The Chilean Coast

Pichilemu, to the locals, is a working class fishing village not equipped with a port, large fishing vessels, or cranes. The short and hardy fishermen wearing old wetsuits drag a small row boat into the pounding surf, set a large net in close proximity to the shore and with every strong fisherman in the village, perform a tug-of-war with the sea. Seven deep are the men, each of their legs dug into the dark gray sand, backs strained, and heads sweating. After several hours, when it looks like they are getting close to landing their catch, a crowd of villagers gather to see what’s for dinner. Finally, three large mahi mahi flip and flop on the cold sand. The alpha-male fisherman then takes his rusty old pocket knife and slits the bottom of the fish open, tears its guts out and cuts them off. To my surprise, the mahi mahi continues its futile quest for survival and splatters the crowd with sand. Consequently, another fisherman comes to help the first by placing a foot on the top of the helpless fish’s head, in a ‘king of the jungle’, hands-on-his-hips type of pose.

However, not all battles with the sea are won. Walking north past the beautiful lagoon, one can see remnants where fisherman have lost their battle with the sea…..nets still stuck in the sand leading out into the dark Pacific Ocean. Presumably, the nets became stuck to unmovable rocks or the reef.

Tourists don’t come to Pichilemu, surfers do. To be more accurate, surfers come to the two breaks: one in the town of Pichilemu and one 6 kilometers away, known as Punta del Lobos. It is the grand allure, the beautiful clean ocean with a pumping swell. It is like a drug, it beckons you, so inviting, full of promises of excitement, a feeling of being a part of the surf culture, “one of the group.” However, the water shocks you with its biting cold and the swell under delivers on its promise with lack luster form, no larger then waist high. Nevertheless, when you’ve come so far, you must paddle out.

Upon entering the frigid water, I wade between rocks, then jump on my board and began to paddle. Immediately, my hands began to freeze, fingers became numb and suddenly, clinching my fists feels mechanical. What normally would have been an easy paddle was an arduous struggle with the icy cold. A small wave duck-dive turned into a debilitating ice-cream headache. Once I was out past the break, I had a chance to gaze back to the beach. The low-lying green hills with a little fog reminded me of uncrowded parts of the northern California coast. Finally, a swell started to pick up and on a long board type wave, I rode a borrowed, tank-like short board. Even though, it felt like a plow cutting through a fertile field, it was good to be standing on top of the southern Pacific Ocean so far from home.

Pictures of Chile

Hiking in Torres Del Paine

As we hiked the rigorous trails of Torres Del Paine in Southern Patagonia, we could see and hear the blistering wind with evil intent, picking up grains of sand from over 100 yards away, speeding toward us, and flinging the grains at our faces and bodies. Like fish out of water, there was nothing we could do except dip our heads, hold our hats, and grin and bear it. With each step getting more difficult, our hike was like walking up a steep mountain even though it was only a gradual slope.

The 7-kilometer hike would not have been so bad if I was not carrying a backpack with 40 pounds including three cameras and clothing for a week. But, such is the life of a man traveling with a pregnant wife. As you know pregnant women are not supposed to lift anything heavy, so as she eats for two, I carry for two.

Although at times the trek was a painful lesson of what it is like to be over 30 and out of shape, the trail’s scenery was amazing. Torres del Paine National Park is a land where towers of granite pierce the sky, where 400-mile glaciers cut through mountain ranges, where aquamarine icebergs shine in grey lakes, and where slanted trees fight to survive in winds blowing in excess of 80 miles per hour. It’s also a place where black headed swans glide gracefully in ponds, where llamas and hikers explore the valleys side-by-side, and where a chosen few from around the world congregate for one exhilarating adventure in nature.

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The Atacama Desert

Desiring a stark contrast to the cold climate of the south, we endured five flights spanning 2000 miles to arrive in the driest desert in the world. We hung our hat for a week in the ranging metropolis of San Pedro de Atacama, population 400. As you drive an hour and a half from the desert airport, seeing no organic material, you understand how this desert gets the title of the driest place on the earth. However, as you come over a bleak ridge you see a true oasis, complete with a small river, crops and green trees. You rub you eyes thinking they are fooling you, like some old movie taking place in Sahara Desert, but it is real. The town of San Pedro de Atacama is an oasis in the middle of the driest desert in the world. At first glance, the simplicity of the surrounding landscape may not catch your eye but upon further inspection, the contrast of the red and brown sand against the blue horizon feeds your spirit. The Atacama Desert, despite its lack of vegetation, surprises adventurous travelers with awe-inspiring vistas unknown to other parts of the world. At the Laguna Chaxa in the Salar de Atacama, flamingos feed on microorganisms, which create their pink color. What little water there is comes from underground resources, which dry quickly and leave white jagged unearthly formations because of the combination of salt and lithium. Near by is the Valle de la Luna, a landscape so out-of-this world, one would think you are on the moon. From what looks like the floor of a lunar crater, we climbed a large sand wall 350 feet high and half a mile wide. The sand wall, formed by the fierce winds resembles a dam that is only a couple feet wide at the top. We trekked across the sand dam just before sunset and were treated to a brilliant display of colors over the desert mountains.

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Easter Island

Natives call Easter Island: Te Pito Te Henua, which means, “The Navel of the World”. It is one of the most isolated places in the world. It lies 2300 miles from the Chilean coast and 2700 miles from Tahiti the closest populated areas. We spent a week on the sub-tropical Polynesian Island at the beginning of the annual celebration of their culture. It is similar to the Hawaii of the late 1800’s; so pristine, so remote, and so primitive. From the 5^th to the 17^th Century the native peoples built grand alters to their ancestors and adorned them with Moai, (large statues cut out of the side of a volcano). The mystery of Rapa Nui: How did the natives transport these massive Moai sometimes up to 10 miles without modern equipment? Legend has it that high priests had the power to make them walk a short distance each day, until they arrived at their ceremonial resting place. Besides Easter Island being an anthropologists and archeologists dream, the natural beauty is stunning. Coconut palm trees, brightly colored Bougainville, green grasses, pink hibiscus and the black volcanic coastline all combine to create a raw tropical feeling. The air is warm and the light blue sky with big puffy clouds provides a beautiful contrast to the deep blue Pacific Ocean.

We visited the quarry where the Moai were literally cut in all directions out of the side of the volcano. There are over 300 Moai in the process of construction in and around the Rano Raraku: some lying sideways, some diagonal, and others up side down. Some gigantic, others small, all with similar features of a pronounced brow, large nose, long ears and a chiseled chin. All statues were without legs but some included a large red headdress and white corral eyes with black obsidian for the pupils. What caused the tribes to abandon this process and topple over the other Moai at the height of their civilization? Was it foreign influence? Was it wars between the 12 tribes? Alternatively, was it destruction of their natural resources? No one really knows for sure even though it was only about 300 years ago. We walked along the hill side of the volcano where it seemed like half buried and half cut Moai were abandon in much hast. It looks like something or someone stopped this religious process in short order. What ever it was left few clues and more questions than answers.

Pictures of Chile