Rivers, Rapids and a Slice of Old Patagonia
26 – 29th December Boxing Day morning Our plan was simple: drive until something beautiful made us stop.
We left Chaitén the same way we had arrived — wrapped in rain. Low cloud pressed down over the hills, the volcano fading behind us as the road pulled us onward. The road hugged the coastline for a while before turning inland, climbing gently through thick green forest and along wide, glacier-fed rivers that opened into broad valleys. The landscape shifted with every bend.
Driving isn’t about distance for me; it’s about watching the land change — and the weather change with it.
By late afternoon we reached Lago Yelcho, a sweep of turquoise water framed by steep, forested mountains. Just past the small community of Villa Santa Lucía — half buried in the devastating 2017 landslide — we found a quiet track leading down to the lakeshore. It felt like the right place to end the day. We parked with the nose of the truck almost touching the pebbled beach, cooked dinner as the light faded, and fell asleep to the soft slap of water against the stones.
Futaleufú River
The next morning dawned clear and bright, the lake mirror-calm. After coffee we continued south along the gravel road toward Futaleufú, a name that has been on our radar since long before this trip began.
As we followed the Futaleufú River upstream, the landscape seemed to sharpen – higher peaks, deeper valleys, brighter water. We pulled over for a few hours beside a wide bend in the river, doing nothing more ambitious than soaking up the sun while Jaxon tried his luck with a fishing rod. He landed a small trout, quickly admired and released, and we sat watching the current slide past, scoping out the rapids we hoped to be running the next day.
That night we wild-camped right by the river, the kind of spot that reminds you why overlanding is such a gift. No campground, no fences, just rushing water and a sky full of stars.
Futaleufú itself sits tucked into a tight valley wrapped in jagged green peaks – a cluster of wooden houses, quiet streets and a pace of life that felt familiar to us. It reminded me of Pemberton thirty years ago: a small mountain town built around adventure, but not yet spoiled by it. Tourism is here, but gently. Life still clearly revolves around the river.
And what a river it is!
White Water Rafting Futaleufú
The Futaleufú is famous for a reason – a wild ribbon of crystal-clear, electric-blue water pouring down from the Andes, fed by glaciers and snowmelt. Icy cold, unbelievably powerful, and apparently loaded with trout.
We’d organized a day of rafting with a local company, and by mid-morning we were suited up and on the water. From the first rapid it was pure adrenaline – big waves, surging currents and moments of breath-holding excitement, all set against a backdrop so beautiful it was almost distracting. Forested cliffs, waterfalls tumbling in from side valleys, and that impossible turquoise colour all around us.
One of those days where you keep looking at each other in disbelief, thinking: we just do this?!
After the run we were invited to camp on the rafting company owner’s farm just outside town. Hot showers, a big communal pasta dinner, and views stretching up the valley in every direction – Patagonia hospitality at its best.
Before leaving the next morning we stopped by the river one more time. Jaxon cast a line into a deep green pool and this time his patience paid off – a solid Rainbow Trout, big enough to actually keep. Fresh fish for dinner, caught in one of the most beautiful valleys we’ve ever seen.
Reluctantly we packed up and headed back toward the Carretera Austral, but Futaleufú stayed with us. One of those rare places that still feels a little bit wild, a little bit untouched, and exactly the kind of place we hoped to find on this journey.
