From Patagonia

Greetings from Arcadia,

Where to start….it’s hard to write about my experience trekking Patagonia on horseback without going on endlessly. It was a whirlwind of an experience, but I felt so alive during every minute of it that it seemed like time slowed down for 8 days. This is also an apology by way of an explanation that this post is a long one. Just grab the whole bottle of wine before you sit down. I couldn’t help but detail everything because I think Chile has spoiled all other countries for me, and I am legitimately worried that was as good as this trip is ever going to be for me.

I’m not here to tell you this tour was nothing but rainbows and sunshine for 8 days, because there was some seriously tough moments that made me want to curl into a ball and quit. But in the big picture, it was undoubtedly one of the best experiences of my life so far. This was in large part due to the amazing people who shared the experience with me. But also because of the unparalleled beauty and wildness of the country, and how far off the beaten track we were able to get on the tough and steady Criollo horses who took us there.

Even if you don’t ride, or have no urge to jump on a horse in a foreign country, I hope you can see why this place is so special and get a glimpse of why I fell in love with it. I can’t wait to go back and do it again. In fact, the goodbyes at the end of the trip were so hard, I was tempted to jump back in the van and refuse to come out until they took me back to the start.

So without further ado, this is how I saw Patagonia and made some friends I’ll never forget.

Day 1
Cue the suspenseful music as I am waiting very impatiently in the foyer of my AirBnb for the van to whisk me off to parts unknown. The designated pick up time was 11:00, and as that came and went, I got worried that something went wrong, they forgot about me, the trip was cancelled, etc, etc. Needless to say, they found me eventually and off we went, and I learned a valuable lesson about “Chilean time.” As they picked up the other trekkers, I got to meet the people I would share this adventure with. Here’s the cast:

Tad: A surgeon from Colorado who has a quiet but inquisitive nature. It was immediately clear that he reads a lot, and has a vast reservoir of knowledge about everything from the ancient sloth bear that used to roam southern Chile, to welding equipment, to the thermal properties and virtues of wool clothing, to the optimal way to apply a motion sickness patch (the night before you get on a boat, by the way). In this way, Tad was able to relate to the diverse people in our group by finding something to talk about with everyone. We all got to know him as quiet, but super smart and an interesting conversationalist.

Heidi: Tad’s wife and a former nurse, who was unlike Tad in almost every way. Outgoing, with a big laugh that she was quick to use, and an even bigger smile. She can immediately befriend just about anyone (this is a skill I very much lack, and so admire it in other people), and is so genuinely interested in knowing you that you can’t help but tell her your life story after five minutes of talking with her. Heidi and I were the only ladies on the trip, and her encouragement and relentless positivity got me through some of the toughest parts. By the end, my fellow trekkers and I were all calling her Momma H, since she took everyone under her wing and made us feel like a strange little family. You’ll know what I mean when I say that in any small group of people there is usually one person who is the “glue” of the group. Heidi was the super glue.

Chuck: A retired, world-travelling former business owner from Wisconsin who was another quiet and calming presence in the group. But once you get to know him, you find out some fascinating things about this man. He is a pilot and owns his own plane, which he uses to fly around some very interesting cargo. After becoming connected with an environmentalist organization that rescues sea turtles that have lost their way and come too far north in the Atlantic, he flew several plane loads full of turtles from the Northeast back down to warmer waters in the Gulf of Mexico. He’s also escorted a red panda to its new home in a zoo, and a puppy to its new home with an older man who had recently lost his canine companion of many years. Chuck owns and rides cutting horses and competes occasionally. Under a quiet and crusty exterior, Chuck has a generous and kind nature, and a love of animals and travel that made him feel like a kindred spirit to this travelling animal-lover.

Paul: Paul is Chuck’s son, and has a perverse core nature and sense of humor that defies easy explanation, especially when meeting him for the first time. Exhibit A – one of our first conversations with Paul as he entered the van and settled in for the first leg of the trip:

Heidi: So Paul, how do you two know each other? [It wasn’t immediately apparent they were related or knew each other, since we had first asked where they were from and Chuck said Wisconsin, and Paul said Arkansas]

Paul: Oh, I’ve hated him all my life. [Spoken very matter-of-factly, with no smile or other indication he was making some sort of joke]

[Insert cricket noises as we waited for him to elaborate, clarify, or in some way amend the statement to clear up his apparent hatred for this man seated next to him]

Heidi: Oh…well…that tells me something! [She said this with a smile and laugh that broke the tension but made it clear that no one had any idea what he was talking about…when she asked again a couple hours later, he gave a more straightforward answer]

Paul runs the business that Chuck built from a two-person operation in the 1970s to now more than 150 employees. He also owns land in Arkansas with his wife, which from every indication is a loosely-controlled zoo, with a herd of dogs, herd of cattle, herd of horses, chickens, pigs, and any stray animal that shows up unannounced. It goes almost without saying that his sense of humor is so dry, it takes a little getting used to him before you understand that under a prickly exterior, he is a complete and utter softie who will allow sick baby cows to sleep in his bathtub (that is no joke, he showed us pictures of the calf…named Lovebug). Paul rides and trains show jumpers at his Arkansas farm, whilst running the family business and minding the zoo. Paul and Heidi established a rapport that was endlessly entertaining and made the trip so much fun for everyone.

