Cochamó, Chile

When standing on a precipise surrounded by air looking down upon the world one cannot help but feel small, insignificant in the scope of the vast planet, expansive universe, and endless time.  My soul is tied to the mountains in a way that cannot be fully understood by someone who does not share the connection.  This spiritual experience comes at these grand vistas as my body is filled with an overwhelming sensation of inexplicable elation.  At these moments Cody and I share more than a 60m long, 9.3mm diameter umbilical cord of rope. We share a oneness that is also part of scoured granite mountains, ancient alerce forests and ever changing rivers of clean, clear water. The Cochamó Valley is a place where people are not yet the decision makers, shaping and molding the land, to fulfill selfish desires. It is a wild place of untamed wilderness that we were privileged to glimpse in a moment in time. Over 34 days we marveled in awe at indescribable surroundings that are best understood by our souls. Words cannot do justice to our experience but below I try.    

The bus left Puerto Montt for the small town of Cochamó at 7:25 in the morning. One day prior, a Chilean dentist pulled Cody's malaised tooth, wrote a prescription for amoxicillin and recommended Cody refrain from anything that would elevate his heart rate to prevent bleeding at the extraction site.  While Cody was now lighter in weight, his pulsing gum and the newly formed gap between his molar and wisdom tooth were staunch reminders he was far from top form. In our room at the hospedaje sat 70 kg (155 lbs) of food, fuel, and tarps bought specifically for this expedition and 65 kg (145 lbs) of camping equipment, cookware, climbing gear, and clothing that always fill the 220 L of our 4 backpacks. Staring at our mountain of gear it was evident I was physically incapable of carrying the 135 kg (300 lbs) of supplies the short distance to the bus station in any reasonable amount of time. Rather than spend a back breaking morning humping loads in the dark, we followed our savvy millennial instincts and for less than $3 took an Uber five blocks to the bus station.  

Our bus took us directly from the dingy port city of Puerto Montt to the La Junta trailhead outside the town of Cochamó. The 4 hour ride took us through the charming tourist town of Puerto Varas, located on the shores of Lake Llanquihue, and past glacier covered, Volcán Orsono, and nonglaciated Volcán Calbuco. The bus departed Puerto Montt two-thirds full and quickly filled with trekkers, so many that they stood crammed in the aisle for the final 3 hours of the dusty journey down gravel roads.  After passing through the picturesque pueblo of Cochamó, nestled against turquoise waters of the Estuario de Reloncaví, the bus turned towards the mountains for the final 7 km to La Junta trailhead.  

Cody on our way to La Junta

Pilcheros without a heavy load.

Stepping off the stuffy air conditioned bus into the bright sunshine and humid air ignited our senses to the earthy scent of soil and horse manure. We were approached by the woman who organized our pack horses and she led us to our gaucho (cowboy) and his pilcheros (pack horses). Within 30 minutes our bags were weighed and divided so each horse held 65 kilos (145 lbs) (25 kg (55 lbs) on each side and 15 kg (35 lbs) on top) leaving us with light day packs for our 12 km hike up the Cochamó Valley to La Junta.  

Hiking into La Junta

The day was hot and muggy. Friends had forewarned us of a heinous trail that slogged through miles of knee deep mud. Instead, we found packed dirt and forest duff that wandered through dense jungle. Tall trees wrapped in vines towered overhead, while ferns and moss grew from their burled trunks. Dead stalks of bamboo stood dry and brown fanning out in the sunshine while tiny green shoots looked fragile on the forest floor. Red and purple fuchsia hung freely from small shrubs while the red and yellow bells of the holly like desfontinia drew hummingbirds. Horse traffic had driven deeps troughs in the forest floor that at times extended over our heads and made it evident that any amount of rainfall would turn the trail into a sea of mud. To my delight the deep troughs displayed cross-sections of soil showing a chronology of repeated deposition from the floodwaters of the Río Cochamó. For hours we wandered upstream gazing down into the crystal blue waters of the river. Still pools between riffles glowed golden as sunlight illumenated the the orange and yellow granite cobbles of the river bottom through crystal clear water. After 3 hours of hiking we found ourselves in the hummocky green field of La Junta, one of four campgrounds at the junction of the Río Cochamó and Río La Junta.  

Mud troughs eroded from horse and foot traffic

Cody on our way to La Junta

We arrived ahead of our pack horses under afternoon sun and splitter blue skies. A small group of climbers sat congregated in the field, one of whom we knew from a trip to Squamish, BC in 2013. After greetings and pleasantries the climbers urged us to climbed that afternoon as a week of heavy rain was forecast to begin in 2 days. So as soon as our gear arrived, prior to setting up camp, organizing our food, or meeting anyone else we set off to go climbing and thus began our 34 continuous days in the Cochamó Valley.  

