28, It's the End of the World as We Know It (And We Feel Fine)

This is the end of the road. Sincerely. The southernmost point in the whole world that it is possible to drive to by car. A remote naval outpost nearly 55 degrees south of the equator, and we made it. We actually made it. 

Technically the road ends where the naval base starts, but since the gate was open we went in and turned around…

We made it! We actually made it! And the last 1000kms were the hardest of the whole trip, fate conspired against us and there were moments when we thought we wouldn’t make it. But we did make it, we actually did make it. So here is the story of the bitter fight to the even bitterer end.

Did we mention, we made it?

Our difficult week started with this glacier, this cursed glacier. It’s a powerful curse, held deep within the ice and it strikes those who dare do wrong. It strikes immediately and without mercy. We warn you now, this blog contains graphic illustrations of vehicle dismemberment and many acts of irresponsibility. We aren’t proud, but you want the truth so here it is, the stinking dirty truth.

Ahead of our visit to this despicable ice, we camped under a bridge next to a no camping sign. The next morning, partly because we thought it funny, and partly because it was an easy way to save some money (aka steal…) Jenjen hides under the bedding as Steve pays for the one ticket to get us both into the park.  

And so we arrive at this fantastic beast of a half price glacier, stable where most in the world are receding. There are a number of walkways from which to gain great views of this monster.  Oh wait, one more wrongdoing, when we arrived we skipped past the car park instead heading straight down to the bus drop off at the main building and parked in one of the very few places down there saving ourselves a shuttle bus ride.

The ice was unbelievable, sounds of cracking and creaking bouncing off the ice like thunder. A massive 70m tall at the face, huge chunks would occasionally tear off and crash into the water sending waves out in all directions. It was hypnotic and addictive, the game of trying to guess which bit was to fall next and waiting just one more minute, one more, one more, just in case something happens.

The streaks in the ice are dirt from the time that bit of ice spent grinding against rock somewhere upstream, a perfect illustration of how dynamic a glacier actually is. Well… in fast forward maybe. The info signs told us that every now and again the ice will close up against the land where we were stood and block the only drainage from one half of the lake. This pushes the water level upwards by as much as 27m until it manages to overcome the ice damn. It really was all pretty spectacular. And cursed.

We think the curse was initiated when we (still thinking it was funny) told some British travellers about our entry fee avoidance shenanigans and they mentioned the word “karma”. From this point on we were destined to be screwed. And it didn’t take long before the curse caught us up. We arrived back into town and wanting to avoid using our spare fuel, managed to limp to the petrol station just into the reserve on the gauge. After filling, the van refused to start. Uh oh. Much time passed, it felt like the same as our problem in Santiago and eventually we got running on 3 cylinders and limped across town to park up in a small car park. Poo.

Morning came around, the investigations into “Cylinder 4 misfire” began and it appeared the injector was clogged with sand. Crap.

So the desperate walking around began in the hope that a car parts store might be able to procure us some new injectors and a fuel filter. No luck with the injectors, but we got a new filter and were given the details of a workshop with an injector cleaning machine… Take that karma, we ain’t scared of you.

Day two of being stuck and while waiting for the injectors we found the source of the sand, a failed seal on the fuel expansion tank just above the wheel letting in all manner of sand, dirt, crud, gravel, crap, rocks, water, shit and just about everything else that you don’t want in your fuel system. That explains the fuel smell after filling up we’ve been ignoring… whoopsie. A post mortem of the fuel filter was also conducted and it had ruptured like a swollen appendix.

After two days fighting with these problems we were feeling pretty good. Injectors cleaned, hole sealed up and two new fuel filters. Until we realised one injector o ring had been torn by the garage so more wandering around town began finding only one that would do, not the right one…  Anyway, all back together and we had four cylinders working again, ready to set off the next morning!

At this point, because we’re honest and truthful, we will admit that we did notice that something still wasn’t quite right. Monitoring the engine with a phone app and Bluetooth reader like a massive dork Steve did notice that the fuel trim was very high, this number shows how much extra fuel the van is having to put into the cylinders to get proper combustion. A little left over water in the tank we assumed, nothing the engine couldn’t handle…

And so we set off, leaving nice safe civilisation where you can get food, water and parts and proceeded across the nothingness filled with optimism, or ignorance? Yes, ignorance. Still being a nerd Steve noticed that during corners the fuel trim would change as the van was slowly sucking up the water still sloshing around in the fuel tank… No problem, once it’s all gone there is no way for more to enter.

