The final leg
Legendary adventurer Gerry Mulligan completes his epic tour of South America
LEAVING my friend Duncan in Cuzco for his flight home, I headed across the Andes again to Arequipa, with blizzard conditions and -5 deg C. The next day and only 100 km away the sun was shining and it was +27 C. I had two days to wait for my next co-driver, Mark Wilkins. With time to spare, I renewed the leaking swivel ball seals and sorted out the things that had been shaken apart in the rough crossing of the canyons in Peru. I noticed a small oil leak from the input to the oil filter from the oil cooler and nipped-up the connection thinking “I should keep an eye on that” and cleaned up for Marks arrival. We set off into Chile and headed for the small coastal resort of Tacna. Unfortunately, it was out of season, and all the camping options were closed or abandoned. Worse, groups of young men were hanging around in cars, eyeing us up, so Mark’s first night of camping was in front of the local police station.
We headed up into the mountains to cross into Bolivia, keen to get to the salt flats, heading inland 250 km and up 3000 m to Putre – a lovely little sleepy village with a couple of restaurants, so we parked up just as the sun was falling. I noticed with horror a large pool of oil under the engine. My attempt to repair the leak by replacing the rubber seal ring had not worked. A quick check showed the engine had used about a litre of oil, and we had only three spare litres left.
The nearest garages were in Arica, 140 km away. Engine oil wasn’t sold anywhere nearby. It was getting dark, so we waited until morning to attempt to seal the leaking joint with the addition of some PTFE tape. Once the tape was applied I tightened up the joint, only to feel a sense of dread as the nut spun too easily in the socket; the flange had broken in two.
We had an internet connection, so Mark searched for a recovery truck from Arica, which took three hours to get to us. We got the truck loaded and headed down the steep road to the coast, with garage owner Armando at the wheel. His garage was a dirt-floored lean-to, surrounded by cars in various states of disrepair, but there were some parts shops around, which gave me confidence. We agreed that I would
strip the flange and the oil pipes out of the truck, as I knew it well, and Armando would see what could be done with the leak.
Armando went to an auto supply shop and started to go through their supply of big steel nuts. Eventually, he found one which did not quite fit over the broken flange, and another that fitted precisely on to the end of the oil input pipe nut. He took the flange to a machine shop, machined a thread onto the outside of the remaining flange to take the big nut, cut both nuts in half and welded them together to form an adaptor. Critically, the big nut was solid and fitted over the flange, giving it both a seal and muchneeded strength.
It took half a day to make the adaptor and half a day to fit it. The engine ran leak-free. I was so relieved I gave Armando a big hug; Nelson was on the road again!
Mark and I drove gently down the coast road for a day while we made sure the adaptor held. After two uneventful days, our confidence in the truck was re-established, and we headed to Bolivia. Once over the high pass border at Pisiga, we came to the edge of the first of the salt flats at Coipasa. It took us until 9.00 pm to get to Garci Mendoza, our launch point on the north of the Great Salar of Uyuni, and the last chance for fuel before setting out across the 100 km wide crystal white expanse of the salt lake.
Of all the sights on our trip, the Salar was the most spectacular. It’s a surreal feeling to drive at 60 km/ hr in a straight line for hours, knowing that beneath the salty crust is deep, soft mud. We spent a full day on the salt flat, but as dusk approached, we headed to the southern shore. The shore is the trickiest part; here water runs off the land and softens the salt.
Suddenly Nelson broke through the crust, but momentum carried us out of the hole and Mark quickly engaged the central diff as I fired up the compressor and engaged the rear locking diff – just in time, as we broke through again. Thankfully, the combination of the locking diffs maintained momentum and 15 minutes later we made it to the shore.
Next we tackled the Lagunas Route across the highest plains in Bolivia to get to the remote border with Chile at Hito Cajon. Although only 327 km long, it took us three days to cross the rough tracks at the highest altitude of the trip (4920 m). At night the whole water system of the Landy froze as temperatures dropped to -10 C.