During our stay we climbed 10 routes consisting of 63 roped pitches, stood on 4 granite summits, spent 14 nights in high camps sleeping under boulders, cliff faces, and starry skies, spent 6 days humping loads to and from our base camp in the valley floor, sat in the fogón (cook shelter) through 13 days of rainy weather, observed 3 helicopter rescues (two for climbers, one for a BASE jumper), took two icy "solar" showers, ate sopapillas and not enough cookies, swam in crystal clear alpine lakes, shared campfires with friends, slid down natural water slides, and Cody grew out his firey beard and got a high camp hair cut with trauma shears.  

Crossing the big slab on the way to Anfiteatro

From the La Junta campground you look south up at two massive hanging cirque valleys carved from granite batholiths by glaciers during the Pleistocene glaciation more than 12000 years ago.  The Trinidad Valley sits to the east, 2600 ft above the La Junta campground while to the west the Anfiteatro Valley lies slightly lower, 2200 ft above the valley floor. Behind these two valleys lurks the aptly named Valle de la Bestia and a formidable piece of granite, El Monstruo. With a glacier topped summit and approximately 4600 ft of vertical gain, El Monstruo is taller than El Capitan in Yosemite National Park by more than 1400 feet. To access the valleys one climbs steep trails through dense rainforest of tall mossy trees, fallen logs, swift streams, polished granite slabs, bamboo skewers, vibrant wildflowers and broad ferns.  At times you are required to use tree roots and branches as hand and foot holds to climb sections of near vertical forest. Bird calls echo throughout these pristine woodlands competing only with the sound of blood pulsing through tired bodies. 

An overview of Cochamó

The ominuous 3000 ft granite walls taunted us through our first week of rain in La Junta. We had climbed two routes near camp during our first two days and tasted the joy of clean granite faces with their blank slabs, tiny crimp edges and clean cracks. We eagerly waited in the fogón with a dozen or so other climbers for the next weather window. To pass time people played games, read, ate copious amounts of food, and watched soggy Chilean college students hike into La Junta, hang up their wet possessions, fail to start a fire, spend a soggy night in a soggy tent to awake the next morning, put on soggy clothes and hike back to civilization. To our delight these trekkers frequently left behind food and fuel allowing us to eat like kings.  

A perfect overview of the Trinidad and Anfiteatro Valleys taken from our second climb in Cochamó one day
before the big rain

Several days into the rain more than 5 inches of water fell from the sky in less than 24 hours. The Río Cochamó, with its normally beautiful sandy beaches and placid current swelled, rising more than 15 vertical feet, and threatened to spill its banks into La Junta. The hummocky pasture of the campground turned into a series of small ponds and grassy islands.  The climbers, all of us camping close to the river bank notched trees to monitor the rising river and waited, hoping to avoid an abrupt migration that would move our camps aways from our treches and carefully constructed tarpology. Thankfully the deluge subsided and as night fell so did the river. Despite the incessant rainfall,the low clouds ocassionally lifted revealing granite walls veiled in innumerable waterfalls. After six days the rain stopped and clouds slowly dissipated. For the first time since our arrival, we loaded our packs with food, climbing and camping gear and headed to high camp in the Anfiteatro Valley.    

Cody balancing on a fallen log on our way up to high camp

The hike up to the Anfiteatro high camp was brutal and unyielding. With seven days of food, climbing and camping gear, Cody and I slogged slowly upwards with the heaviest packs of our lives. Unaccustomed to carrying half our bodyweight on our shoulders and hips by the time we reached the high camp bivy boulder our bodies nearly collapsed with fatigue. Cody had sores on his lower back from pressure points in the backpack and I had rope burns on my arm and shoulder from the handcart we used to cross the river to start the trail. We spent a cozy night under the overhanging bouder sharing space with friends from Chile, Cataluña and the USA. 

Time passes strangely in high camps. Some days fly by while others drag as you live surrounded by a gallery of stone.  In the Anfiteatro Valley, the tall summits of Cerro Anfiteatro, Cerro Walwalün, and Cerro Laguna are connected by rock ridges and steep gullies filled with talus. In the back of the valley sits the saddle, Espejo, a narrow ridge of rock left after its adjoining faces were scoured by ancient glaciers. At the foot of most of the walls improbable pools of crystal water are home to fat tadpoles and aquatic insects.  

