Cochamó Valley: Trekking galore!... but why oh why do we keep getting lost?

Trees trees mountains trees hiking trees snow mountains rock smiles horses woodburning stove climbing no electricity.

That’s what I would say if someone asked about the last five days.

Here’s what I’d say if they threw up their hands and gave me a quizzical look with regards to my last statement:

Tuesday November 11.


One of the guys staying in our hospedaje gave us a lift to the fin de la carretera, some 12 km out of Cochamó town. We handed him a few thousand pesos for his trouble, shouldered our packs and turned our back on civilization.






We were free! Out in the countryside. Nothing between us and raw nature.




Except that we reached an obstacle only minutes into our trek. The trail ended. And private property began. What? Private property?!


Timidly we entered the gate with the barbed wire. Up and up we stumbled over rocks. Skipped over rushing streams. Squished through the mud. Crunched over branches. Munched our pre-made pb&j sandwiches.



Hours. And hours. And hours of trekking. Even though we had left the biggest pack in Cochamó town, our bags were certainly not a pleasure to carry up into the valley.

Suddenly the trees open up revealing a perfectly spectacular view.






With muddy sopping feet, we arrive at the sign announcing that it’s only another 15 minutes to the refugio. Hooray!





A house! We see a house! Sign of life!! But… there are padlocks on the doors and, except for a handful of horses and cows milling around, we don’t see anyone. Plus the two tilted wooden structures aren’t exactly what I expected the refugio to look like.



Tired, hungry, and con muchas ganas de encontrar el refugio, we backtracked. It has to be around here somewhere. It just has to.


But every path led to the same place.

What?! We continued on the path where I bit my lip as I forded the frigid waters of river Cochamó up to my waist. My bare feet barely hung on to the slippery rocks as the waves nearly carried me off downstream.

Nate stayed on the other bank as I explored. Didn’t bother putting my shoes back on. They would have only gotten muddy and wet. Plus, the mud felt nice squishing between my toes and soles of my feet were already numb so I didn’t feel the branches crack under my weight.

But all of that effort was in vain because the forest trails didn’t lead to a refugio. They led further than I wanted to go. I returned in defeat to the river crossing where my shrug must not have done much to lift Nate’s spirits.

With sopping wet pants I was just about to give up. We daydreamed about arriving in the refugio for a hot beverage and a soft cushion to sit on to rest our feet. The sun was setting. It was obvious that we would be spending the night on the ground in every layer we had brought.

This was not how we had planned it. It was supposed to be an awesome day. And here we were, exhausted sweaty hungry grumpy lost, without any idea of how to get to the elusive refugio. We saw a few buildings on the other side of the river, but had no idea how to get over there. There was no way for us to cross.

Before giving up all hope, we set off one more time in search of help. Anybody.

We wandered down every conceivable path. Nothing.

But we did find a curious cable running from one side of the rushing river to the other. Two cables in fact. Wonder what they were for…

But then! We heard! Could it be?! Voices?! ¡HOLA! ¡HOLA! It was Daniel! On the other side of the river. We had found the help we needed!!! With the aid of his harnesses and pulleys, we zipped across the cable (oh, that’s what it’s for!). We were so speechlessly relieved as we followed them to the refugio, a beautiful two-story wooden building with friendly occupants and a warm wooden stove. It was music to our senses.

We shamelessly scarfed down dinner and a few glasses of wine in the glow of candle light. The dinner table talk was mostly in Spanish, Chilean Spanish, which is reallyveryfast and with the endin o wor cu of. Daniel and Silvina leant us sleeping bags and we conk out.

Wednesday November 11.

There’s no electricity up in the refugio, but we hardly even miss it. All meals are freshly prepared over the wood-burning stove. I learn how to make a proper Argentinean yerba mate. Three-year-old Zenon keeps us busy with autos and libros.

Just because the 5-6 hour trek the day before wasn’t enough for us, Nate and I set off on a 6-7 hour hike up the Arco Iris trail. Take a sharp left at the three-way-fork-in-the-trail, says Daniel. So we set off looking for the said fork. We find it, we think. But it leads to us hacking through thick foliage. This way? That way? Ugh.

We give up and take what we think is the wrong route, which ends up being the right route. Confusing? It shouldn’t be, but for some reason Nate and I can’t help but get lost. Finally we’re on the right road, we think. Yes! Orange trail markers. Fantastic.

Up and up and up. The trail takes us through a dense forest. Up up up. Not a hike for the faint of heart. Up up up. Every so often we get a glimpse of the stunning mountain view. Up up up. We go the wrong way… have to backtrack back to the real path. Up up up. At a few sections Daniel has hung rope to help you haul yourself up the rock face.


Drip drip drip. The moss-adorned rock is still quite wet. Slosh slosh slosh. My poor beat up sneakers squish with every step. Up up up. The terrain changes from thick forest to pricklies, crunchy leaves, and tree roots. Horas tras horas. We reach the snow. Crunch crunch slip! Our sneakers sink into the melting snow, making walking a cold wet exhausting activity. Sticking to dry rock whenever possible, we scramble to the what we think is the top of the mountain. The view is breathtaking. Snow-covered mountains and rolling greenerthangreen hills for as far as we could see. We savor the moment.


Briefly! Then it’s back down we go. Nate takes giant wild steps to glide down the snow banks. The snow guides us back down to the tree line. We fill our water bottles with fresh snow before heading back into the vegetation. Going down is a lot easier than going up, but a new blister appears on my left heel. Hunger and fear of nightfall keeps our pace fast. It’s such a great feeling to arrive back at the refugio. We eat two dinners that night.