Pat’Alaska, Part 2: Punta Arenas - Torres del Paine - El Calafate
Can you spot Ilse? Riding into Torres del Paine between granite giants is definitely a sight etched into our memories…
We started our bikepacking journey in Ushuaia and have traveled the island of Tierra del Fuego via the “Fin Del Mundo” route. Now, we are in the heart of Patagonia and continue our way up North…
Thanks for reading along! You can support our journey by becoming a Patreon member and access live updates, stories and early video-releases — and maybe even a postcard from our next destination. Cheers!
Rest, Repairs and Recharging for the Road ahead
We finally left the island of Tierra del Fuego behind. We’re on the mainland of South-America now!
We spend a week in Punta Arenas— editing our first trip video, showering, and eating lots of food. We stay in the cosy apartment of hosts Roxana and José, a lovely Chilean couple who takes excellent care of us. The hospitality and kindness we have received so far is incredible...
In between editing, we make some phone calls to family and friends, visit Margoni Bikes to get new chains and cassettes for our Surly bicycles, format our camera’s memory cards and eventually set off again on Highway 9, heading north!
Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales: Battling the elements
Our first day out of town is a short one. Since there aren’t many good camping spots along the busy highway, we camp at Parque Chabunco, a public camping area overlooking the Strait of Magellan. We sleep for at least 10 hours that night—who would've thought town stays could be so exhausting? 🙂
The stretch from Punta Arenas to Puerto Natales is relatively short (about 230 kilometers), but we manage to stretch it over 4 long, tiring days. The fierce winds slow us down significantly, and in the process, we've learned to stop fighting them. Instead, we - rather ungracefully - lean into them and try to follow their rhythm… That means, pedaling slowly and wobbly on the shoulder of the highway. Both Ryan and I overcome the worst parts of the day with some good music or an interesting podcast.
Slow-going on Highway 9, accompanied by a motorcyclist.
Highway 9 offers little shelter, but we get lucky every now and then! Along the way, there are a few places of refuge (mainly bus stops) where weary travelers can escape the weather for a while. Even though some of the windows are broken in the bus stops, it does the job!
Left: A tribute for the wind. / Middle: A bus stop, and a true lifesaver from time to time. / Right: Ruta 9
On the second day, fierce wind gusts force us to go into hiding twice: First in a hostel under construction, where the kind owner lets us eat lunch inside. Secondly, in an unlocked refugio, where we watch wildlife through the window before falling into a sound sleep.
Left: A free refugio next to the highway. / Right: Watching a skunk - from a safe distance - dance around the refugio
The last morning, we race to Villa Tehuelches for a feast of coffee and muffins, which fuels us for the rest of our journey to Puerto Natales.
Puerto Natales: Gateway to Torres del Paine
We stay three days in Puerto Natales, enjoying late-night walks under a half-full moon along the bay and meeting fellow bike-packers at the hostel downtown. The city is small and charming, although obviously catered to tourists. Nonetheless, we feel at home straightaway!
Quote by author Isra Al-Thibeh.
We decide to splurge and treat ourselves to a gin cocktail at Last Hope Distillery— the southernmost distillery in the world! We simply could not let that opportunity go by, right? :)
Not that Ryan and I are gin connoisseurs - if anything, we like beer best - but we make an exception every now and then. We drink two fizzy, pink gin cocktails that earn our wholehearted stamp of approval!
Bottom left: Eyes closed = sign of approval! / Top right: Sign of the city and statue of the mysterious Mylodon.
Before leaving town, we stock up on noodles and couscous as our main food supply in Torres Del Paine National Park. We heard so many stories of travellers and locals, and can’t wait to lay eyes on the park ourselves. Feeling both intrigued and intimidated by the online camping permit system (via different companies) and rather complex logistics, we aren’t quite sure what to do… Most travelers seem to have booked permits weeks or months beforehand, and arranging things last-minute isn’t very ideal. In the end, we just decide to plan nothing and see what happens! Plans usually change anyway.