Our first morning in the high camp was spent waiting for rock to dry in the cool, damp forest of the valley bottom. We climbed a short route that afternoon to warm up our tired and aching bodies and that evening more climbers joined us at the bivy boulder. After a campfire filled with new faces and laughter, Cody and I eagerly awaited dawn and our first intimidating climbing objective. Alas, in the morning Cody awoke wraught with nausea and ague. While others left to climb in warm sunshine he slept, vomited and slept some more. I read on the warm talus gazing up at the panorama of stone above me and tended to his needs. By nightfall he was improving and we hoped to climb the next day.

Climbers laying in the tallus of Anfiteatro with Cerro La Junta and Cerro Capacua in the background

The following morning we slept late and Cody awoke feeling able. We choose a route that appeared short and simple but was instead mentally taxing as the first two pitches were wet and gear sparse.  Cody impressed me as he climbed through a waterfall and I watched water stream from the nylon slings and metal caribiners placed in the rock for protection. While I was perfectly safe, climbing as the second, I arrived at the first belay soaking wet and shaken from the slippery and insecure climbing. A series of uncharacteristic mishaps taunted our confidence as we climbed to top of our route culminating with a stuck rope while pulling the first rappel. Try as we might the rope would not free requiring Cody to reclimb the pitch, a 5.9 off-width (a burly pitch of crack climbing that most climbers do not seek out willingly) on our 7.5mm tagline to recover the rope for the first time in his more than a decade of climbing. Our frustrations, compounded by our dehyration, hunger, sunburn and eagerness to reach the ground, elevated to an explosive level when on our second try to pull the rope it got stuck again. While the first time around we though bad luck was on ourside in actuality poor placement of the original rappel anchor fed the final 2m of the rope into a perfectly suited crack that pinched it like a chinese finger trap making it imposible to pull it down to us. Cody, appalled and exasperated, cursed loudly and with a quavering voice yelled,"I don't want to climb it again". I mentally prepared to launch upwards and take on the full burden of our misfotune when Cody, knowing he could climb it faster and more efficiently than I dug deep and made his way for the third time to the top of the route.  He extended the anchor and our rope finally fell clean. Exhausted we finally made our way to the ground. 

Looking up at the Anfiteatro: (R to L) Cerro Laguna with Pared del Tiempo, Espejo, Escuro, Cerro Walwalün, and Cerro Anfiteatro

"Approachamó", high camp is hidden in the fog

We slept soundly and woke before sunrise to approach our final route of the weather window. To approach many of the classic Cochamó climbs one must either hike up steep slabs, steep forests, or steep talus. The incessant hiking from La Junta to high camps, and high camps to climbs have justifiably given Cochamó the gringo nickname "Approachamó". That morning our approach involved hiking up a mountain of talus and climbing a freehanging fixed line that hung through a gap between two boulders so narrow backpacks were pulled through separately. In less than an hour, we were at the base, gazing up at one of the most classic and iconic lines in the area.  Pitch after pitch of perfect cracks, intriging slabs and a beautiful diheadral brought us to the blazing sun and final four pitches, that while not as classic, took us within 20 minutes of 3rd and 4th class scrambling to the summit of the Pared del Tiempo (Wall of Time). With two and a half hours until sunset we sat on the large ledge that culminated the climb taking in the incredible view.  The summit sat so close, but with over 1000 ft to rappel and the frustrations of the previous day fresh in our mind we chose to forego the true summit and avoid rappelling in the dark. Our descent was flawless and we reached the base quickly. We ate our final snacks before hiking back to high camp at sun set feeling accomplished and satisfied with the day.   

The next day we cached our gear and extra food at high camp and hiked down in the sunshine with only light backpacks.  Back in La Junta we hand washed our laundry for the first and only time in Cochamó.  By nightfall the rain started and continued for the next three days. We quickly resumed our rain day activities; sleeping, eating, reading, and watching the comings and goings of soggy Chileans. 

There was less certainty with our next weather window as cooler temperatures and cloudier days annouced the coming of fall. Having grown tired of the fogón, on the first day of reasonable weather we returned to the bivy boulder in Anfiteatro.  After an easy with light packs we arrived to find our gear cache soaked from the days of rain. While hanging our gear out to dry we heard a loud crash and looked up. A parachute opened below the Pared de Tiempo and we heard cheers from a ground crew in the talus field below. That night we shared the bivy boulder with the BASE jumper, a friendly European, his climbing guides, and friends.  He told us the next day he was going to try to jump from Cerro Walwalün.  Cody and I felt skeptical and as a climber, I have a difficult time understanding why a person feels the need to jump from a cliff I work so hard to ascend.  But that night we shared a fire and laughs and slept like sardines under the bivy boulder.

