Still Waiting: Magical El Cañi

The lasagne was just about to come out of the oven when there was a knock on the door. We were staying in a little two couple cabin at Hostal Emalafquen that the lovely landlady Valentina had pestered us into looking at when she'd sidled up to us at the bus station. After 2.5 months travelling it was inevitable that the functioning oven would be used. And as it turned out, we had a dinner guest that evening.

Drenched from head to toe, Sebastian stepped into our warm cabin and greeted us like an old friend. Since we'd gone our separate ways on that cold morning at the Laguna Torro camp site, he'd gone north via Chile, while we'd taken the Argentian route. He'd arrived in Pucon the day before us and on the following perfect morning had climbed Volcan Villarrica, peered into it's smokin' crater and bum slid all the way back down to the bottom. Of course he had photo's to show us too!

The weather forecast was still looking dismal, although there was hope in sight on Sunday, the last possible day we had before we needed to head back to Santiago.

Friday was miserable. When we ventured outside to look at the black volcanic beach of Lago Villarrica on the edge of town we were nearly blown away. Actually it was quite impressive! The black sand seemed really odd, like an inverse of reality, but stranger still was the group of teenage girls going swimming in the lake fully clothed in jeans.

Despite our pleading, the guides didn't agree that Saturday would be a suitable day to attempt Villarrica, so we took Sebastian's suggestion and went to El Cañi, a 400 hectare conservation park protecting an ancient araucaria forest.

As predicted, it was another overcast day and our rain jackets came out within five minutes of walking.

After an hour's slog up a muddy 4 wheel drive track we reached a lovely hiker's hut with a view to the surrounding volcanoes and solid patch of snow.

On the hillside above, we could see a patch of bizarre looking trees. While the rest of the vegetation and the same trees near them were green, this small stand was grey with mist swirling between them, almost like they were part of an enchanted forest.

Starting up the narrow snowy path past damp logs, weeping bamboo and bright spring blossoms it felt like this forest was indeed enchanted.

Our objective on this walk was to reach a lookout high up on one of the hills that would offer 360 degree views to the surrounding volcanoes. The mud map given to us at the reception also indicated that along the way there'd be two lakes, but they hadn't been mentioned in the guidebook. Isn't it funny how sometimes it's the places you least expect that are the most breathtaking?

 

A thin crust of ice had formed over Laguna Las Totoras and when snow had fallen the previous night it had dusted the surface of the lake in white. The ice had already cracked a little with long spidery lines etched in the snow.

The trees we'd seen from lower down stood around the laguna, still stiff and frosted over from the cold night.

Higher up there was even more snow, but the well marked trail was still obvious.

Laguna Negra, surrounded by snow and ice like the first, seemed more dark and brooding. Reflecting the dark clouds rolling in, the water looked almost black.

From here we were on our own trail finding wise. From the mud map, we guessed where the summit should lie and set off trying to discern a trail in the snow. Climbing the hillside, it quickly became apparent that we hadn't found it so we went straight up to the saddle.

There amongst a winter wonderland of iced over trees we found the path to the summit.

At the frozen top we got our panoramic view of frozen forests, cloudy volcanoes and the dark lakes we'd passed.

With a heightened awareness of the seismic potential all around us, we looked at each other with dread when we heard a rumble from somewhere in the distance. The dark clouds almost certainly meant the noise came from the sky rather than the earth, but even so we retreated back into the forest pretty quickly when we heard more rumbling.

We had decided to follow the trail along the ridge instead of the way we'd come up. Fifty or so metres on from where our footprints led down the hill, we heard a grunt. Stopping dead in our tracks near a rocky outcrop, the low growl came again from somewhere in the scrub nearby. There was no more sound except the pounding of our hearts, as we realised how foreign the forest was despite how used to it we'd become. We had no idea what had made that noise, but for fear of having strayed into a wild beasts territory we turned tail and ran back to the safety of our tracks, slipping and sliding down the hill to the lake.

The rumble we'd heard from the top, did prove to be bad weather, that dumped a bit of snow on us on the way down the mountain. When we told Valentina about it upon our return to Pucon, she shook her head sadly saying there shouldn't be any snow by this time of year. But at least the weather forecast wasn't all grim. That afternoon we got our equipment together in preparation for climbing Volcan Villarrica the next morning.