Kevin had gone for a morning poo, and while I was restoring the fire for breakfast I sensed someone through the trees on my left, and thought I saw a flash of denim, but couldn't imagine how anyone could get down to the rivers shore without using our route and coming right past me.
A minute later there was a short whistle from the track above, and I could see the outline of a horse.
I climbed up to find a teenaged gaucho with two horses and a friendly smile. I introduced myself and explained about our trip and where we'd been, and asked a few questions about our route and the lake we were going past in the next day or two.
He assured me it was wild and beautiful, and just to prove it pulled out a fresh fish from his saddlebag which he gave to me. This was my first conversation in Chile with a Chilean (except at the border obviously) and I couldn't have been happier to be there and given a fish.
I bagged it for dinner and we got on the road a bit late, but excited to have got to this amazing, generous country by the power of our own legs.
The track was slow - there was a lot of altitude to gain and lose in order to stay in the tight crevasse dug into the mountainside and the Manso was more dramatic and loud than ever - the rare moments we could see it through the trees and over the edge of the horse-dug path it was pure white water and looked like it could destroy and army of elephants in a moment.
We eventually got to a dusty crossroads and this was the point where we were leaving the Rio Manso which had been our guide, out tap, our bath, our washing machine and our soundtrack. To leave it felt like leaving our lifeline and navigator.
From here it was our first serious altitude gain, we had to reach Lago Vidal Gomaz which fed into Rio Manso from the north and is nestled beyond the eastern exit of the Cochamo Valley. The trail was, in the main, less rutted and difficult but we didn't make any better time because of the incline.
There was more than enough consolation though - it was spectacular. The trees were impossibly squat and deeply wrinkled and a thick carpet of bright green moss covered everything, it was like a caricature of a forest. As we gained altitude the trees switched to a polar opposite, and logic-defyingly tall, thin trees without a leaf or branch for their first hundred metres soared straight up, making an eerie creaking symphony as they swayed slowly in the breeze.
"Welcome to Middle Earth." Kev said.
And he couldn't have been more right.
While we were on a narrow, muddy stretch of the trail with a cliff face on our right side we heard the thunderous sound of hooves and clung to the sheer rock face to make way.
Two gauchos were leading six horses and two dogs in the other direction - they stopped to make conversation and were suitably impressed with our progress so far and seemed excited for us even though navigating this terrain is an everyday chore for them.
We stopped for lunch a little later and tried an experiment to see if polenta could cook itself from cold (like cous-cous can). It can't. It was worse than not eating.
Don't try this. Ever.
It was getting late as we came up through the valley and as we finally came over the meadowed crest to see the lake we were relieved and impressed in equal measure. The valley sides were steep, and from our viewpoint looked oddly straight and symmetrical.
As we got to the southern edge of the lake I could see a small farmhouse. I waved to a small boy as we passed, and we thought about how it would be to grow up in such a desolate and remote place.
A short while later the trail passed a maze of tiny mini-meadows cut up by huge, hollow fallen trees avergrown by bushes and moss. They were on a bit of a slope, but I thought probably the best chance for a nights sleep on the lake.
We carried on in case there was something better soon - we could see some small beaches on the other side and the trail did seem to be going downwards. We did get down to a beach, but the sand was wet, and littered with jagged rocks.
There were more of the dead trees, lots left sticking out over the still lake, so while Kev took some photos I practiced inner calm while walking tens of metres over the lake on the creaking, curving and crumbling trunks.
I got naked and wandered through the reeds into the phenomenally motionless lake and it was only once I was out into it that the intense blackness of the water came to me. The lake is a kilometre wide along it's whole length, and each side is about 45 degrees, so it stands to reason there was five hundred metres of still water below me. But the darkness looked infinite.
We headed back up to the little meadows dragging as much firewood as we could with us, and found a hidden patch with a just about sleepable slope, pulled out the fish I was given that morning and made fire.
The taste we experienced is one that can only happen when something is a touching gift, unbeatably fresh and unparalleledly natural.
As darkness fell a faint chorus of frog croaks and ribbets reverborated through the valley, and we stocked the fire before marvelling at the brighter still Milky Way. As well as a shooting star I saw four satellites, and couldn't help but wonder what it would look like to see everything humans have put into orbit at once, hanging in the sky.