Drying out our gear cache

The first day of the weather window was brisk and windy. In an attempt to climb dry rock we chose a route with good exposure that lay mostly in the shade.  While the climbing was excellent, at the belays we froze, as we were dressed for the burning sun of the previous week rather than the current arctic conditions. We quickly burned through the calories provided by our limited snacks and our only reprieve was that I had grabbed our puffy jackets just before leaving the ground. As we hung and climbed hundreds of feet off the ground we watched the BASE jumper contemplate his descent from near the summit of Cerro Walwalün. As the everchanging winds swirled dust in the valley bottom we felt relief when he chose not to jump and retreated.  After completing the route, we were eager to return to camp where our puffy pants, a roaring fire, and dinner awaited us. As we hiked back we passed the BASE jumper heading down the trail. We told him we were happy he had decided not to jump today, as it was windy and dangerous. In parting Cody said, "I am glad you were safe." To which he replied, "I am always safe."

Fog sits below Cerro Walwalün and Cerro Anfiteatro

We fell asleep to the Milky Way`s glowing river in the clear night sky of the Southern Hemisphere but awoke to a morning shrouded in fog. The low lying clouds coated every surface with a thin film of water. Eight of us spent the morning crowded under the bivy boulder reading, talking, drinking mate and trying to sleep away the hours until the clouds lifted and rock dried. By early afternoon the light precipitation had stopped and most of us, discontent with our inactivity decided to perform a community service and dig a new bathroom for the Anfiteatro. With a hand held gardening tool, cook pot, and determination we dug a 2 ft by 2 ft hole that was 4.5 ft deep.  As the afternoon waned, the sun shined and rock began to dry raising anticipation for the upcoming day.

Hanging out under the Anfiteatro bivy boulder

We awoke with the sun, excited for our final climb in the Anfiteatro Valley.  Hiking up the talus filled gully, we climbed an approach pitch, clambered up a fixed line and laying on our stomachs squeezed through a small opening between two boulders to access the base of our intended climb. Unlike many climbs in Cochamó, known for less than vertical slabs and rounded, pinched cracks, the route we choose consisted of many parallel vertical cracks, often called splitter in the climbing vernacular.  On our route these cracks form vertical corners that turn into horizonal cracks through two large roofs. Vertical cracks are climbed by sticking your fingers, hands, and feet into the fissure and turning, twisting, or contorting the appendage (called jamming) until it is possible to move upwards with either your hands or your feet.  Horizontal cracks and roofs can be more difficult to climb as your feet do not use the same fissures as your hands. 

This crack is most commonly climbed by jamming hands in the space formed between the overhanging block and the wall while simultaneously pressing feet firmly on the smooth granite beneath the horizontal roof. To a person below it looks as if the climber is swimming in slow motion with arms outstretched overhead, fingers and hands secure in the crack and feet extended below with all appendages using the rock to gradually propel forward along the length of the roof.  When you leave the traversing roof and reenter the vertical crack formed by the corner of the roof block and the wall you no longer have the opposition of your feet on the wall below you. With biceps and triceps burning you must tighten your abdominal muscles and pull against the crack with your arms while pushing your feet against the smooth vertical wall to walk upwards until a handhold allows you to step back into the corner and remove weight from your fatigued arms and torso. Cody climbed flawlessly, while I struggled through the steep roof sections, fearful of the traverse and potential pendulum fall.  After the roof pitches the climbing eased and we continued happily making out way high above valley floor towards the summit.  Following the final pitch of climbing, 45 minutes of scrambling over low 5th class and 4th class terrain brought us to the second highest summit of Cerro Laguna.  

From the summit of Cerro Laguna
with Cerro Tronador is behind us

For the first time in Cochamó we could see 360 degrees around us: to the Volcán Orsono, with its snow capped summit and smooth, Mount Fuji like slopes, to Cerro Tronador, a glaciar covered stratovolcano like Mount Hood and Mount Rainer; to the Matterhornesque, Volcán Puntiagudo; to the granite spires of the Frey standing tall on the horizon across the border in Argentina; and to the many green valleys and glacier carved granite faces that surrounded us in every direction. We were joined at the summit block by an Andean condor with his red wrinkled head, white feathered collar and black body.  As we stood within 20 ft of him, the bird equal in size of a human child, spread his 10 ft wingspan and soared across the valley.  For the first time we saw the white feathers atop his wings as he magestically glided below us rather than above.  With ample sunlight we rappelled to the ground and hiked back to camp where for the final time we slept under the dry and cozy shelter of the Anfiteatro bivy boulder. 

