Thurs 13th, Oct.
It was a relatively dry night but the river kept the valley cold and humid. I packed quickly after washing my dishes and filling my water bottles down at the river by the beach. I still wanted to continue the detour to Puerto Cisnes as I could do with resupplying and was feeling the effects of not having eaten enough the day before. It was a slow push along the valley for another 25km where the sun never quite broke through the clouds. The dead-end detour down towards the town started as a narrow canyon with near vertical walls and which later opened into a vast green delta by the sea.
I arrived at around 11.30am and went down to the harbour-front trying to find somewhere I could get a substantial meal. Fishing trawlers were anchored near the shore and a small industrial ferry sat at the end of the jetty. A sign outside a dingy little restaurant said I’d have to wait until noon so I cycled up a block and found a well stocked hardware shop and bought some gloves, the tight knit ones with a rubber coating on the fingers and palms; they’d do to get me through the rest of the pass. On my way back down to the harbour I met a woman on the steps of her guesthouse. Francesca owned the wooden house, raised on stilts with windows looking out to sea, from underneath a dog came out to see what was happening. She offered me lunch and a bed so I sat by the heater in the front room with a huge plate of chicken, potato and rice, my boots steaming beside me. Francesca and her partner, Victor, were a young couple from Santiago who’d left the city 5 years ago to start their guesthouse. It had a homely vibe to it and Victor was always in the kitchen, making empanadas and serving takeaway bags out the back door.
I lay out my things to dry and walked a few blocks, picking up a second set of gloves from a woman who knitted them herself. After yesterday’s descent I didn’t want to take any more chances with the gloves.
I was glad to have seen Puerto Cisnes, it was a good detour. Although out of season it was obvious that it was a creative community and had a lot going on in the summer. A mirador up on the hill gave a great view over the town in the fjord and a look back up to where the valley narrowed. I restocked my supplies for the next three days to Coyhaique and got ready to leave the next morning.
Austral Spring 