A minute later there was a short whistle from the track above, and I could see the outline of a horse.
I climbed up to find a teenaged gaucho with two horses and a friendly smile. I introduced myself and explained about our trip and where we'd been, and asked a few questions about our route and the lake we were going past in the next day or two.
He assured me it was wild and beautiful, and just to prove it pulled out a fresh fish from his saddlebag which he gave to me. This was my first conversation in Chile with a Chilean (except at the border obviously) and I couldn't have been happier to be there and given a fish.
I bagged it for dinner and we got on the road a bit late, but excited to have got to this amazing, generous country by the power of our own legs.
The track was slow - there was a lot of altitude to gain and lose in order to stay in the tight crevasse dug into the mountainside and the Manso was more dramatic and loud than ever - the rare moments we could see it through the trees and over the edge of the horse-dug path it was pure white water and looked like it could destroy and army of elephants in a moment.
We eventually got to a dusty crossroads and this was the point where we were leaving the Rio Manso which had been our guide, out tap, our bath, our washing machine and our soundtrack. To leave it felt like leaving our lifeline and navigator.
From here it was our first serious altitude gain, we had to reach Lago Vidal Gomaz which fed into Rio Manso from the north and is nestled beyond the eastern exit of the Cochamo Valley. The trail was, in the main, less rutted and difficult but we didn't make any better time because of the incline.
There was more than enough consolation though - it was spectacular. The trees were impossibly squat and deeply wrinkled and a thick carpet of bright green moss covered everything, it was like a caricature of a forest. As we gained altitude the trees switched to a polar opposite, and logic-defyingly tall, thin trees without a leaf or branch for their first hundred metres soared straight up, making an eerie creaking symphony as they swayed slowly in the breeze.
"Welcome to Middle Earth." Kev said.
And he couldn't have been more right.
While we were on a narrow, muddy stretch of the trail with a cliff face on our right side we heard the thunderous sound of hooves and clung to the sheer rock face to make way.
Two gauchos were leading six horses and two dogs in the other direction - they stopped to make conversation and were suitably impressed with our progress so far and seemed excited for us even though navigating this terrain is an everyday chore for them.
We stopped for lunch a little later and tried an experiment to see if polenta could cook itself from cold (like cous-cous can). It can't. It was worse than not eating.
Don't try this. Ever.
It was getting late as we came up through the valley and as we finally came over the meadowed crest to see the lake we were relieved and impressed in equal measure. The valley sides were steep, and from our viewpoint looked oddly straight and symmetrical.
As we got to the southern edge of the lake I could see a small farmhouse. I waved to a small boy as we passed, and we thought about how it would be to grow up in such a desolate and remote place.
A short while later the trail passed a maze of tiny mini-meadows cut up by huge, hollow fallen trees avergrown by bushes and moss. They were on a bit of a slope, but I thought probably the best chance for a nights sleep on the lake.
We carried on in case there was something better soon - we could see some small beaches on the other side and the trail did seem to be going downwards. We did get down to a beach, but the sand was wet, and littered with jagged rocks.
There were more of the dead trees, lots left sticking out over the still lake, so while Kev took some photos I practiced inner calm while walking tens of metres over the lake on the creaking, curving and crumbling trunks.
I got naked and wandered through the reeds into the phenomenally motionless lake and it was only once I was out into it that the intense blackness of the water came to me. The lake is a kilometre wide along it's whole length, and each side is about 45 degrees, so it stands to reason there was five hundred metres of still water below me. But the darkness looked infinite.
We headed back up to the little meadows dragging as much firewood as we could with us, and found a hidden patch with a just about sleepable slope, pulled out the fish I was given that morning and made fire.
The taste we experienced is one that can only happen when something is a touching gift, unbeatably fresh and unparalleledly natural.
As darkness fell a faint chorus of frog croaks and ribbets reverborated through the valley, and we stocked the fire before marvelling at the brighter still Milky Way. As well as a shooting star I saw four satellites, and couldn't help but wonder what it would look like to see everything humans have put into orbit at once, hanging in the sky.
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