On the summit block looking off to Volcán Orsono, Volcán Puntiagudo, Cerro Tronodor and the Frey

Hiking down from Anfiteatro

The next day proved  eventful.  With the weather window ending in less than 12 hours we hiked back to La Junta in a beautiful afternoon. I had made the mistake of offering to carry down an extra rope for a friend and suffered for my generosity as I slowly struggled down the steep trail with my heavy backpack.  As we desended we met friends hiking up to the Trinidad base camp to wait out the pending rain at high camp.  From them, we recieved unfortunate news. The previous day a helicopter we had heard whil climbing evacuated a fellow climber and friend. Our friend, a South American we had met at Laguna Sofia in Puerto Natales, had started a climb in the wrong location and fallen without gear to protect him, shattering his leg and pelvis. Immediately I was grateful for having been elsewhere and felt naseus as it was the second helicopter rescue since our arrival, the first occuring the day after we arrived. It was the third helicopter evacuation of a climber that season and for the number of climbers in the valley, the proportion of rescues felt far too high. There is no established search and rescue (SAR) group in the Cochamó Valley. When you arrive, as a climber you are told that you are now a member of CoSAR (Cochamó Search and Rescue) whether you want to be or not.  So, if you are available and a rescue is needed you go to help, regardless of the circumstance, because if you were injured you would hope others would do the same. 

Feeling heavy of heart we returned to La Junta under clear skies. Climbers congregated in the grass soaking in the sun and sharing snacks. As we stretched our sore and crusty bodies discussing the feast we planned to make for dinner, one of the caretakers of the La Junta campground approached us and said there was another rescue. With many having helped the previous day, you could feel the exasperation in the air. The resentment grew stronger when across the radio came more details and the fateful word, BASE jumper. Immediately my mind went to recovery of a limp and broken body from dense forest or a talus slope, not a rescue. But as we gathered our boots, headlamps, backpacks and snacks additional information trickled in and we learned he was located somewhere on a gravel bar in the La Junta river, below the granite faces of Cerro Capacua with a broken leg.  

Hanging out in La Junta with the Trinidad and Anfiteatro Valleys towering above us

20 of us, mostly climbers, gathered and made our way down the muddy single track trail to the base of Cerro Capacua. We scambled through the jungle up steep slopes, over roots, and through mud pits. The trail turned down a drainage and entered the river.  For more than 30 minutes we trapsed upstream through swift and slow currents, careful of slippery cobbles as the cold water flowed between our legs.  Cody, moving too quickly in his flip flops slipped and jammed his finger on a rock. The further we wandered up river, the layers of complexity the rescue could involve drastically increased. Somewhat cold, and a little wet we found the BASE jumper.  Others had arrived shortly before us and were in the process of stabilizing him on a backboard and pulling his leg into line and traction. Once on the backboard I shared two of our precious self extraction pills, hoarded from previous medical procedures, to help ease his pain. While the BASE jumper was stablized the refugio and campground owner coordinated with the Chilean military to procure a helicopter. Everyone waited anxiously dreading the possible cold, wet and long extraction process if a helicopter could not land somewhere along the river.  A landing zone was agreed upon 1500 ft downstream from the crash site.  Cody, with his sprained finger throbbing, and 5 others carried the BASE jumper strapped securely to the backboard through the river to the agreed upon location. By this point we had both abandoned the idea of dry shoes and plodded more securely through the cold river water in our approach shoes.  While some used machetes to cut down brush from around the landing site, others built windsocks from plastic grocery bags and bamboo. I assisted in building a helipad, leveling a portion of the gravel bar, and creating an H with small rocks covered in red lichen. In less than an hour the helipad was constructed and the helicopter was on its way. 

To distract him from his pain and discomfort I sat with the BASE jumper and talked.  He told me of his young daughter at home in Europe, and of how she filled his life with joy. I told him how I was grateful he was alive and that he would continue to live. He told me how he broke his leg shortly after he jumped hiting a small ledge below the jump zone and how with a broken leg he somersaulted through the air.  He said that when he pulled his chute it opened backwards and he repeatedly slammed into the wall as he tried to push away.  Only experience and luck had saved him and allowed him to pilot to the gravel bar on the rivers edge. His friend, a wingsuit flyer who had jumped first moved him to more level ground before running down river for help.  