As we got close to our next fuel fill Steve thought it wise to steer back and forth to help drink up all that lovely water. Idiot. Bloody idiot. Stupid, naive, foolish idiot. The engine died, we coasted to a halt beside the road and it was at this very moment that karma was laughing at us the hardest. Shit.

All this talk of mechanical boringness is boring, we know, but it’s all we’ve been doing so what else is there to write about? So began 24 hours parked a few metres from the road hundreds of kilometres from the nearest town with an engine that absolutely won’t start. Emptying the brand new filter nothing but brown sludge poured out, this is bad.

The fuel pump was struggling, like a fish left on the dry pavement, so Steve fitted the spare but it had seized. Oh man. They aren’t designed to ever be taken apart, but when you’re stuck a thousand dollars in towing fees from any town it’s amazing what’s possible with a pair of plyers and our on-board air compressor. POP, it blew apart in all directions landing in the lovely clean sand….

It was cleaned up, put back together and still no fuel pressure… then Jenjen found an o-ring hiding in the shrubs…. Ah.

Forced apart, again, o-ring installed, fuel pressure achieved and nope, still not running and now our battery is flat too. Oh, and it’s getting dark.

After a troubled sleep, the desperate times called for desperate measures and Steve took the entire fuel tank out, no simple task.

Desperate times calls for irresponsible measures and 20L of petrol is dumped into the desert. Hang on you say, that doesn’t look like petrol! Well no, the question is how did we even made it as far as we did running on what actually looked like the result of eating raw chicken marinated in Indian sewer water?

If you’re wondering that is the corpse of a dead skunk, a fitting analogy to our situation you might say.

All back together, eventually, and still nothing. We have clean fuel, fuel pressure and a new fuel filter. This was getting infuriating. So Steve pulled all injectors, emptied them out and changed the filthy and wet spark plugs for the old worn out ones he couldn’t quite throw away like the good hoarder he is. Glad the little bit of sunshine had charged our batteries enough for a second of cranking, the engine STARTED. After 24 hours of trying everything we could think of, the sound of our engine running again bought tears of joy to our cold and dirty little faces.

That was a horrible, desperate 24 hours. It’s hard to explain the feeling of being stuck somewhere so remote and far away from comfort with every attempt to revive the van failing, failing and failing again. We felt totally helpless. No internet, no phone, just us with a handful of tools and a lot of head scratching, swearing and aforementioned tools being angrily thrown at the ground.

So onwards we travelled, finally, and we restocked on fuel filters and beer happy to finally be over this curse. Then Steve managed to smash a 1 litre beer bottle over the rear seat soaking the seat/bed and wasting a perfectly good beer. Dammit karma, dammit stupid Steve!!!

We finally camped in a location of our choice, then it started raining and we never thought we’d get back up the hill with our current luck… but we made it! The curse is finally broken? We’ve paid our dues perhaps?

 

A ferry crossing and we’ve reach the island of Tierra del Fuego, nearly the end of the road, so close. Attempting to tempt fate again, we pretend we didn’t know we had to pay for the ferry but a helpful worker reminders us just before everyone disembarks. Talk about not learning a lesson.

The roads are pretty boring, everywhere just looks the same as everywhere else, almost like every corner is a mirror image of the previous corner.

Side note: The uphill warning signs have a silhouette of a car clearly drawn by a child, but then we found THE CAR.

Tomorrow is the day, the day we plan to reach the southernmost city in the world, Ushuaia. The place we’ve been telling everyone we’re going to for the entire trip. Come on Westy Rick, don’t make us into liars. Well, any worse than we already are.

We are woken by a young cow angrily tearing open the sand bags we’re camping next to. With these levels of anger, it can only be puberty. He then proceeds to walk up to the fence behind which are hundreds of sheep in a desperate attempt to make friends but these sheep turn away and walk off clearly shunning this poor troubled cow. You remember how clique the playground can be. Upset, he starts scratching himself on the road signs before walking over towards a chemical toilet. Next time we look, and this isn’t made up, he is stood aggressively head banging. Next time we look, and this also isn’t made up, the chemical toilet has been tipped over and he’s run away. Those hormones.   

