Photography by Samantha Demangate
It’s rare to see blue skies all day in Chile’s Lake District. This portion of Patagonia belongs to the moniker ‘the roaring forties’ and it often lives up to it. On March 13, 2022, however, it was sunnier than Phoenix in June. We had just spent a week immersed in Chiloé Island and were now ready for our return trip to Santiago. For this stretch we set off to discover the less-visited towns along Chile’s wild and wave-rich southern coast. A place where surfing and environmental activism have developed together.
Playa Mar Brava, Carelmapu
A short drive West of Puerto Montt and the ferry terminal to Chiloé Island is the town of Carelmapu and its surf break Playa Mar Brava. We were well on our way after disembarking from the ferry when we encountered a funeral procession that stopped traffic. Groups of crying friends and family members walked beside the hearse towards the church down the road.
As the group passed, we slightly bowed our heads to acknowledge their grief. We then awkwardly started the car and continued on our way. Mar Brava is a long stretch of beach break with pine forests lining the shoreline. The sporadic off-season swell came in and formed long walls along the sandbanks. The locals were a hearty crew of talkative, surf-crazed longboarders. This is Patagonia’s most well-known surf break, yet it felt like a world away. Between the crowds, sunny skies, and warm water, this could have been the south of France.
Valdivia, Chile’s Beer Capital
After spending the early afternoon surfing and reading on the beach, we continued north for 3.5 hours to the city of Valdivia. We were here to work on a magazine story about the city’s craft beer scene. Valdivia sits within one of the densest forests on the continent, known as the Valdivian rainforest. Stretching from the Andes to the coast and covering almost 100,000 sq miles, this temperate rainforest is a hotspot for biodiversity. Even though the region prides itself on logging, almost a quarter of the forest is protected. These protections on both federal and private land are resulting in increases in ecotourism, a valuable asset for these rural communities to have.
Valdivia felt like a small Portland, before the waves of Californians and panhandling gutter punks settled in. Environmentalism, fishing, logging, and beer industry—our reason to be here—have always been at the core of the city’s identity. Among the breweries, sawmills, and cozy fireplaces are the ruins from the largest seismic event in modern history, the Valdivian Earthquake of 1960.
Encountering Tragedy on the Toltén River
In Valdivia, we had another incident with the vehicle. An oil leak busted and leaked onto our Airbnb host’s pavement. Immediately, we spent an hour scrubbing the surface with soap and water, which eventually took out the stain. Our host was a lovely local who treated us to fresh fruit and kept us company every day. Her sweetness permeated our stay here and set the tone for the rest of our travels.
After over five hours of waiting for a replacement car to arrive, we set off. During this leg of the trip, however, we encountered a horrible tragedy. Several miles ahead of us, a semi-truck carrying a heavy shipment of potatoes lost control and pushed through the concrete railing on the Toltén River bridge in the town of Pitrufquén. The truck fell dozens of meters to the river, scattering crates of potatoes on the shoreline and crashing violently into the shallow water. The tragedy backed up traffic for over six hours in an area with no other river crossings or exit ramps.
As we all waited motionless on the freeway, passengers got out and socialized. We met a family just trying to get home across the bridge. Once the police cleared the crates and recovered the wreckage, we waved to our new friends and slowly moved across. Fragments of concrete and potatoes covered the road. Then, like a ghostly apparition, the twisted frame of the fallen semi-truck on top of a large tow-truck passed us. The emergency workers—Carboneros (Chilean Police), firefighters, and other rescue workers—all stood in horror, watching it. We somberly reflected on the driver’s horrifying fate at the bottom of the river.
Temuco to Buchupureo
After pulling into a small hotel and spending the night in Temuco, we began our 6.5 hour journey to the region of Buchupureo. We arrived in the late afternoon at a quiet and panoramic homestay owned by an Argentine surfer, chef, and writer Gabriel Beilinson. In his book, Pasajero Improvisado (Improvised Passenger), Beilinson chronicles his lifelong dedication to surfing, traveling, music, and gastronomy. Staying with Beilinson and getting to know him and his family was incredible.
Early in the mornings, we drove to the nearby spot of Pullay. The swell had arrived and was detonating along the sandbank point. When we pulled up to the dirt parking lot, I giddily threw on my wetsuit and ran out to the sand. It was incredible. I paddled out between the rocks to the lineup like a hyperactive kid on recess who’s spent the entire morning in class. Positioning myself in the takeoff zone, managing the current, and greeting the locals were my priorities. After being patient and hooting people into waves, I slowly made my move on the set waves. For hours, the powerful southern ocean swell pushed onto the shallow sand and peeled down the bank. It was a goofy-footer’s dream.