As twilight flighted the sky the helicopter approached and the rescue party formed a cresent around the makeshift helipad shining blinking headlamps skyward.  Rotorwash blew sand and cold air as we covered our faces and ears stepping into the relative protection of the surrounding bushes. The helicopter pilot with great skill slowly circled the landing site before touching down perfectly on the red rock H.  As paramedics transfered and carried the BASE jumper to the helicopter, he thanked everyone profusely for our help and selflessness.  Spontaneously, we applauded, cheered and hugged as the helicopter took off in the fading evening light. As darkness enveloped us we slogged down river retracing our steps back to La Junta. Damp and exhausted we returned to our camp to get food and replace our soggy socks and footware. At our camp a fellow climber approached from the darkness and said, "I found someone wandering in the shadows." Then emerging from the shadows appeared none other than Eli Barnes.                               

Eli, on a break from work, came to surprise us and surprise us he did. Unfortunately, his arrival came with four days of steady rain. After the rescue, climbers and Eli gathered on the back porch of the fogón to share what was for many their final meal in Cochamó. The weight if having two helicopter rescues in two days and four total for the season resonated the hazards of the mountains and many longed for the comforts of civilization. With laughter we shared courses of ravioli and curry that culminated with a 9 layer pancake-cake slathered in Nutella, peanut butter, jam, and manjar.  The next morning the exodus of climbers began, leaving Cody, myself and only a handful of the climbers we had met on that first day in Cochamó Valley.

Over the next four days, Eli joined us in the fogón for card games, backgammon, reading, and writing. We ate copious quantities of incredible food, supplemented and improved by Eli's fresh contributions. While sharing meals with our friend I grew increasingly aware that due to our climbing and hiking we were eating 2 or 3 times the portion of an ordinary human.  Later, while discussing food budgets and ideal quantities of food for consumption with our fellow climbers it was agreed that 1 kg (2.2 lbs) of unprepared food per person, per day would generally maintain body weight. The budgeted kilogram of food frequently did not include chocolate, cookies, or manjar (a sickly sweet caramel sauce made from condensed milk) of which it was impossible to ever have enough.

Cinnamon rolls about to be cooked on a backpacking stove.

There were two prominentphilosophies regarding the consumption of sweet treats.  Some people followed the FMFS (fuck my future self) philosophy consuming every sugar filled item within days of a food run.  I, on the other hand, to Cody's chagrin am a rationer, counting squares of chocolate and estimating our volume of manjar to insure we had a little bit of sweet everyday. For example, we knew two climbers who consumed 1 kg of manjar in less than 48 hours while I stretched 800 g of manjar over 34 days. To stave off our sugar cravings liters of hot Zuko (a fruit flavored, sugar filled Tang-like drink) were shared around campfires but despite our best attempts we constantly craved an extra sip or nibble of anything sweet. 

Two loaves of fresh bread with Eli and others in the fogón

The days of rain grew colder and Cody and Eli drank cup after cup of hot black tea, sweetened with honey and powdered milk. Determined to use the kilograms of flour given to me by departing climbers I perfected baking bread and pastries with a backpacking camp stove and teflon coated pot. For the first time in weeks we enjoy slice after slice of fresh bread and the sweet delight of hot cinnamon rolls.  

Unable to share the true grandeur of Cochamó with our friend Cody and I felt disappointed. We were thankful spells of drier weather allowed Eli to see the waterfall strewn granite walls of Trinidad and Anfiteatro and recent snowfall crowning their peaks.  Over the course of 3 days it snowed repeatedly in the high country. But better weather sat on the horizon and the forecast called for warmer temperatures.  We urged Eli to stay an extra day so he could hike out in the sun.  When compared to the adventures Cody and I shared in Cochamó, Eli's experience felt uneventful.  But his presence, as always, was warming for our souls and I was grateful Eli and Cody had quality time to reconnect and reminisce of how they first met, traveling in Central and South America six years previous, and of the crazy coincidence that brought them back together.  

Lia, myself and Eli and the snow capped mountains behind us.

Hiking through alerce forests on our way
to the Trinidad Valley

On Eli's final morning, the rain stopped and he left, hiking back to Cochamó town on his way to Bariloche, Argentina. We packed slowly, scarcely able to fit the week worth of food in our backpacks with the camping and climbing gear.  Unable to lift my pack alone Cody helped heave it on to my shoulders while I stood wearily awaiting its crushing mass. Heavier than ever before and feeling Trinidad Valley looming in the distance we set off up the steep, muddy, root filled trail to high camp.  