One day at a time, one moment at a time, one step at a time, … Words to live by :)
For the first time since we left Ushuaia behind, we’re back in the mountains! It feels like a gift, after the rough start we’ve had, to be surrounded again by snowy peaks and green hills. With stunning views left and right, we cycle past the Cueva del Milodón, a large cave where remnants of the extinct Mylodon were found (see photo with the “Puerto Natales” sign). We meet more and more fellow bikepackers, flying by on their way south. So far, we have only met one other person cycling north. Most cyclists are either French, German or Spanish. I have heard rumors of a Flemish cyclist, but have yet to run into him or her :)
We bike downhill the incredibly scenic route beside Lago del Toro and set up camp right before the park boundary at Rio Serrano— a great river for fishing. Villa Serrano is a teeny-tiny, touristy hotspot that borders the park and caters to many tourists. We pass by expensive lodges and hotels, but since our budget doesn’t allow this, we camp in the town’s backyard - for free! And we’re not the only ones here…
Ryan photographing fluffy baby geese and their proud, watchful parents.
Late night drone shot of Villa Serrano. We were camped right by the river Serrano.
Exploring Torres del Paine by bike
The following morning, we venture excitedly into the park and stop at the entrance station - there’s nothing quite like proper bathrooms with toilet paper and soap after days of digging holes in the ground! We pay the entrance fee - $32 per person, yikes - and head off towards the famous mountains, the Torres and Cuernos family.
Riding the gravel road into the park and feeling mighty small in a place of granite giants…
Stopping at almost every corner to gawk, it’s clear that we need some time to take in the beauty of this place and squander around. In other words: Time for a day off! We spend two nights at Lago Péhoe campground ($36 per night for two) and wander around by bike and on foot. It feels good to be a tourist sometimes and take some time off the bike.
Early-morning sunrise shot, with the towers bathing in a pink backdrop.
The park is actually relatively small with just one or two roads, currently under construction. It’s a lot of fun exploring the park on bikes— we have the freedom to stop and explore without parking hassles… though we do need to watch out for tourist buses and construction trucks sharing the road. Most vehicles, however, drive carefully and give us plenty of space. One bus even pulls over and give us two chocolate bars - trail magic at its finest! We spot condors soaring in the wind and take in views of aquamarine lakes and glaciers from afar.
Cycling Through Patagonias Fierce Winds: Embrace the Unexpected
When the weather turns sour, we leave the park on the Y-156. This road is technically still under construction, but the park ranger ("guardaparque") assures us it is safe and allows us to pass through the road blocks. The construction workers kindly escort us all the way to Lago Sarmiento, where the road turns 90 degrees and we suddenly face brutal sidewinds coming from the west. With gusts up to 70 km/h, it feels like a massive fan is blowing us sideways! Forced off our bikes, we take shelter in a shack and crawl into our sleeping bags, desperately trying to stay warm in the windstorm.
Left: “Where does all that rain come from?” / Right: Home for the night.
Cyclists, or tourist attraction?
Every 15 minutes, tourist buses pull over, with 10 to 20 people hopping out to photograph Lago Sarmiento— and us! The past few weeks, we were often asked for a photo by both locals and travelers, but now we experience one camera flash after the other. We wonder: How many random photo albums will we end up in? :)
The relentless wind whistles on, leaving us no choice but to spend the night in the shelter. Our tent barely fits, and even though the creaking roof keeps us awake most of the night, at least we’re safe!
We see why so many buses make a pitstop: The view of Lago Sarmiento is magnificent.
The following day, we hurry out of our sleeping bags, eager to be on the move again. The wind, though still fierce, has eased significantly. On our way to Cerro Castillo (a small ‘pueblo’ bordering with Argentina), we motivate ourselves by talking about podcasts we’ve listened to, particularly an interview with “Mistborn” author Brandon Sanderson. Ryan is currently reading the books, and I put them on my to-read list.
We raid the minimarket in Cerro Castillo and fuel up on sandwiches with bell pepper and zucchini omelets. After lunch, it’s time to bid Chile farewell and cross into Argentina via Paso Rio Don Guillermo. We meet an Australian motorcyclist and we share some tales of the road. That evening, we ride with a tailwind, making our riding surprisingly easy… So this is what it feels like to ride a bike properly? What a feeling… 😊
Back in Argentina on the Ruta Cuerenta
After riding many miles on Ruta Cuarenta (R40) without seeing a single soul or shelter—except for one French bikepacker and a few cars—, we arrive at a crossroads around 8 PM. There's an abandoned gas station, a random police station, and an AVGP station. The attendant in the latter offers us a container with two mattresses for the night, for $10,000 (roughly €10). We gratefully accept and settle into the old container, sheltered from the howling winds. We cook inside and fall asleep shortly after dinner.
