Friday 14th, Oct.
Completely revived and happy with my little detour I set out back towards the mountains. The guesthouse co-owner, Victor, recommended that I took the longer way out of town, a loop that added a few kilometres but would take me along the waters edge and back through the countryside to the road I came in on. As I did the clouds were beginning to burn off. I had to walk for about a kilometre pushing the bike through a section of road that was still sandy under construction, I felt heat beaming down on me. Once back on the saddle, full of energy and in a t-shirt and shorts, I could take in the truly awesome surroundings of the valley. Both walls towered above the flat plain of the delta, so steep on one side that no foliage could find purchase and the water that ran freely down its face reflected the sunlight. Clouds lifted off the trees further up the valley and gathered around the foothills, the bigger mountains shining ominous and white in the gaps between the dark green. As the walls narrowed the rapids of the Río Cisnes added their noise and the road climbed higher along the cliff.
I returned to my riverside campsite from two days prior and picked up the mug that I’d left behind on the sand. Back at the junction I stopped by the shrine of San Sebastián for a break. Banana and manjar on the bread Francesca had given me as I left the guesthouse and a handful of cashews would keep me going for the next few hours. Moving through the mountains with sunlight above gave new depth to the landscape adding spot-lit patches of yellow on the forest green and splintered shadows on the granite walls. Up here, despite the brightness, there was still enough of a chill to need a top layer, especially when gaining speed. It was the kind of alpine climate that still ends in sunburn no matter how cold.
I’d planned to reach Villa Amengual to check out a place called the Refugio for Cyclists but when I got there it was unoccupied and looked run down. I did a loop of the village and decided to carry on to find a better place to sleep. Twenty minutes further and I reached Laguna las Torres, named for the jagged towers that stuck out the tops of the highest of the peaks. I pulled up to an empty recreation area by the side of the lake and parked my bike under a tree. I took my chance while the sun was still above the mountains to dip into the icy water.
Remains of stone rings from previous fires were scattered about by the edge of the forest. I reconstructed one and gathered some wood, the evening was warm enough to not need a fire but it was useful for one in the morning. I cooked by the edge of the lake and ate, watching the wind work patterns on the surface. Two grey-hooded sierra finches scratched around in the dust and a hummingbird hovered in the low branches beside me.
Austral Spring 