Pablo: aka Brujo (a nickname that in Spanish means “wizard”). Pablo was our guide extraordinaire, and in turns reserved, annoyed, kind and caring, and authoritative when we needed a firmer hand (which was somewhat frequently). He is from Santiago, Chile and has an interesting backstory that landed him in the role of trekking guide in Patagonia. Pablo was incredibly patient with our American folly and truly knew everything there was to know about the land, the animals and plants and history of the place. He also seemed to be one of those people that gets along with everyone he meets, and it was obvious he is respected and liked by many. He was nice enough to allow me to hang out with him and the gauchos when it became clear that they were infinitely more fun than staying in a tent or room by myself. He was the perfect guide, more like a really smart friend with super long hair, and I was so glad he let me into his world for a little while, because it was very apparent that he really loved the place and wanted others to love it too.

Luis: Last, but certainly not least, Luis drove the van that carried the all-important clean clothing, and occasionally us. Luis was harder to get to know because he spoke little English, although it became clear that he understood a lot of the English that was spoken and was able to share in the fun. After showing us photos of his dogs with very cute little bows on their heads, he was inducted as a member into the Animal Lovers Anonymous group that had been assembled to see Patagonia together. He was always ready to help, seemed to enjoy being out in the country with us, and was quick with the pisco sours and wine when we rolled into camp.

So after being shuttled from Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales, we picked up some riding gear and headed back to the van for another couple hours of driving to Estancia Barranca, our starting point. Along the way we talked and got to know each other, and saw the South American version of an ostrich (a rhea) and a few guanaco (smaller, wild version of an alpaca). We made it to the estancia, which I believe wins the prize for biggest front yard in the world, since we turned off the road onto the property, then drove for another 20 minutes before we reached the actual buildings. Barranca means “ridge” or “cliff,” and it had a beautiful one, as well as a stunning view of the Paine Massif tower in the backyard. This was my first encounter with the “bota” bag of wine, which Luis kindly shared with me and Pablo taught me how to use without embarrassing myself too much.

Day 2
First day of riding, and we met our intrepid steeds for the day. Mine was a stout little bay named Bajalito (no idea if I’ve spelled that right, but I had a talk with him and he didn’t know the proper spelling of his name either), which translates to “little bird.” I’m not sure if there was ever a more inappropriate name for a chunky Criollo horse that had lead feet and a bone-jarring trot than “little bird.” I think in this case, the Criollo blood was a mix between a sweet-tempered mare and a ponderous dinosaur of some sort. Very sweet, very, very slow. Riding through the front yard of the estancia, we made our way around Lake Sarmiento, with black sand beaches and some ancient coral-type rock formations that were interesting and also kinda creepy, like a boneyard next to a beautiful lake.

Then the terrain started to go up and down as we rode into the hills. Herds of guanaco stood guard on the tops of the hills and shouted what I’m sure were obscenities at us (sounded more like a very strange bird call) as we passed through. Pablo says they are highly territorial, and we were certainly trespassing. Our gaucho leader’s smooth-riding horse kept up a steady slow jog, which Bajalito The Light-Footed was unable to match at a walk, and was too fast at a trot. So we oscillated back and forth – 10 steps walk, 10 steps trot, and on and on. This ensured that I was never able to relax in the saddle, and lurched back and forth for the entire 7 hours. Also, the pace was not open to discussion between Bajalito and myself, as he was not interested in directions or input from the human.

By hour four, my back, hips, thighs, and neck were in varying degrees of pain, and after we stopped for lunch I was seriously doubting the wisdom of getting back on. But we had another three hours to go to get to the next estancia, and by the end of the day, Bajalito had fallen so far behind that I eventually gave up and dismounted to lead him on foot. By that time, my legs were too sore to push him any faster and I was at the end of my rope both mentally and physically. The dramatic and beautiful landscapes were completely lost on me by this point, and I was ready to pack it in and call Luis for a tow. Pablo was kind enough to ride back to accompany the laggards and tried to distract me with spotting an owl (which let us come within about 20 feet of its tree), and the leaves of a native tree that when crushed together smell just like cinnamon. I eventually got back on and rode the rest of the way to the estancia, but I’ve never been so glad to get off a horse in my life. Nor was I sorry to hear that these horses would be going back to Estancia Barranca and we’d be on new ones tomorrow.