And after a long day, a very long day, we did make it to Ushuaia. Winding over the mountains we descended to this city that is only 1000kms from Antarctica, the end of the world (in the non-apocalyptic sense), fin del mundo. We were still suffering engine problems, it wasn't idling but we resolved it a day later with a hard reset of the ECU and fresh spark plugs. Finally he's runnin' right! 

But what good would getting here be without a welcome party? Jenjen’s friend Mercedes had generously flown down to meet us and joined us on some pretty extreme hikes the morning after some pretty extreme celebratory drinks. Actually that’s a complete exaggeration, we were all far too tired for a late night and celebrated like adults, drinking in a van parked on the seafront.

The hiking took us along a wet and blustery coast, and then the next day up to a glacier high above the town.

Ok so we already showed you a glacier that was much nicer than this one which is all covered in rock and piddily in comparison. Why do we bore you so? Well this one was unofficially accessible, after 4 hours of hiking up we literally went the extra mile and walked around to explore inside the melting ice. It was as incredible as it was foolhardy.

After a very pleasant 3 nights sleeping in a public carpark at the ocean we said goodbye to Mercedes and made our way out to the end of the road, 90km of gravel track past all kinds of wildlife and rugged terrain to find the naval base. They didn’t have any ships just a couple of dogs and a radio mast but otherwise it was pretty exciting.

Done. From Canada to the most Southern point accessible by car in the whole world. 232 days, 35,000kms, 4,450 litres of petrol and 15 countries. This was the toughest and most bittersweet week.

We awake to a mere 1 degree Celsius inside the van, turned the nose around and now we’re heading north. We’ve got three weeks to get back to mid Chile for shipping so we’re not done yet.

But we did it, we made it.

See for yourself.

27, 50 Shades of Blue

If a little tiny bit of you took pleasure last time in reading about the rain, and how it wasn’t always fun and games for us, then prepare for that little tiny part (or maybe big part?) to remain unsatisfied as we had nothing but blue skies, sunshine and the happiness that comes with finally having dry socks.

But before we could go and enjoy all that sunshine, we had to get back out from our campspot under the shady trees. This involved an extremely narrow, muddy, steep and root riddled climb back up away from the River Baker.

We’ve learnt a lot about the capabilities of our van throughout this journey and as you can clearly see we ignore these lessons almost daily. Having said that, with the rear tyres down to 15psi and a massive run-up we conquered this hill climb learning only that…. erm…. something.

And it was in this campspot we met Tim from Taiwan. He wandered over to our van in the dark asking if we could charge his phone since it was his only source of light and almost flat. He has cycled here from Santiago and was travelling in a… unique way. He doesn’t have a spoon because he lost it last week and sleeps on the ground because his hammock fell off his bike a few days ago. He has to make a fire every night to cook and carves spoons (ironically) to sell since he ran out of money. If there was ever anyone making us look over prepared, it was Tim.

And we saw a very pretty cow.

The beautiful and therefore aptly named river couldn’t stay pure forever. Not far downstream a meagre glacial river joined the mighty Rio Baker and the mixing of the two colours was quite the spectacle.

With the incredibly hot sunshine still beating down, we parked up for the night a whole 15km down from our previous night and washed our pants, repaired a couple of mechanical van niggles and sweated in this very fortunate heatwave as the sun slowly set.

But before it did, a German “Big Rig” joined us on this hilltop. These “motorhomes” are fantastic and finally we got to nosey around inside one. With a proper bathroom, double glazing, central heating, hot water and the ability to trample over any kind of terrain why would anyone buy a house? MAN is also a VW brand, so it is a pretty natural evolution from Westy Rick…. Like a Pokémon evolving……

It really is hard to fault this part of the world, well, when the sun is out. Like it still is, shining through the crystal clear waters of this gorgeous lake. Or it was crystal clear until Steve went swimming again.

Tarmac has long since given way to narrow loose gravel track winding through the forests. Kind of like a rally stage, and the faster you travel the smoother the washboard road surface feels so it’s hard not to keep pushing on. Despite the fact that our powertrain layout is the same as a Porsche 911, if only we were in a car we could really rally like… oh, there’s a Subaru Forester that’s been on its roof in the ditch. Someone’s abilities fell short. We managed to resist the strong urge to “recycle” some engine parts to carry as spares despite the absolute certainty that this poor car was written off.