The hike was arduous and the weight on my hips and knees demolished my soul.  As we crossed wet logs, scaled slippery root ladders, and climbed steep staircases of talus I was constantly fearful of toppling over backwards. 3 hours into the exhausting journey a long, exposed slab traverse brought my exhausted, off balance body and mentally taxed mind to tears. Cody helped me cross the slab and after a final hour of slogging up valley we reached the Trinidad bivy boulder and the smiling faces of our friends who had weathered the storm in high camp.  

The night was cold and water dripped from trees overhead. We slept wrapped in plastic tarps leaving our sleeping bags damp with condensation.  As the sun came into the narrow Trinidad Valley we sat huddled around the campfire, continuously feeding it segments of fast burning dry bamboo.  Unlike the Anfiteatro Valley, the mouth of the Trinidad Valley is narrow, with only a thin window between the tall walls of Cerro Trinidad to the east and the Gorilla to the west looking out into the Cochamó Valley below .   

Cody and the Trinidad Valley (from l to r: Cerro Laguna, the Gorilla, La Junta Valley, Cerro Capacua, Cerro Trinidad)

As the sun came overhead, we moved our damp possessions to dry on a large exposed boulder where we spent our morning reading and charging devices with our solar panel.  Both Cody and I felt tired and unmotivated. Snow was visible on the granite summits, which meant the rock was unlikely to dry until it melted. That afternoon either optimism or masochism drove us to hike up to the base of a climb. To our relief we were met with a beautiful overview of the Trinidad Valley and a waterfall pouring down the start of the climb. The sun beat down on the exposed talus slope and our skin felt tacky, covered in grime as it had been more than 2 weeks days since our last shower. From our vantage point we saw in the distance at the western base of Cerro Laguna the beautiful azure waters of La Laguna.  Without further thought we abandoned climbing and set off to swim in its icy waters.  

Waterfall in Trinidad Valley

We reached the lake as shade began to envelope it. With no time to spare we stripped our smelly and crusty clothes diving into its clear blue water.  A waterfall fed by melting snow roared deep inside a chimney at the back of the lake.  My skin prickled, vibrating with shock as I entered the cold water.  Gasping, I swam back to shore and for the soothing warmth of a rock in the sun.  With a small granite cobble I scrubbed layer after layer of dead skin from my arms and legs before diving back into the water.  For the first time in weeks I felt refreshed and revitalized.  Cody and I basked naked in the sun as the cool water evaporated from our skin. Only after the sun left the valley did we return to our camp under the boulder in the forest. 

The next days were magical as our friends descended to La Junta for food leaving us alone in the back of the Trinidad Valley.  We saw and heard no one for two days. The first day of our solitude was threatening, with gray skies and a brisk wind.  Cody and I climbed four pitches of up a slab our friends had just completed bolting. The climbing was intriguing and fun, with moments where you stood on nothing but a near vertical wall without handholds to grasp for security. Using only the friction of rubber on the balls of your feet and the callused skin on the palms of your hands you push rather than pull yourself skyward. That night, for the first time in a high camp, we slept alone joined only by a lullaby of birds calls.

Creature of the forest

Congregating under the Trinidad bivy boulder

Cody on the way to the summit above Paseo de la Bestia

Sunrise over the valley

The following morning blue skies greeted us overhead long before the sun reached the valley floor. Lacking a desire to climb we chose instead a scramble to the summit of an unnamed fourth class peak east of the Paseo de la Bestia (Pass of the Beast). It had been ages since the two of us had enjoyed such lighthearted fun in the mountains without technical climbing and the risks and consequences that can accompany it. To reach the pass we scampered up vertical forest to high above the valley floor.  As we ascended to the pass, the yellow and red leaves of lenga trees reaffirmed summer was past and fall was upon us. From the pass we walked and scrambled up slabs and granite blocks, enjoying dikes of quartz, mica, and feldspar and the perfectly formed crystals terminating within them.  Small patches of snow hid resiliently in shaded corners but the alpine granite was dry and sticky under the rubber of our approach shoes.  We ate lunch at the summit gazing into the many valleys, mountains and rock faces surrounding us.  Most impressive of all, to our west, beyond the rock ridge we had climbed lay the snow covered summit of El Monstruo.  Euphoric from our adventure we descended back to La Laguna for a final dip in our private lake. 