The final 100 kilometers on the way to El Calafate are mellow and peaceful, with long stretches of gravel and concrete riding, plus tailwinds propelling us forward. Here, we encounter several bikepackers heading north to south—including a very brave couple on a tandem (!!) and a Welsh cyclist who has ridden all the way from Alaska (hats off to both). We stop at an abandoned police station for a leftover lunch of slightly shriveled sandwiches with sticky cheese and dulce de leche. The walls are covered with messages from travelers over the years, and it's pretty magical to read all the names and quotes from people around the world. (See photo above)
A never-ending sea of yellow. The repetitiveness of the pampa is slightly boring, but can be meditative at times.
A magical night before El Calafate…
Our last night before reaching El Calafate is one of our favourite moments of the trip so far… We camp next to the road, but far enough to be out of sight. After pushing our bikes up the hill, the evening light turns orange and pink. In the distance, the peak of Mount Fitz Roy, or Mount Chaltén, and its brothers and sisters grace the skyline . Not long before we crawl in our sleeping bags, the moon slowly rises from the hill beneath the tent. We bathe in the moonlight and realize once more that the best things in life are free…
So, what’s next?
A new chapter, a new struggle: Ryan has discovered some serious cracks around his tire's spokes, so our priority is getting his bike back in shape before visiting the glacier of Perito Moreno, the iconic towns of El Chaltén and Villa O'Higgins, and ride the beloved Carretera Austral ... To be continued!
Thanks for reading and following along! You can support our journey by becoming a Patreon member and get access to live updates and early video-releases — maybe even receive a postcard from our next destination :) Cheers!
Pat’Alaska, Part 1: “Fin Del Mundo” — Bikepacking at the End of the World
We’re cycling from Patagonia to Alaska! We leave from Ushuaia, where we start the ‘Fin Del Mundo’ bikepacking route and finish in Punta Arenas.
Thanks for reading along! You can support our journey by watching this episode on Youtube and becoming a Patreon member for live updates, stories and early video-releases. Cheers!
Statistics:
Length: 628 km
Avg. Speed: 12 km or 7.5 mi/hr
Days: 13 (from south to north)
Resupply Points: Tolhuin, Pampa Guanaco, Cameron
Start: Ushuaia (Argentina)
End: Punta Arenas (Chile)
Inspiration: Bikepacking.com
Bikepacking the Fin Del Mundo
We have successfully finished our bikepacking trip from Ushuaia, Argentina to Punta Arenas in Chile! In two weeks time, we crossed the Tierra Del Fuego, at the very southern tip of South America. This is about the closest you can get to Antarctica - and it shows! The land is rugged, windswept and even has some penguin colonies. History looms around every corner - from the Strait of Magellan (named after the European sailor in 1520 who discovered the archipelago), the Beagle Channel (not the cute dogs, but the surveying ship with Charles Darwin) and the Drake Passage (not the Canadian rapper, but Sir Francis Drake who accidentally ended up in these frigid waters).
Ushuaia (population: 82,615) is an interesting town, and has a few decent camping and cycling stores. Beware, though: There is no wide selection of products due to import restrictions, so try to bring all your gear with you and, if possible, not lose your luggage during the flight - LOL 🙂
Celebrating the beginning of our journey at the famous ‘Ushuaia’ sign!
Leaving Ushuaia behind
On the 8th of January, our bikepacking trek begins! With bags loaded with food and over 6 liters of water each, we set out on the official route. Leaving the streets of Ushuaia behind, we turn onto a gravel coast road that hugs the shoreline. It doesn’t take long before the narrow forest trail forces us off our bikes… Here comes the hike-a-bike!
We push our heavily-loaded bikes up and down grassy paths, meeting hikers and mountainbikers along the way. At one point, we cross farmlands and carefully hoist our bikes over the fence of an estancia (cattle ranch). The first river crossing - over Rio Encajonado - marks the point where the crowds disappear, leaving us to our own senses.
The perfect camp spot for spotting cruise ships and whales.
On a small hill overlooking the Beagle Channel, with Ushuaia fading in the distance, we set up camp. It’s late, but the summer sun lingers here - reminding us of the Swedish midsummer nights on the Kungsleden - and the winds slow down completely. Ryan excitedly roams around the campsite with his camera, while I settle into a detective novel (the Ruth Galloway-series, I’m a huge fan!) and soon sink into a deep sleep.