Tortel is a small village nearing the end of the Carretera Austral built onto the hillsides at the water’s edge. There are no roads around the village, just walkways and water. Despite having to backtrack three hours to cross the border after visiting, we thought it a worthwhile excursion to make the most of this damn fine weather. We aren’t sure how long a road has even been out to this town, most likely less than 20 years and it hasn’t been enough time for the locals to start enjoying all these strangers walking around this previously water locked hamlet. It certainly had a distinct character, and we didn’t see any webbed hands but maybe that’s because they are out paddling the boats around?

This was also the mouth of the Rio Baker, another reason to make the shaky drive down here. We even got directed by a helpful sign to a lovely campspot in the sunshine right on the bank of our very own river. What a photo doesn’t tell you is that the wind was blowing so hard the hammock was rocking by itself. The wind must have scared the fish away too…

An endangered species! No wonder it’s endangered if it stands on the rally stage all day looing so tasty. South Andean Deer, somehow unable to hear a speeding Vanagon despite having stupid gigantic ears.

Ah yes, the Latin American work ethic. Yesterday we drove over a bridge with construction work ongoing but the workers could be seen down at the river below, drinking beer. Today we drove back over the same bridge with construction work still ongoing but the workers could be seen down at the river below, drinking beer.

Goodbye Rio Baker, you beautiful majestic beast!

Our ability to follow rules and behave as civilised beings has become weakened as the travel has progressed. We weren’t exactly well endowed in either of those aspects prior to setting off either. Heading East towards Argentina we have chosen to cross the border at a remote but scenic location after driving through the “Patagonia National Park” which is free to enter but $32 Canadian, or £19 per night to stay at the campgrounds. Ridiculous, so we sneak up a side track and boondock against the rules all by our lonesome. It was glorious!

The evening was spent figuring out our plan of attack for the border crossing was going to look like. Realising that we might be asked for the mandatory insurance that we most certainly did not have, we conducted a minor readjustment to our Mexican insurance paperwork. But don’t tell anyone.

This is a Guanaco. It’s a relative of the Llama and it’s pretty damn adorable. They lollop around chewing on grass and generally having a great time. The one below is happy.

The one below, however, is not happy. He’s mad and most certainly not adorable. He just got in a highly entertaining fight with another Guanaco and they were pretty upset with each other, and just like on Jerry Springer it all started with spitting. One managed to spit at least a tennis ball sized spray of green, snotty, slimy phlegm right at his rival, it was absolutely disgusting. They then proceeded to get all argy bargy and crash into each other a bunch of times until apparently one of them was the winner but we couldn’t tell which. They both just walked away with their mad faces on.

Nandu, a small Ostrich style flightless bird also roams these grassy plains providing great entertainment. And an Armadillo? 

Hitchhikers, we’ve seen hundreds in Chile but we haven’t picked any up. We like our freedom, the ability to stop for lunch, camp or take a whiz without having to worry about any strangers lurking about in the back of the van. Don’t get us wrong, we’ve given people we’ve met lifts, and helped every time someone is broken down, but just not stopped in response to a person with their thumb up, who it is worth mentioning are always backpackers on holiday. As we drive on by they sometimes have a look of disappointment on their face, we understand, but then this one guy, this douchebag, gives us an angry frown and a massive shrug. What!? You’re out here on holiday with your backpack trying to get a free lift because you didn’t want to pay to rent a car, or take a bus, or pedal a bicycle, or walk. Don’t you dare be mad at us for not wanting to give you a lift in our home, you git.

Anyway, rant over and passenger free, we decided to detour up to a lookout that is only accessible with a 4x4. Continuing to have learnt nothing, we proceeded past the helpful sign directing us in our 2wd to park up and walk and headed straight up the big steep rocky hill with the pedal to the metal. Take that, sensible advice, don’t tell us what we can and can’t do. We'll learn the hard way thank you very much.

The lookout was fantastic, but the clouds are making their way back.

As you can see, we’re high above the canopy of this forest. This tiny, tiny bonsai forest which Steve found highly entertaining and even went stomping through it pretending to be King Kong. It was a terrible impression but it made him happy so that’s ok.

Ok, time to the border crossing. No meat, dairy, fruit or veg allowed across the border so we take them from the fridge and “throw them away”. Tehehehe.

