Puerto Bertrand to Cochrane

November 23, 2025

In general route 7 is oriented from north to south. However, the mountainous nature of the area means the road doesn't always face south; which, the approach to Puerto Bertrand demonstrated, where-it had routed through a valley, around a mountain, turning a full hundred and eighty degrees, so that it descended to the village from the south. This somewhat confused me, because on the ground cycling, I wasn't aware of the direction shift, while the sun was directly overhead. But I thought it strange to see a sign at the junction into town point for the way onwards in much the same direction I'd come. Meanwhile, I'd lain down and slept early long before the waning sun, so was surprised to see the sun rise from behind the village rather than from across the lake in front. Which partly explained the circular approach and the continuation of the road south in much the same direction.

This meant I was in the shade. The trees on the lake shore blocked out the morning sunshine from my campsite, so for the time being I packed up and relocated to the village waterfront to breakfast in the sunshine, while locals opened up for business.

I got going at 9, gradually uphill with the lake having narrowed into the Rio Baker below on the right. The surface gravel at the start, but then came a section of rough tarmac before reverting back to gravel.

I was relieved to have reached the confuence of the Rio Baker and Rio Neff, for nothing else than a diversion from cycling to a walking-trail descending through dwarf Lenga to the river and view the creamy grey water of the smaller Neff river flow into the turquoise Baker river with a great rapids immediately upstream. After standing and looking in awe and waiting while other tourists took photos to take my own, I return up to the roadside layby where I boil water for mate in the shade of a bus-shelter, while I set the phone with solar charger up and while it was now around noon, I finished off a packet of oaty biscuits to make this stop do as a lunch break.

I remain there an hour and while packing up to leave, another cyclist came along, heading south too; a young fellow from England called Yared, riding an old Pinacle gravel bike which he said belonged to his father. We would spend the rest of the day catching each other up.

There was one further stop mid-afternoon, above the confluence of the Rio Chacabuco with its turn off road east for Paso Roballos to Argentina. At the viewpoint the text on the interpetation board with photos explained how the Chacabuco has been a major east-west transite route for wildlife and people for thousands of years.

People native to the area circa 1890. Note pet guanaco

European immigrant farm workers circa 1930

Yared remained longer at the Chacabuco confluence viewpoint while I pressed on and although I saw him later when I glanced behind, I lost him again on a steep incline. The road which had been a rudimentry strip of rough tarmac reverted back to gravel once again as ongoing road improvements took place, though rollers and diggers sat parked to the side it being a Sunday.

There was a steep descent on loose gravel to Cochrane and then on the final few kilometres to town began a fully paved concrete road with a town bypass continuing south.

I felt famished riding off into town and remembering a restuarant from when I was here a few years ago, went to it, where I'd barely made it before they closed at the end of lunchtime. Inside were a bustour group from Brazel sat along a long table made of small tables pushed together finished off their lunch. The waitress said I was too late; it had gone 16.30; but the manager reneged and let me take a seat. Lunch was a set menu, with a soup starter and roast lamb, with a creamy something for desert, washed down by a half litre of beer.

Afterwards I went to a garden campsite a block from the plaza where I paid for two nights. Yared is already here. Later, another cyclist turned up: Quentin from France with 18 months on the road cycling from Alaska.

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