The Horrible Hike-A-Bike Continues
The sun fills the tent as we open our eyes and hear the birds’ orchestra. It’s 10 a.m. - clearly, we needed the rest. After two morning coffees and a handful of granola, we pack up and push our bikes up-and-downhill. Hand-to-heart, beginning the route like this is really challenging. Carrying our 40+ kilo bikes, we navigate fallen tree trunks, overgrown trails, and muddy slopes. Bloodied and dirty, we rely on teamwork to get us through the morning. I distract myself with a podcast to stay focused, while Ryan guides our bikes around obstacles when my energy falters.
Two of my favorite things to do: Snacking and resting.
A few hours later, we emerge from the forest, feeling like Indiana Jones! We follow the coastline, walking across a pebble beach before reaching another river crossing. On the far side, we stumble upon an abandoned farm, and dreams of an “off-grid, homestead life” pop up in our minds. For the first time that day, we climb back on our bikes - thank the stars!
Pedaling at last, with a mountain range on the left and the sea stretching out to our right, we ride through flowery fields as the evening falls. We are in a military zone now, but luckily for us, there is no troop or division to be seen. Today’s challenges are slowly disappearing from our minds as we set up our tent near the shoreline and watch the sky darken.
Seaside Treasures and Angry Dog Encounters
Left: The island is home to many crested caracaras, always on the lookout.
Right: The scenic Highway 3, that the route manages to escape most days.
The following day, the gravel road winds through soft and undulating terrain. We ride past small fisher villages and seafood restaurants. Even under a light drizzle, the ride is pleasant and easygoing… That is, until we approach Ruta Tres (Highway 3). Out of nowhere, a pack of aggressive dogs -four, maybe five- comes charging at Ryan. The alpha dog blocks his path, teeth bared, and refuses to let him through. We shout and clap our hands, but eventually, we have no other choice but to grab rocks and throw them in their direction to ensure our safe passage.
Encounters like these can be kinda nerve-wracking. Aggressive behavior of dogs is one of our biggest fears of life on the road—if you have tips or tricks for dealing with them, we’d love to hear them in the comments below!
Fueling up with food: Resupply in Tolhuin
Eventually, gravel turns into concrete and we grind our way up the pass, riding along the shoulder of the Pan-American Highway. It’s really raining now and the Patagonian winds threaten to blow us off our bikes. Soaked and shivering, we seek refuge in a small local restaurant. To our surprise, the place is filled with live music and they serve best empanadas on earth - lucky us! Strengthened once more by hot food and green tea, we press on towards Tolhuin, where we end up staying the night in a tipi, sheltered from the howling winds.
Tolhuin is mostly known for its legendary bakery, Panaderia La Union, and their incredible baked goodies and sweets. The owner offers touring cyclists a place to sleep in the basement-for free! It’s a simple kindness, but one that means the world to those of us on the road. :)
Left: Ryan, resting in the hand of a giant. / Right: The wooden welcome sign of Tolhuin.
Thousand hues of yellow on the Pampa
The section beyond Tolhuin takes us inland, through vast grasslands painted in endless shades of yellow and brown. The native plants, as tough as their windswept environment, make it hard to sit or lie down without some buffer or protection.
Out here, we feel worlds away from the Pan-American Highway - and civilization itself. Over the coming days, we’ll encounter native birds species, wild horses and guanaco families, but we’ll rarely see another soul. Most buildings we pass are empty and abandoned, like the haunting hotel at Lago Yehuin. It must have been quite the sight in its glory days, decades ago.
The only constant sign of human presence are the never-ending fencelines, where death is omnipresent… Life on the pampas can be ruthless, both for humans and animals. We get used to the company of guanacos: Shy and quirky-looking members of the camel family with gangly legs and curious minds. They kind of look like they were drawn by a child, a strange mix of llama, horse and camel.
Ears up, tail down: Guanacos rule the world in Tierra del Fuego.
Worries about Finding Good Water
Finding potable water is an issue that has us worried, since the airline lost our brand-new water filter *sobs*. Natural waterr sources are scarse on Tierra Del Fuego, and the few we do encounter are likely contaminated. That’s why we’re especially grateful for the occasional estancias we come across. Every day or two, we stop by and ask a farming family to fill our water bottles, and they kindly do so. We try to carry each more than 6 liter with us at all times. That usually lasts us for about 2 days.