Estancia Lazo was situated on a beautiful piece of land, perched on the edge of Lake Sarmiento, with dramatic views of the mountains, fields of daisies, and some serious Patagonian wind to go with it. Thankfully it also came with a decent bed, hot shower, and some traditional Patagonian lamb barbecue, which was accompanied by a very welcome pisco sour (or two), and aspirin – lots of aspirin.

Day 3
I wised up and brought the aspirin in my saddle bag this time, like a real cowgirl. Also like a real cowgirl, I wore chaps that helped with some of the saddle soreness. The chaps would stay with me for the rest of the trip, given their multiple virtues in saving my legs, blocking the wind, and keeping my lower half dry in the driving rain. The unfortunate thing about leather chaps is that they shrink when they dry out, and these particular ones were a bit snug going on (though they loosened up after an hour in the saddle), so my dignity was taken down a notch, or three, as I was zipped into the chaps by Pablo and Luis, one on each leg (and thank God there’s no photo evidence of my humiliation).

This trip was also the first time since childhood that I was regularly helped on and off the horse (as was Heidi). I couldn’t tell if this was the Chilean equivalent of gallantry, or the gaucho’s dim view of the Americans’ ability to mount a horse unassisted. Either way, it continued throughout the trip and kept my pride well in check. Today’s horse was a pinto gelding, cleverly named “Pinto.” He had a mincing little stride that was much easier on my sore bones, and a nice round gallop that came into play later in the day. He was also more generous with the concept of steering and guidance from the human visitor on his back.

The aspirin made all the difference in the world in my ability to ignore my aching and protesting back muscles, and this day was the first that I got to truly enjoy being out in the wilds of Patagonia on horseback. We rode through varied terrain, up and down hills with some parts very technically tricky on steep grades. We stopped for lunch in a small depression in the hillside, which as we mounted up and rode out revealed a dramatic hillside below with incredible views of the Paine River. After coming down the mountain, we forded the biggest river yet, which required us to pull our feet out of the stirrups and follow closely behind our leader. This gave way to endless pampas, which are the Chilean version of a prairie, covered in waving grasses and stretching on for miles and miles. The last hour of the day was spent galloping (much longer gallops than I’ve ever done in my life), which effectively finished off what was left of my back muscles, but God, it was fun. We made quick time to our next stopover, a campsite on the Serrano River.

I do not have much experience camping, only having done it a couple times earlier in my life. To my inexpert eye, this could easily be described as “glamping.” My tent had a large, cushy air mattress, a thick comforter, and an electric heater (which was a godsend when it rained and everything felt damp and soggy). We camped here for two nights, and had meals prepared by a cook – osso bucco on the first night and beef with gnocchi the next – accompanied by all the wine Luis and the others could entice me to drink, and pisco sours – one regular, and another with the local tart/sweet calafate berries. This made camping in the rain completely tolerable and even enjoyable, especially with great company and the gorgeous Rio Serrano to sit beside, contemplating and listening to music. It started to rain in the evening and I crossed my fingers in hopes that all this luxury was also luxuriously waterproof.

Day 4
This was the day to test the mettle of the gringos, being more traditional Patagonian weather, which included howling winds and driving rain that was at times a downpour and other times slower but stinging. The day started inauspiciously when our gaucho Pepe’s horse got loose and proceeded to lead the gauchos on a merry chase for a half hour before being successfully recaptured and pressed back into service. For some reason, they didn’t bring Pinto back, so I was mounted on another ponderous beast, which was evident before we had even taken the first step because the gaucho handed me a stout wooden stick attached to a leather strap and said “para caballo.”

Tad was the only one of us riding a mare, who was evidently smart enough to understand the foolhardiness of venturing farther away from home than was necessary in this weather. She balked, sidestepped, pranced in circles and generally made it very clear that going forward was not in her plans for the day. I handed my strap over to him and we went on our way.

The rain across the pampas was punishing with the accompanying wind, whipping it into our faces with each gust. Even the horses put their heads down and galloped with their faces turned against the wind. This was also where I found out that companies can sell you a jacket that is a raincoat in name only, and not function. I got around this by double layering jackets, the outer one being essentially useless after about 30 minutes, and the second layer preventing me from being completely soaked.

