The Original Settlers

Leaving Puerto Montt, the bus wrapped its way around fern laden volcanoes and mountains that drop steeply into quiet estuaries. Orange and white buoys section off the commercial fish cages where salmon are spawned and mussels cling. Sheep and red dappled cattle graze bright green pastures which contrast abruptly with neon orange and blue boxes; the boxes contain colonies of commercial scale honey bees which feed 6 months of the year on flowering trees and plants. I was already in love with the region and I had not even set foot off the bumpy bus.



Waiting for the bus to leave Cochamo...

Cochamo is a tiny seaside village nestled on a spit of land across the Reloncavi estuary from volcan Yate. An unpainted shingle sided church with a single steeple stands along the water's edge, surrounded by modest houses which boast gardens beaming with red dahlias and pale peach roses. Wildflowers and blackberries grow wild in the ditches and along the sea wall, providing us tasty, albeit tart snacks. The only thing which disturbed our image of this quaint town and its friendly people was a man on his front porch wearing short blue shorts and a skin tight tank top which he had rolled up to expose his potbelly which he slapped with both hands as he circled his porch. So as not to tarnish the reputation of the town, I must tell you that the incident was isolated, but the awkwardness of it provided for a good laugh.



Volcan Yate in the background.

We interviewed one farmer for nearly two hours about his commercial bees. Like many beekeepers in the US, he used Italian stock, and generally with good success. Luckily everything translated very easily for me, and I found myself conversing freely with the farmer about his struggles with varroa mites and how to best over-winter your colony. I was surprised to see that everything he practiced and knew appeared to be, word for word, what I had learned in college. I would have liked to spend more time with him to see where we had differences in knowledge. He was delighted that we were interested in his work and intently excited about sharing ideas and solutions. It was heartening for me to meet somebody who was so keen on collaborative knowledge.




Just south of here begins the Aisen region from which we just returned. The region is subject to a series of economic development initiatives, excluding status as a tax free zone that the economy of Punta Arenas enjoys. These initiatives focus instead on the need to populate remote and uninhabited lands due to border disputes with Argentina. We spent the night on an hacienda, a ranch South of La Junta where the farmer's wife runs a modest hostel from her home in her "spare" time. I was impressed at the quality of the food, as I had become accustomed to thinking of the Completo (a hot dog with avocado and tomato) as Chilean ethnic food. Instead we ate tomatoes from the garden with scrambled eggs from the chickens out back. Accompanying these delights were farm cheese from neighboring pastures, and homemade butter, fresh baked wheat bread, and home canned strawberry preserves.



The farmer and his wife moved to their 70 hectare plot of land in 1958. The land was given to them for free by the Chilean government, with the intent that it be used for agricultural production--most likely cattle and sheep. The catch: The Aisen region had no infrastructure. These were bold frontiersmen. The supply of staple foods and good occurs once a year by charter flights to Puerto Montt and cooperative purchasing power with other locals. The 1.5 lane gravel highway is being paved as you read this (hopefully it will survive at least one winter's worth of Andean landslides). A mere four hour drive brings you to the ferry which takes only 8 hours (weather permitting--sometimes departures are delayed 24 hours) to go to Puerto Montt, meaning that you can be in the big city in 12 hours time.

How times have changed.

Roberto, the farmer, relayed some of the obstacles he faced when starting his life here. It took about 25 days to deliver supplies. The trip commenced first on horseback, ranging from 15-20 days across rough terrain and through volatile weather. An 8 hour ferry ride took you across sections of water that could not be avoided due to the mountains. Then a combination of rowing across glacial fed tidal rivers and horseback riding would eventually lead to the steps of the farmhouse. Roberto's son would keep an eye on the cattle while he was gone. Eventually the town of La Junta was established 4 miles from the hacienda, so acquiring some supplies became easier, but it still took a full day to go to town and back due to the enormous ocean current driven river, La Palena which had to be forded by rowboat multiple times. Now cable bridges stretch their way across the river, aiding in the efficiency of our passage.

I must add, that while dining on their scrumptious farm products, I considered three things. First, their food is organic, but out of years of knowledge and practice, as well as necessity. Second, they make butter because they will not have any if they don't--certainly not because it's in vogue. Third, they had a poster hanging on the wall demanding that dams should not be installed on their rivers! This sealed the deal--how could I not appreciate these farmers and what they stand for!