We’re making good progress… until we’re not! With gusts of 85 km or 53 miles/hr, we barely manage to stay steady on our bicycles. Our daily distance drops to a mere 40 kilometers or 25 miles. On the barren plains and grasslands of Tierra Del Fuego, there is no place to escape these winds.
At night, we take refuge wherever we can— animal shelters, tree coverage, bridges, anything that offers some form of protection. When the winds get too strong, there’s not much else to do but hunker down in our brand-new tent and hope for the weather to calm down.
Waiting out the worst of the wind.
Seeking refuge in shelters and abandoned places.
Love Knows no Boundaries
Along the route, we encounter some trail angels— that’s what we call people who help travelers, hikers and bikers in any way. One of them is Nestor, a retired navy officer, who drives us to the Argentinian border post with Chile. We’re forever grateful for him, helping us escape the worst of the storm!
Yippee — we made it to Chile!
The customs officers are equally kind, welcoming us and even offering the use of their shower! After cleaning up and getting our passports stamped, we ride into Chile — country number two!!
We stay our first night in Chile in Pampa Guanaco (wonder where they got the name from…) in one of the free wooden shelters in town. Staying up late, we lose ourselves in books and maps, savoring the day. It’s our first night sleeping on Chilean soil, and it feels special — like the start of a new chapter.
The next morning greets us, however, with another grueling day of headwinds - and I mean, serious headwinds - but as we near the final stretch of the Fin Del Mundo route, the winds shift in our favor. Blessed with a strong tailwind, we’re blown straight into Cameron, a picturesque seaside community with a campground and general store.
Riding down from the road, the quaint village of Cameron appears.
The last 150 kilometers of the route brings us closer to society: we see more people in this stretch than we’ve seen the entire trip so far!
Meeting people along the way is part of the magic.
That’s how we meet our van-life friends, Ivo On Tour, a fun and energetic German couple traveling in a converted firefighter truck.
And on the final night of the route, we camp at another abandoned shelter and share the space with three fellow bikepackers — one from France, another from Belgium/Canada and the third from the UK.
Exchanging stories with other travelers, we get a glimpse of what lies ahead: the towering peaks of Torres Del Paine and the beauty of the Carratera Austral and Bariloche. Listening to their tales, we dream of the surprises that Argentina and Chile still have in store for us…
Bikepackers unite at shelters, seeking some refuge from the wind.
Our final day is the longest one yet. The thought of a comfy bed and warm shower keeps us going as we push towards Porvenir. In 7 hours and 100 kilometers, we make our way over a mix of concrete and gravel roads, helped along by tailwinds.
From Porvenir, we catch the daily ferry to mainland Chile. We pay $9.000 Chilean pesos per person for the ferry trip - bicycles travel for free - and we arrive safe and sound in Punta Arenas.
The first leg of our Pat’Alaska journey is officially over! We look back on these early weeks with happy hearts and hungry stomachs :)
As we rest and refuel, we’re busy wrapping up a Youtube video about the route and mapping out the next stage: a mostly off-road route to and through Torres Del Paine, eventually connecting to the famous Carretera Austral… To be continued!
Thanks for reading and following along! You can support our journey by becoming a Patreon member and get access to live updates, stories and early video-releases — and maybe even a postcard from our next destination :) Cheers!
Pat’Alaska: The Beginning of our Bikepacking Journey
The beginning of our bikepacking trip from Patagonia to Alaska.
Whilst living in Belgium, Ryan and I often wondered what our next adventure would look like. After hiking the Great Divide Trail and the Pacific Crest Trail (which we still need to finish one day!), we found ourselves dreaming of a trip that would allow us to spend lots of time in nature once more. After both studying and working for two years (Ryan as a greenkeeper in a golf course, myself as an English teacher), the urge to travel was burning. We decided to buy two Surly Ogre bicycles, and that’s how an old dream of Ryans reemerged …
He told me about the Pan-American highway throughout North-, Central- and South-America, the lakes and beaches, Spanish language and camaraderie, the hospitality and remote parks. We scoured the map of the Americas and traced trails, off-road tracks and natural phenomena. The dream grew bigger … What if we followed into the footsteps - or pedals - of many cyclists before us and traveled the Americas by bike?