La Laguna

Climbing on the Gorilla

The summit of the Gorilla with Tronador behind

Walking back to camp, in awe of our special and secluded day we finally felt ready to climb again. We woke early the next morning to climb a line up the Silverback wall to the summit of the Gorilla.  Shady climbing and beautiful cracks led us to the broad, flat summit of the Gorilla. We enjoyed our only sunshine of the day and looked up the La Junta Valley to the shear walls of Cerro Capacua below which we had helped rescue the BASE jumper only a week before. Alone on the summit, life felt peaceful and complete. Before rappelling, we looked at the formation that would hold our final climb in Cochamó on the towering Cerro Trinidad.  Excited for the coming day, we rappelled to the base, hiked back to the bivy boulder and after a delicious dinner moved our high camp an hour down valley to the base of Cerro Trinidad.  

Climbing on Cerro Trinidad

Climbing on Cerro Trinidad with an amazing view of Tronador

The final pitch of our final climb in Cochamó

Enjoying our final summit

Our final day of climbing in Cochamó could not have been more perfect.  Sunshine filled a cloudless sky, and a light wind led to pleasant temperatures as we climbed an enjoyable classic through cracks, slabs, and a cave.  6.5 hours after leaving the ground we stood 3000 ft above the valley floor on the summit of Cerro Trinidad marveling at panoramic views while feeling delighted and satisfied.  Returning to our bivy with ample daylight, we enjoyed our final high camp dinner under the alpenglow of Cerro Trinidad, a hot bamboo fire, and night spent sleeping under the stars.  

Hiking back to La Junta for a final time

Our hike from Trinidad to La Junta was fast and lighthearted taking less than half the time of our slow and rugged ascent.  We reached the Río Cochamó and its suspended cable cart eager to confirm our pilchero, break down camp and make our way to town and the hot showers and ice cream it would provide.  Cody crossed the river first and prepared to help pull me and my backpack across. I slid my backpack in the front portion of the cart and climbed into the seat.  Cody let go of rope and I quickly zipped across the first half of the river. Taking in my beautiful surroundings I instinctually leaned away from the fast moving rope pulling me across the river. As I did so the cart tilted and in my distraction I was not holding my backpack. To my horror, halfway across the river, I watched my backpack plunged into the slow moving water below.  With my eyes as wide as saucers, Cody started to pull me back to the shore where I had started while I pulled the other way towards him. Flustered and panicking as my backpack floated further and further downstream I yelled at Cody to let go of the rope and go intercept my bag as it passed a sand bar a little further down.  Off he went and finally I was able to pull myself across the river. With quick action he recovered my sodden pack and the thousands of dollars of climbing gear that was inside it.  Before that moment we had naively laughed about how easily the day was going. Now, with a waterlogged backpack Cody teased that because the day had been too uneventful I had thought it necessary to add some excitement by throwing my backpack into the river.

The tobagones

Unlike our previous weeks in Cochamó, the day was stiffling hot and the sun shined brightly.  While I hung up and laid out my saturated possessions Cody broke down our base camp. With the afternoon sun high in the sky we set out to experience our final wonder of the Cochamó Valley, a visit to the Toboganes.  The Toboganes are a series of waterfalls and natural water slides that flow down smooth granite slabs into the Río La Junta.  With the laughter and glee of children, we slid together down slick granite slabs into a beautiful icy blue pool.  After several trips down our bodies were chilled to the bone and for a final time we wandered back to the warm grassy fields of La Junta.  

Quickly, everything came together seamlessly.  We obtained a pilchero for the next morning, packed our remaining possessions (now drive thanks to the sun), and enjoyed a final dinner of canned salmon, pasta, Parmesan cheese, onion, and carrots.  We departed the next morning after a picnic breakfast and left the valley for the first time in 34 days.

Estuario de Reloncaví 

The dining room at Patagonia Nativa

The wooden church in Cochamó town

Moscow Mules in
Puerto Varas

Over the next 2 days and nights we lived in the luxury of a private room and bath as the only guests in our hostel, Patagonia Nativa. We dropped off our laundry and spent our days wandering Cochamó town, taking in the scenic Estuario de Reloncaví, visiting the towns large wooden steepled church and eating food not cooked on a backpacking stove. As the tourist season had ended we were almost the only foreigners in town.  Everything was peaceful and relaxing. With our laundry clean moved on to scenic tourist town of Puerto Varas where we enjoyed crisp and refreshing Moscow Mules at an outdoor cafe. After a few days of creature comforts we are on our way to Bariloche, Argentina and the climbing at Frey.

It is difficult to process the joy, fear, excitement, and astonishment that has filled our past month. The Río Cochamó and its surrounding valleys are pristine wilderness. We have been privileged to experience a special moment in time, in a precious place. I hope there is more time before increased tourism, roads, or dams, detract or eradicate the fragile ecosystems and majestic geologic beauty that simplifies, inspires, and gives perspective to our relatively short lives.

Adios Cochamó!