Magical Ruta 40: the long and winding road
From Calafate north to Perito Moreno and Bariloche, the authorities have now paved the way for travellers on national route 40.
Ifirst saw what the late Federico Kirbus called the “Mágica
Ruta 40” in 1978, and my introduction was not auspicious. Hitching a lift from Chile with two German doctors I’d met on a ferry, I camped with them in the Chubut town of Río Mayo and then, as we dined at a local parri
lla, the house went silent as an Army officer entered. In those days, his body language said “I could pull out my pistol and shoot someone, and none of you would dare say a word.”
In the ensuing decades, I’ve gotten to know “La Cuarenta” in a more agree able fashion, driving nearly every paved and unpaved kilometre of it (except for the very highest segments in Salta province). Most of my travels, though, have been on the Patagonian portion between El Calafate (in the south) and Bariloche (at the north end). In the course of it all, it’s been gratifying to observe the changes – mostly but not always improvements – in that time.
Most often, I’ve driven the route from south to north, as summer becomes autumn, but it’s possible to do it in either direction during most of the year. It doesn’t have quite the same cachet as Chile’s roughly parallel Carretera Austral, which traverses rugged mountains and dense forests, but Argentina’s Patagonian steppe has its own appeal – including plenty of wildlife, most conspicuously guanacos and rheas. When I first drove it, in the summer of 1991, we saw only four other vehicles, in three days, between El Calafate and the town of Perito Moreno(not to be confused with the Perito Moreno glacier).
El Calafate, of course, is one of Argentina’s highest-profile destinations but, for our purposes here, it’s merely a place to fill the tank. That’s a recurring topic here because, though the road is light years better than it was in 1991, fuel availability is still limited. Carrying a 20-litre bidón is advisable, as stations sometimes run out and deliveries can be irregular.
In fact, El Calafate lies about 30km west of RN40,which heads north across the Río Bote and follows the eastern shore of Lago Argentino and the Río La Leona. About 80km beyond the junction, the Parador La Leona is a renovated roadhouse that’s become an obligatory stop for buses between Calafate and the “trekking capital” of El Chaltén. Dating from 1894, Le Leona has gentrified since its acquisition by the Kargauer family of Buenos Aires, whose cinema connections even brought a visit by Francis Ford Coppola. I usually grab a factura, but there are also respectable accommodations – though cyclists and transient tourists are now the clientele, rather than
gauchos and sheep ranchers. Along the shores of Lago Viedma, another 20km north is the turn-off to El Chaltén, but that’s more than an hour away to refill the tank. Fortunately, it’s just 34km more to the enigmatic Tres Lagos, a town with fuel but no lake within at least 30km. Not much to see here, but the YPF station serves delicious lamb em
panadas and there’s a fine municipal campground.
To the north, it’s another 100km or so, over rolling steppe where work continues on paving the road, to Lago Cardiel and the oddball Estancia La Siberia, another roadside attraction where long-distance buses – which operate daily in the summertime – often make a pit stop. There are simple accommodations here, and fishing at the lake. DECISION TIME
About 30km to the north, there’s a decision to be made. When the Kirchner administration decided to pave the entirety of RN 40, they chose to reroute the highway east to the town of Gobernador Gregores, but that doubled the distance of the former route – now Ruta Provincial 29 – whose 67km of (usually passable) gravel still provide a glimpse of what nearly the entire route used to be like. Gregores, though, offers the only fuel until the hamlet of Bajo Caracoles, more than 200km farther north.
Personally, I prefer the shortcut, but the paved option to Gregores – which also has accommodations, restaurants and other services – doesn’t add that much in time. It also features a memorial to victims of the 1921 military massacre recalled in Osvaldo Bayer’s novel Los Vengadores de la Patagonia Trágica and depicted in Héctor Olivera’s subsequent film La Patagonia Rebelde. At the northern junction of the gravel road and the paved highway, it’s also only about 30km to Hotel Las Horquetas, another rehabbed roadhouse that’s not quite at the level of La Leona, but definitely worth consideration. Farther up the road, though, there’s a recommended turn-off to Parque Nacional Perito Moreno (again, not the Moreno Glacier). Here, one summer night in 1990, we were the only visitors in the entire Andean park, camping on the shores of Lago Burmeister, surrounded by a herd of
guanacos. Its Cerro León is a magnificent site for condor-watching, and there’s accommodations and camping at Estancia La Oriental. Ideally, this would be a two-night detour. GATEWAY
From the turn-off, it’s another 101km to Bajo Caracoles on a stretch where, in 1990,we lost first and fourth gears on my father-inlaw’s aging Peugeot 404 truck, which we weren’t able to repair until Bariloche. Bajo Caracoles is notable for its namesake hotel – another classic roadhouse with a handsome façade of stone blocks – and a service station where the fuel often runs out. The accommodations are decent, and there’s also a small grocery within.
Bajo Caracoles is also, however, the main gateway to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Cueva de las Manos, 50 km northeast by the gravelled Ruta Provincial 101. This is a must-see detour for the colourful pre-Columbian images in rocky overhangs – they’re not really “caves” – above the Río de las Pinturas canyon. It’s not just hands, as there are also stick figures (analogous to Kokopelli of the southwestern United States), and fauna, most notably guanacos.
Another option for visiting the site is the former Estancia Cueva de las Manos, about 60km north of Bajo Caracoles. Recently acquired by the Fundación Flora y Fauna Argentina, it’s due to reopen as a refugio, and offers access to a trail that descends the canyon, crosses the river on a small suspension bridge, and then climbs to the rock art sites (this, of course, also requires hiking back up the trail, but it’s a moderate excursion for anyone in decent shape).
Bajo Caracoles is the main gateway to the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Cueva de las Manos, 50 km northeast by Ruta Provincial 101. This is a must-see detour for the colourful preColumbian images in rocky overhangs.
IN THE SHADOW
Another 70km north, the town of Perito Moreno has long lived in the shadow of its lakeside resort neighbour of Los Antiguos, but highway improvements and other developments have begun to highlightitsplaceonthemap.The Museo de Arqueología Carlos Gradín, which opened in December, marks Perito as the northern gateway to Cueva de las Manos, and the 1920s Salón Iturrioz, a classic brick building recycled into a retro-style café just across the road, provides an historic hint of gentrification. The Kaikén Lodge – one of the best options along the entire route, operated by the former owners of a nearby
estancia – suggests how some former ranchers have adapted to the changes.
Not that long ago, the spineshattering washboard north to my notorious Río Mayo was one of the highway’s worst segments anywhere, but now it’s smoothly paved and the town itself is more inviting. The summer highlight is January’s Festival Nacional de Esquila, the sheep-shearing festival, but what most amuses me is the public service cooperative’s conspicuous commitment to providing water, electricity, telephone, Internet – and funeral services – to local residents.
Beyond Río Mayo, you’re soon back on the conventional tourist trail, passing through Esquel, El Bolsón and finally Bariloche (It’s worth adding that now, as then, there is almost no mobile phone coverage on most of the route to this point, so if you’re looking to disconnect, this is an ideal road trip). Still, I’m old enough to recall that, in 1991, that first stretch of road beyond El Bolsón consisted of stones the size of my fist. Somehow, though, we reached Bariloche and found a mechanic to restore our first and fourth gears – a fortunate denouement to a road trip that’s infinitely easier today.