After a lot of galloping across soggy pampas, we stopped to drink cowboy coffee, which has the taste and consistency of used motor oil (if you know me, you’ll know that me drinking coffee of any kind is unheard of…this coffee’s one and only virtue was that it was warm), and I warmed my chilly hands inside my now-favorite things in the world, my chaps. If I could have worn full-body chaps (if such a thing existed), I would have eagerly allowed Pablo and Luis to zip me in head to toe. By this time, my slow poke of a horse was getting on my nerves, and after complaining about it a bit, Pablo very nobly traded horses with me. This made me feel quite guilty for sticking him with the slow poke, but I got to meet Pitufo, who was with me the rest of the trip, and who was the perfect trail horse.

Another hour of clamoring up and down very slippery hillsides in the increasingly heavy rain, and Pablo called a halt and looked at Heidi and me to see if we wanted to call it quits. I was alarmed to have the weight of the decision on my shoulders, given that we were supposed to be riding to a lookout point to see the famed Grey Glacier and imposing towers of the Torres del Paine. Thankfully, the others made it easier by agreeing that in this weather, we were unlikely to see much at a lookout point with the clouds closed in, so we turned around. Back to camp to dry off, and try to defrost my hands, which were the only part of me that got really chilled.

Day 5
We started this day by driving up to the estancia where the gauchos and horses live, above the Rio Serrano. This was another Patagonian weather day, but more with the wind and less with the rain. I live in the Midwest, where it can definitely be windy, and occasionally very windy, but not like this. It was wind like I’ve never experienced in my life. Like push your 1200 pound horse sideways kind of wind. I basically held on as best I could and let the horse figure out the rest. And after I tucked in the hood of my coat, which was flapping and making noises Pitufo was not fond of, we got along a little better. After crossing an open area, we made it into the trees, where the wind wasn’t as strong. We rode up and down steep and densely forested trails all day, until we reached Brush camp, named for the beautiful Brush Lake in our front yard.

This was more primitive camping, and the foul outhouse made it clear that we were no longer in the glamping phase of the trip. The gauchos got busy immediately starting a fire with wet wood (which smoked heavily and stung the eyes and nose), then making a delicious dinner of what was essentially ratatouille, grilled beef and potatoes. By the way, I don’t think there was a single day where we didn’t have some version of meat and potatoes, which is the staple of the Chilean diet. Vegetables are hard to come by because of the very short growing season in Patagonia, so they have to be shipped far from northern Chile, and tend to be expensive and poor quality.

Despite camping in the rain, no running water, no heat, and soggy, smelly clothing, this was my favorite day of the trip. We all sat around a hazy campfire with the gauchos, Pablo translating for us, getting to know Patito, Pepe, and Gonzalo, who are excellent horsemen and big fans of the bota bag Pablo brought along. After some of the others went back to their tents, Paul and I stayed up with the gauchos, passing around the bota and sharing a moment together. It felt very much like I was in the real Chile, doing what Chileans have done for centuries. Even though I didn’t understand much of what they were saying, I was content to sit there listening to the beautiful rhythm of the Spanish language, and the guitar music coming from the portable speaker Pablo brought along.

Pablo toasted my boots for me, which had taken on some serious mud when we had to dismount and lead our horses across a boggy area. Being my typically coordinated self, I stepped almost knee deep in a mud pit and soaked my boots (another instance where the chaps almost literally saved my ass from being coated in mud). Also earlier in the day, in another moment of cat-like reflexes, I took a medium-sized branch straight across the mouth and got a nice fat lip for my trouble. Paul was riding behind me and was kind enough to ask if I was okay before laughing at me. So, after an eventful day and a relaxing evening around the fire, I finally called it quits and zipped into the little tent, and slid ever so gracefully into my rented mummy sleeping bag, which I wrestled with all night and ended up getting very little sleep.

Day 6
Despite not sleeping all night in a sleep bag designed to entomb you, in a tent which was rained on constantly, it was still hard to wake in a bad mood after I crawled out of the tent to the incredibly stunning views over Brush Lake. Pablo cooked breakfast over a small camp stove, which we ate in what Heidi dubbed as “the mansion,” but was actually the only structure other than the outhouse that had a roof and four walls. The gauchos took their time getting the horses ready, and we set off for our last day of riding.

It was another very technically difficult trail, although to call it a trail would be dignifying it as something other than the streambed it actually was. Super rocky, steep, muddy, and slippery, with multitudes of overhanging branches and scratchy bushes that closed in tightly on either side. Towards the end, we were crossing ground where the horses were sinking past their knees in boggy turf, but they handled it like the stoic and hardy horses they are. I marveled at my horse’s ability to go from deep mud, straight up a slippery hillside, then back down a rocky streambed, and to do it all over again multiple times a day. This country is not for the faint of heart, and this was probably the most challenging riding we encountered on a trek with a variety of challenging landscapes.