It’s hard to say where to begin or to end, how far we will get, how long we will last … So we decided to begin in Ushuaia, the name of our favourite shampoo and as well the southernmost city in the world. From there on, we would cycle our way up north. Let’s see how far we can get… Alaska, maybe? It is an absolute dream destination for the both of us. If we would have started there, I’m not certain we would have been able to leave the state of Alaska at all…
The past few weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster. Saying goodbye to colleagues, friends and family, getting the bikes ready, plus moving out of our beloved apartment in the Christmas holidays … it was a lot to deal with. We were grateful to be able to spend the last few days of the year at my parents’ house before we left. On the last day of the year, we waved our last goodbyes as we stepped on the train with two heavy bike boxes. The doors of the train shut and the realization dawned upon me: We’re on our own now. Tears streamed down my face as I felt the pain of leaving my friends and parents behind in Bruges… The landscape passed us by the window and we silently said goodbye to our safe haven, to my homelands, to Belgium.
Three days and three flights later, we set foot in windy Ushuaia… without bikes or checked bag. That’s right, we started off the new year with a big bang! The bikes eventually found their way back to us, but the checked bag got lost along the way. That bag contained our beloved Big Agnes tent, Ryan’s sleeping pad, clothes, 1 Ortlieb pannier, lots of bike gear etcetera - in total at least 1500 euros worth of gear and hours of preparation beforehand. Our worlds were turned upside down just as we landed on the other side of the world…
It soon became clear that the lost bag would not return to us that easily, since the Air Tag inside it shows its location in a small city in France… Très bizarre! On top of that, Ryan lost his AirPods and I broke my sunglasses. Bad things happen in threes, right?
It feels like we’re being tested, both emotionally and financially, but we carry on and make the necessary phone calls. Since waiting on our bag is - most likely - pointless, we roam the outdoor shops and bike stores of Ushuaia in search of new gear. Eventually, we find replacements that may not be the lightest or most suitable, but it will work! Once more, we realize how spoiled we are, to have easy access to almost anything.
On January 7th, it’s time to hit the road! We start our journey just outside of Ushuaia in Tierra Del Fuego National Park to spend our first night out camping and begin our northbound journey. The infamous inflation in Argentina also finds its way to the national park system (from 12.000 pesos in 2023 to 40.000 pesos in 2025 - roughly around 35 euros per person), but because of the symbolism as the start of our journey, we simply cannot pass this opportunity. We cycle all the way to the end of the world… and so it begins :)
Great Divide Trail Thruhike | Section A - Trail Report
The Great Divide Trail - Section A: Trail Report
A Rocky Mountains Timelapse
Start: Monument at the Canada/U.S. border in Waterton Lakes National Park, AB
End: Coleman, AB
Distance: ~150 km / 91 miles
Elevation Gain: ~ 5.600 m / 18.370 ft
Alternates: Rowe Alternate, Barnaby Alternate, Lynx Creek Alternate
Keywords: Windy - lots of lakes - well-maintained trail - social
Section A of the Great Divide Trail (Source: FarOut).
Day 0: Thumbs up: We’re going to Waterton!
Not our best sign… The marker was out of ink!
After leaving the car in Calgary, trail angel Melissa dropped us off in High River, from where we hitchhiked to Waterton National Park.
Trail Angels on the Great Divide Trail
Yes, you read that correctly: There are trail angels on the GDT! Far and few between, because of the remoteness of the trail, so go and connect with them on the GDT Trail Angel Facebook page!
Our final hitchhike took us all the way to the heart of the park. There, Waterton Lake invited us for a swim. In the Tamarack outdoor store, we bought an emergency blanket for its double use as a ground sheet). After our little shopping spree, we headed for the park’s campground. The park rangers know about Great Divide Trail hikers and save some camping spots for late-arriving hikers like ourselves. Gratefully, we paid 11 CAD for a campsite and had a nice, hot shower in the washrooms (Canadian for toilet).
Day 1: Waterton Town - monument - Alderson Lake (19 km)
The first days on the GDT (Source: FarOut)
We woke up to greet a misty and magical morning. The first leg of the hike would be 6 km to the Canada/U.S.-border, where we would tag the monument and then simply turn around. A pleasant, well-defined trail along Upper Waterton Lakes brought us to the border.