At this altitude, there are few wild animals, but one bird that finds these conditions just perfect is the Flamingo. The lakes there were full of the orange birds in flocks of many thousands.
Finally, we made it down from the high plains, past the perfectly conical Juriques volcano, down to the desert town of San Pedro de Atacama. We then headed back up to the high plains for the crossing to Argentina at Paso de Jama.
Northern Argentina was a treat, with pretty mountain villages – and great steaks. Heading towards the mountain town of Cachi, the landscape changed entirely to green fields and winding roads through fertile hills.
This easy phase only lasted a day as our route through Cachi turned out to be a rough gravel track. Two days later we reached the town of Cafayate and were back on the main roads – smooth tar and mostly flat as we headed to Mendoza and finally Santiago for our flights home for Christmas.
Three days after a lovely family Christmas in Edinburgh, I was on my way back to Santiago with Lee, my wife. The trip started with a high climb from Santiago across the Andes Mendoza, before we headed into the mountains on the Argentinian side.
Our first proper off-road section was through the canyons south of San Rafel. Lee was driving for the first time and she soon got into the groove as lovely views opened up all around us. We explored the foothills of the Andes before heading
"Of all the sights on our trip, the Salar was the most spectacular. It's a surreal feeling to drive at 60 km/ hr in a straight line for hours, knowing beneath the salty crust is deep, soft mud"
into the mountains through the ski resort of Las Lenas. The road turned very rough through the remote and spectacular Valle Hermoso, which is ringed by magnificent peaks. Getting there was a three-hour low-ratio challenge, but the views and the sunset were fantastic.
After a few days in the mountains we headed for Paso Pehuenche, which leads to the National Park of the same name on the Chilean side. Here we took in two grand waterfalls, including a 300 ft high torrent. Later we made it to a warm sunset on a surf beach in Constitution.
The next day we headed south to the Lake District of Chile at Pucon before taking a seasonal track to cross back to Argentina. All went well up to the border post, but as we headed downhill, the trail turned to slippery mud. The back of the Landy started to slide sideways, but Lee had the presence of mind not to brake and just eased in power to pull us back straight.
Soon it was time to head back across the mountains to
Chile, to drive one of the great adventure roads in the world, the Carretera Austral. This 1240 km road runs from Puerto Montt to the village of O’higgins, weaving through remote Patagonian mountains, lakes and forests, with wild scenery at every turn.
We came across a small, secluded beach on the shore of Lago Yelcho, near Puerto Ramirez. With beautiful views across the lake to the snow-capped mountains and glaciers on the far side, this was probably the best wild camp I have found in all my years of travelling.
After a few days driving the Carretera Austral we reached the small town of Puyuhapi, where ominous tsunami warnings reminded us of the risk from earthquakes at the end of a long, narrow ford.
After visiting the hanging glaciers at Ventisquero, a rear wheel hit a small pothole and suddenly I found myself opposite-locking the steering. A rear radius arm had broken in two, meaning the rear axle was only secured by the radius arm on one side and the centre A-frame. We were too remote for any phone signal. Returning to Puyuhapi was our only chance of communications and potentially a garage. With straps used to attempt to secure the back axle, we set off very gently along the 24 km potholed road to the village, arriving two hours later. The small garage there did not have welding capability, so we negotiated recovery to the larger town of Coyhaique, 233 km away over mountain gravel roads.
We arranged a pick-up for the next afternoon, but the recovery truck had an accident on the way and didn’t arrive until 4.00 am the next day. One hour after we reached Coyhaique, the rod was rewelded, and we were on our way.
I was not super confident that the weld would hold on the rough roads, but I had ordered two spares to come out from the UK with my friend Tony Borill, two weeks later, so we just had to keep going.
Back on Carretera Austral, we continued to Puerto Guadal before turning to the border crossing at Chile Chico back into Argentina. We had been lucky enough to spend a day at a proper rodeo on the way, in the shadow of the spectacular Cerro Castillo mountain. Heading east we crossed over to Argentina for our trip down to Patagonia.