When we finally pulled up to the Hosteleria Balmeceda, in front of Mount Balmeceda, with a stunning view of the Serrano Glacier and the Rio Serrano, I was tired, but unwilling to get off and acknowledge that this was our last day of riding. I wanted to ride again tomorrow, and the day after that, and keep going indefinitely. My saddle soreness had worn off, the challenges of the trail were thrilling, and the views of the countryside even more so.

Since this was a short riding day, we had all afternoon and evening to ourselves. My sad little room was cold and lonely, so after a very welcome hot shower, I went out to sit with Pablo, the gauchos and Marcos.

Marcos is a 7-year-old boy who is the grandson of the head chef of Hosteleria Balmeceda, Senora Leo. And Marcos has a big personality. Very big. You could tell immediately that he worships the gauchos, and tried to engage them in all sorts of fun and games, despite the fact that they were used to his antics and not disposed to indulge him. Pepe had fun and some success in roping Marcos as he ran around the yard. Pablo told me that in the past, he has offered tourists a “tour” which consisted of walking around the yard for about 20 minutes, for the low, low price of 10,000 Chilean pesos (about $16 US dollars). On this day, I was quickly targeted as a likely suspect, and he and I raced up and down the dock over the river, played hide and seek for a while, then he tried to get me to jump in the Rio Serrano. Luckily, I had no idea until later that “tu saltar” means “you jump” and just smiled and walked back down the dock.

After another delicious dinner of meat and potatoes, everyone went their separate ways and I was faced with the prospect of going back to the lonely, chilly room, or exploring. I walked around the “beach” area that circled the river, and sat for a while just listening to the Patagonian wind, and nothing else. It was so quiet here, and so peaceful. And I was so not ready to go. My room had a wood stove, but I had nothing to light it with, so I huddled under blankets and shivered the night away, getting only a couple hours of restless sleep, again.

Day 7
After saying a sad goodbye to the gauchos, we jumped aboard a large boat that took us to a short hiking trail where you can get a closer view of the Serrano Glacier. I won’t pretend that I wasn’t in a serious funk this morning. Maybe it was the mild sleep deprivation, or maybe it was just the knowledge that it was the last full day of the trip, and the goodbyes were just around the corner. And we were going back to civilization. This boat was crowded with tourists from all over, and the estancia where we stopped for lunch was mobbed with people top to bottom. Our quiet little adventure in the backcountry was over, and I was having a very hard time accepting that.

Thanks to Tad’s advice about the motion sickness patch, I didn’t get seasick, despite some rough waters in the Rio Serrano, which motored down the Sound of Last Hope back to Puerto Natales, where we would spend the night before heading back to Punta Arenas the next morning. Pablo impressed everyone on the boat with his knot tying prowess, and taught me how to make a fancy Fiador knot, though I’ll admit that I was a lousy knot tying student after two days of little sleep.

After reaching Puerto Natales and hooking back up with Luis, who we had left behind on our way to Brush Camp, we did a little shopping in a local tack shop, and had one last dinner together. The delicious Chilean wine was flowing, we tried guanaco and wild hare (I had a fantastic dish of conger eel), and we told stories and enjoyed each other’s company for one more evening.

Day 8
Back to Punta Arenas. It was raining again, which matched my mood exactly. After weeks of saying goodbye to friends, family, and our home in Kalamazoo before coming to Chile, I was not expecting to fall in love with the country and this intrepid little family of people who shared a fabulous adventure. Despite the epic length of this tale, there really are not words to describe how much it meant to me to find people that I liked and cared about after only a short time, so having to say goodbye again was heartbreaking.

I think Pablo maybe sensed the mood, and played some sad music in the van on the way back. I held back tears and tried hard to focus on the plans Momma H was making to get our group together again to ride in Moab sometime in the future. Pablo was enthusiastically invited to join us for an adventure in the American West, and Paul was reluctantly invited along too (not really, his attendance is mandatory). As we got dropped off at our various stopping points, we said goodbye and the adventure officially came to a close.

I’m not sure how to sum it up without descending into obnoxious sentimentality, so I’ll just say that this was without a doubt the most perfect way to start my adventures around the world, and after dreaming about this trip for a year, it still surpassed my wildest expectations. I’m already working on booking other riding treks like it based on the amazing experience I had, and I will most definitely be back to Patagonia to have another adventure in the future and explore more wild country from the back of a horse.

Very sincerely yours,

Sarah