Chapter 3 Fjord Fantasy
Día 15: Ferry racing, a fjord smorgasbord and a failure to impress my students (33km)
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Chapter 3 Fjordlands (1/6)
Theme: Teaching Lago Río Negro-Hornopirén (KomootGPX)
(In the most belittling voice)
“Sirrrr, are you excited about your little bike ride?”
The year 9 student asked, clearly unimpressed.
There’s nothing quite like the way a 13 year old can dismiss your dreams in such deadpan fashion.
“It’s gonna be huge actually, it’ll take at least six months to get across the whole of South America,” I replied.
The rest of the class looked on, half mildly amused, half busy practicing telekenisis. Willing the big hand towards break time with all their collective might.
The thing I am most proud of in my teaching career to date is being a form tutor to the same class for four years. On induction day in 2018, up came 30 tiny Year 6s, their uniforms a colourful blend of local primary school cotton. Their eyes wide with excitement. Not yet able to process the enormity of this step.
At the end of the day, they were given a chance to write down one question to ask me. I could have answered about on school subjects, routines, and sports clubs. But by far the most common response was:
“Why are you so tall?”.
In the following four years they grew from fresh faced 11 year olds to skeptical teenagers. Together, we endured a global pandemic plus school closures for water leaks, 40 degree heat and spider infestations. Or as my head teacher put it, the plague, drought, floods and locusts.
It was a biblical journey, but out they came as 15 year olds about to head into their final year of GCSEs.
It was very hard for me to leave.
Despite my efforts over the 4 years, one student’s immediate response to the news that I was leaving summed up their moral support for my adventure.
“What this man can’t even wait to go cycling till we’ve finished our exams?”
In Día 14, I mentioned a rustling as I fell asleep. Daylight shows us both the empty bread bag, and the likely perpetrators. We eye our suspiciously rotund avian friends as they hop around in celebration. Another bird’s call filters through the trees. It sounds exactly like hysterical laughter.
The dawn is, as expected, fabulous. It compels us to spend two hours tracking the sun’s rise over the rim of the mountain range to the east. Candy floss clouds sink and sway during an enchanting morning, as indecisive as Rishi’s climate commitments.
At one point they even engulf us whole, but eventually the golden orb prevails. The mists that is, not Sunak’s smog.
We’re looking out over El Parque Pumalín which was the initiative of North Face founder, Douglas Tompkins, who made millions from unfettered capitalism before renouncing it all to go live a ‘simple’ life in Patagonia.
Though for him, pure vagabonding was somewhat elusive.
He amassed 2.2 million acres of South American land. Perhaps not a true minimalist.
Jake questions why any single person should wield the power to define the use of such a large area. Local led collaboration and deliberation is surely the only way forward.
I point out that much of Southern Chile has been turned into logging country, the natural climate uprooted and shipped out. At least this wealthy benefactor has managed to keep a part of the wilderness safe from extractive private companies. Jake is not convinced.
Twenty kilometers of bumpy volcanic strata (my new favorite gravel type) later and we emerge at the rippling fjordy coastline of Caleta Gonzalo. An arty hotel with cabañas ‐ cabins ‐ offers a similar coffee to everywhere else in southern Chile. It’s unapologetically instant and very bitter. You can’t have it all.
However, we are distracted by today’s novelty. Two ferry journeys separated by an 11k stretch of national park tarmac. The second ferry waits only as long as it takes the cars to reach it and tetris themselves onboard. We’ll have 40 mins to pedal the distance in between.
We board the first ferry and glide across an inlet with Nordic views. It arrives at the jetty with minimal fuss. We ready ourselves.
Plot twist: The foreman shouts,
Tienen 20 minutos ¡Dale! ¡Dale! ¡Dale!'
‘You have 20 mins. Go! Go! Go!
At this exact moment Jake’s bike stand loosens and blocks his left pedal. He’s left behind to find a quick fix. I’m unaware of this and already gone, sweating buckets up a steep hill.
A pickup pulls over and suggests I get in or I’ll miss it. I throw my heavy bags in and thank him for the offer but insist I’ll get there on time without the extra weight.
“Pero amigo, que hago con tus cosas si no llegas?”
“But mate, what do I do with your bags if you don’t arrive?”
“Déjenlos al lado de la carretera porfa”
“Leave them by the side of the road please.”
Jake spots this interaction and desperately tries to flag down the driver but just misses out.
A frantic 20 minutes follows, drenched in sweat, heaving air into lungs and willing power out through the legs as one by one the cars overtake and disappear off into the distance.
It’s the only time I've ever pined for traffic.
Finally I bomb into port, wiping sweat from my eyes and breathless. They haven’t even emptied the ferry coming the other way. Treble my normal pace for a few half-interested nods of approval from fellow passengers.
Jake arrives and we wheel bikes on board and head upstairs. Soon we’re serenading each other to an eighties love ballad with all our might as it blares out of the tannoy.
And I’ll be thereeee for evverrrrr andd a dayyyyyyy.
Onboard we chat to a friendly Argentinian couple who are animated storytellers. John’s Scottish grandfather settled on the Falkland Islands two generations ago, and they’d since lived in Buenos Aires, Montana and now reside beneath the blue mountains of North Carolina. They’d succumbed to the travel bug once more, and congratulated us on ‘what courage’ we had to plan and execute our own trip. We have a home if we make it as far as North America.
The volcano of Hornopirén looms large above the town of the same name ahead. A chunk wiped off the northwards map, blue skies above, and land ahoy.
Saturdays don’t come much better than this.
And unbeknown to us, the evening has much more to give…
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