The three key sights in the south are Mount Fitzroy, the Moreno Glacier and Torres del Paine National Park – each great natural wonders and easy to drive between in a day.
On the way to the Torres, we stopped at the little town of Puerto Natales, where we met William and Camille, from Belgium, who were also driving a converted 300Tdi 110. They had been stuck there for two weeks, as their engine was overheating, but had just received a new water pump that William was going to have fitted the next day. I was uneasy
"It was time to drive one of the great adventure roads in the world, the Carretera Austral. This 1240 km road weaves through remote mountains, lakes and forests"
about the diagnosis, so we exchanged contact information, and I said I would help if the water pump did not work.
A day later, William contacted me: the new pump hadn’t solved the problem. I carried a spare head gasket, inlet manifold seal, water pump and Y tube, so we headed south on a rescue mission. Two days later William and Camille were again on the way. My long spares list had paid off once again.
Up in the mountains, the wind was fierce. That night, four camper vans were overturned as a big storm came through. Our truck was rocked, but stayed upright.
The next day we crossed the Magellan on a small car ferry from Punta Delgada to Tierra del Fuego and Ushuaia – or “el fin del Mundo” (the end of the world) as the locals call it.
In Ushuaia, Tony joined us, carrying two rear radius arms in his hand luggage to replace the welded rod. Tony and I said goodbye to Lee in Ushuaia and set off towards Carnival in Uruguay. We had chosen the carnival in the town of Encarnacion as it is well known for being very friendly, accessible and safe – for us better than the massive events in Rio de Janeiro and other big cities. The main challenge was that this was 4000 km away – longer if we took in the sights of Patagonia, which Tony was keen to do.
Route 3 up the east coast in Argentina is possibly the most
"We let the tyres down to half pressure and locked the central and rear diffs . After that, we used a combination of cursing, prayers, power and momentum to get through. My longest beach drive was logged at six hours and 200 km"
boring drive in the world: featureless, flat and devoid of trees. At about 2000 km it is a tough old slog in a Defender, but we did break the journey at some beautiful beach camps, and the Peninsula Valdes gave us exciting wildlife spotting of seals, parrots and penguins.
Finally, we reached warmer latitudes, and relaxed into a beach camping lifestyle as we made our way up to Encarnacion. The carnival celebration was as crazy as we expected; dancers and floats passed us from 9.00 pm to 3.00 am, and the good-natured crowd encouraged us to join in the non-stop dancing.
But our off-road adventure was not over, as we headed from Encarnacion to the mighty Iguazu falls and found ourselves on mud-covered jungle roads in sweltering heat. Eventually we came to the sunny Atlantic coast of Brazil, the second-last nation of our trip. We planned a few weeks beach-hopping before heading for Montevideo in Uruguay, where Nelson would be loaded into a container for the journey home.
However, we had one more 4WD adventure up our sleeve. In the south of Brazil, starting at Praia do Cassino, is a drivable beach, which our research said was 250 km long and is considered to be the longest beach in the world, so it had to be on our list.
Things started well: the sand was hard-packed and easy to drive. But after three hours we started to hit soft spots, so I engaged central diff lock and slowed down, as the soft spots merged into deep sand. We let the tyres down to half road pressure and locked the central and rear diffs. After that, we used a combination of cursing, prayers, power and momentum to get through. The axle air lockers saved the day. My longest beach drive ever was logged at six hours and 200 km!
In Montevideo the trip with Nelson was at an end and we stripped down the truck ready for shipping back to the UK. Tony took the ferry to Buenos Aries to meet up with friends, while I did the boring job of processing Nelson’s paperwork and customs clearance to get him safely loaded into the container home.
A few days later I headed to Buenos Aries myself, for some sightseeing. It was early March and I kept an eye on the news as the Covid-19 crisis unfolded. On my second day in the city, the government of Argentina announced a 30-day shutdown of all flights to and from Europe. I went straight to the airport and took the next British airways flight to the UK. Just 18 hours later I was sitting at home. Nelson eventually also made it back and is safely tucked away, with a two-page list of minor things needed before we hit the road again.