger logs to dry, of course forgetting about them as I put up my tent and returning to a bigger fire and several melted fingers.
The fishermen were having a good day and were cleaning their catch on the bank, throwing the guts and heads back into the water. They slung the fish in bunches and must have had at least 40 trout between them. They were staying the night under the bridge also and kindly gave us three plastic chairs and some trout which we grilled on the fire. At one point they opened up the trailers they were towing and suddenly 20 greyhounds were trotting about. Turns out our neighbours were travelling to the races and had stopped off to fish along the way.
A cold but mostly dry night followed, disturbed only by the occasional dog fight and a 2am fishing session.
Austral Spring 