We spent the following few days surfing, doing yoga, and hanging out with Beilinson and his other guest, a young surfer from Santa Cruz, by the fire. This stretch of Chile’s coast is beautiful and desolate. Far away from Wi-Fi and pavement, we were in the company of Chilean Huasos (cowboys) and crass fishermen. Every evening, the townspeople gathered in front of their houses for feasts and small get-togethers by the beach. Tiny patches of vegetables, vineyards, and papayas lined the streets in front of their homes.
In the morning, we said goodbye to our incredible hosts and left for Pichilemu. Construction plagued the usual route, so we diverted onto narrow un-paved back roads. Dusty and remote, the roads took us through remote villages, small vineyards, and orchards that looked like scenes from a postcard of rural California in the early 20th century.
One of the most exciting scenes we passed were the salt farms of Lo Valdivia. Salt production is one of the many Pre-Hispanic industries that are practiced in Chile. The industry still relies on indigenous traditions, such as timing the process according to the lunar cycle. Once the conditions become appropriate, the salty marshes are divided into plots and the salt water is sectioned off into pools. When the water evaporates from the intense sunlight, the Salineros (salt miners) sift through the brine to separate the salt crystals. Eventually, the Salineros pile the salt into tall mounds to be packaged for distribution.
Pichilemu, Chile’s Capital de Surf
Very few surf regions on earth can compare to Pichilemu. Its shining star, one of the greatest stadiums in surfing, is Punta de Lobos. Here, in front of two towering rock monuments, energy from the Southern Ocean marches along the point, detonating over submerged reefs and sandbanks. In this lineup, you’re surrounded by a healthy and diverse marine habitat that makes even the most seasoned water people feel small and instills respect. Like the surf spots Uluwatu and Pipeline, Punta de Lobos maintains a sacred energy that’s hard not to become absorbed in.
It’s impossible to talk about Punta de Lobos or Chilean surfing without mentioning Rámon Navarro. Big wave surfer, activist, and ambassador for Chilean surfing, Navarro grew up in Pichilemu. As the son of a fisherman, his life evolved around the sea and it wasn’t before long that surfing became his passion. His many contributions as an activist include saving his homeland of Punta de Lobos by campaigning and raising money to have it designated as a protected natural landmark. Finally, in 2017, from funds raised by several large corporations like Patagonia, Punta de Lobos has become one of the twelve World Surfing Reserves. Today, thanks to his incredible leadership and stewardship, locals from many other areas around Chile are pushing to preserve their land and sea for future generations.
Few experiences in my adult life compare to surfing Punta de Lobos. What captivates and challenges surfers first is the entrance. Getting there, they must follow a narrow trail that zigzags down a steep cliff. Once at the bottom, surfers have to tip-toe over slippery boulders until they get to the exposed reef. Giant patches of bull kelp sway in the surging water. Once a smaller surge hits, they must jump in and paddle across the small channel and climb onto the famous rocky outcrop that sticks out into the break. The take off zone is directly in front of you as you traverse the rock, its two towering buttes above, full of seabirds gazing down. Finally, surfers must time the incoming sets, run out to the keyhole and make a leap of faith into the water, paddling like hell to reach the lineup before being cleaned up by a set wave and having to do the whole thing all over again. Like the cave of Uluwatu or trail down to Rincon, this is one of surfing’s greatest rights of passages.
Once out in the lineup, I sat up staring at the horizon, smiling at the Chilean big-wave pioneers I recognize from my surf documentaries pass me by. To watch them surf at such a high level was enlightening. When my turn came, I paddled into some memorable waves that seemed to stretch to infinity. I loved having such a long and perfect canvas to dust off the cobwebs on my forehand (going left for resident Californian goofy footers like me is a treat). In the end, every long, perfect left and precarious rock dance to the entrance filled me with passion and excitement. I adore Punta de Lobos and am honored to have gotten to know it.
My sessions at Punta de Lobos and evenings spent in the town of Pichilemu were incredible. The community of Pichilemu thrives off of surf tourism and has for the last decade become ground zero for proactive environmental campaigns that strive to preserve Chile’s ecologically rich coastline. For me, a person enamored by the sea, witnessing so many people who live and breathe life in the sea, was inspiring. After 21 days, over 2000 kilometers, and three climate zones, we were ready to return to Santiago. Chile’s southern coastline, Central coast, and Patagonia made for the perfect road trip, a memory neither of us will forget.