Crossing is simple, we’d been in Chile for 6 weeks which is our longest time in any one country and luckily hadn’t misplaced our passports. The official “searched” our van which consisted of lifting up one towel and glancing in one bag before we were waved on into Argentina, the last new country of our trip.

This new landscape is known as “Pampa”, semi barren nothingness of which we have hundreds of kilometres to travel through as we make the push towards the end of the road, the end of the continent and the most southerly point to which you can drive in the whole wide world. But there’s a couple of nice detours along the way towards the penguins. Not long now!

Didn’t that sound like the end of the blog? Well yes that’s because it was but internet is so sparse down here we’ve done too much since finishing the blog we’re adding a bunch on to really, really drag it out! So here we go some more, getting back to your chores will have to wait.

The gravel continues and it really does a number on what’s left of our tyres. But we count ourselves lucky, many travellers seem to suffer frequent punctures or blow outs. Our tyres seem exceptionally tough, a wise investment.

The gravel ends, the tarmac starts and we drive through a storm of biblical proportions. Heavy, heavy raining going on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on. Then lightening not far in the distance and thunder audible over the pounding of water on the windscreen and suddenly we’re driving through snow! Just for a few kilometres there was a good amount of disgusting slushy snow trying to drag us off the road despite the high ambient temperatures we’ve been enjoying. They’ll surely be more of this to come, time will tell…

After a restock on fuel and food we spent a night outside the least interesting town of all time. Honestly, it existed and that is about all there is to say. As we left in the morning we passed a police car perpendicular to the road set up like the police checkpoints we’re quite overly familiar with. Since we may or may not be lacking in some legal paperwork areas we hoped not to get pulled over and luckily for us, the Policewoman was dozing in the driver’s seat. Her eyes half opened as we whizzed past and we were happy to have avoided any conversation here, sweet dreams.

But. And this is a big but (and we cannot lie). Her job, which she was managing to do so effectively, was to inform passers-by that the road was shut. You see, 60km out of the boring town the tarmac ended and the carnage began. The storm the day before had soaked the section of the “road” made of mud and turned it into a giant slip n’ slide. The consistency of the mud was like grease and as we naively ploughed along we noticed the marks of a car that had departed into the ditch, a whole 3 second later the steering wheel becomes as useful as the Policewoman and we too made the slow and embarrassing slide down the cambered road and into the ditch. Scchhhllllllllluuuurrrrrrrrrpppppppppppppp. Ah; bugger.

But there was hope, for another ignorant traveller had attempted this road ill prepared and got stuck just a little further down the road where a passing bus was helping them out. So we grabbed our tow strap, slung it on the front and prayed to the gods of kindness that the bus driver might stop and help us out also. He did!!! Slipping, sliding and throwing mud in all directions the 4x4 bus managed to drag us initially along, and eventually out of the ditch. Yay! We gave him some beer and parked up waiting for this shitshow to dry up. Not the worst place to be forced to camp in the sunshine.

A day of bright sunshine and a clear night and then we took on the challenge. The carnage still apparent, we followed the firm tracks and made it through without stress. We also crossed 49° south of the equator, the Canadian border is 49° the other side, and so we were now further south than we started north.

We keep jabbering on about being in Patagonia but it hasn’t look at all like how you picture it, until now. Big sharp pointy peaks covered in ice.

There are two places for hiking in this region, this is El Chalten and it is free, the other is Torres Del Paine and is super expensive and best for really long hikes. We like this one for both of the reasons above, even though the Instagrammers are here and doing the EXACT SAME POSE every single frickin’ time.

Here is a fox we saw from the window. He’s very cute, but far away so Steve goes to sneak up and get some better photos.

 

Gently tip toeing over, taking a photo every few steps, Steve is all proud that the three foxes don’t seem to notice he is creeping up. This is turning out great. Click, click, click.

Until the fox stands up, looks Steve in the eye, turns around and goes back to sleep. Oh, I guess they just don’t give a crap? Well then might as well get really close.

You’re still here?

You humans bore me.

But then we make a horrible realisation, this is an Instagram Fox. Noooooooooo.

Now take another photo, this is my good side.

How about if I look thoughtfully into the distance? Will you put this one on Instagram for me? #FoxyFox

Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?