The border monument
Accompanied by ripe, red thimbleberries and tourist boats, we found the border monument, existing of 1 metal and 1 stone pillar.
Standing on the dock, we witnessed two countries collide into one. The lake, ignorant of any borders, is neatly divided into Waterton National Park and Glacier National Park, the world’s first International Peace Parks. In nature, borders seem even more ludicrous. Ryan said his goodbyes to his country of stripes and stars and we started walking North on the Great Divide Trail.
Walking back, we met fellow thru-hiker, Rudy, also known by his trail name Chef. He makes beautiful videos of the trails he hikes. You can find his videos on Youtube.
The start of the Great Divide Trail can be pretty crowded. That is because Waterton town is accessible by car. Many people gather there to paddleboard, eat ice cream, or watch wildlife. Of course, we too joined the party, went for a swim, and ate some good poutine. When we finally left the pleasures of town behind to continue hiking the Great Divide Trail, we passed by the beautiful Cameron Falls.
Reenactment of Baby Simba in The Lion King.
Further away from town, uphill, the crowds soon thinned out. We walked through fireweed and half-burned trees until we reached our destination for the day. However, expecting a full campground, Alderson Lakes was entirely ours that night. Odd, since we booked the last camping permit… Turns out that empty campgrounds would be a repeating pattern in the parks.
Day 2: Alderson Lake - Akamina Campground (15 km)
The first night on the trail was a rather exciting one: My sleeping pad had a hole in it! We fixed it up with a Therm-A-Rest repair patch - lucky for me, Ryan carries a bag full of Gorilla Tape, repair patches, Super Glue, and other useful knick-knacks.
The beautifully maintained trail continued and climbed up to the lower and upper Carthew Lakes. We spotted our very first Common Loons on the Great Divide Trail. They really are fond of large alpine lakes. Blue, pristine lakes and windy weather: Waterton Lakes in a nutshell.
We met many other hikers that day, amongst them Jeff, who was section hiking the Great Divide Trail with a harmonica. He was very knowledgeable about the Great Divide Trail and a proud familyman.
After a refreshing dive into Cameron Lake with Jeff and Chef, we made our way to Akamina campground. This time, it was a full house!
Bear lockers and wooden picnic tables accommodated all GDT hikers and we spent a lovely evening, chatting, eating, and journaling.
A grizzly youngster even tried to join the party, before making his way up the hill and beyond.
Day 3: Akamina Campground - Lone Lake Campground (20 km)
Today, a serious decision lay in front of us: To Rowe Alternate or not to Rowe Alternate? We had heard many frightening stories of this unmaintained cross-country adventure, but we learned from the GDT webinars that it was a detour worthwhile. The only question remained: Are we ready to face the windy, challenging ridge walk? “Oh shoot, we’re on the Great Divide Trail, that’s what we’re here to do!” we exclaimed and started scrambling up the hill.
After a 3-hour heavy climb, we made it to the top of the ridge. But right before we could seal our victory, we were B-L-O-W-N away by the wind! Having no shelter whatsoever, we were forced into rain gear, gloves, hats, and sunglasses. We looked like Neo and Trinity from the Matrix and had to fight for every step we took. After 2 km, we decided to take the blue pill and bail!
Scrambling down
But adventure time was far from over! To get off the ridge, a snow cornice and a super steep, long scramble down awaited us. We stumbled, cross-country style, down the mountain slope to Rowe Lake. There, Ryan taught me how to “ski “ down gravel slopes, without skies, that is…
It was past noon by that time and we still had some ways to go. Back on the official Great Divide Trail, we climbed to Lineham Ridge, a pretty spectacular viewpoint. Once we turned around the corner, the wind chased us down the trail pretty quickly. The rest of the afternoon, we waded through scorched forests and grave burn scars. We had a permit for Twin Lakes, but after our windy and rather lengthy escapade, our tired feet could carry us no longer. At dusk, we set up camp at Lone Lake instead and enjoyed the silence.
The bright side of burns
Burn areas are fertile grounds for fireweed and new grasses, making room for butterfly and insect families. Every down has an up...
Day 4: Lone Lake Campground - Jutland Creek (20 km)
The next morning, Ryan and I slept in until 7:30 - yikes! We never were early birds, and getting up usually involves a lot of snoozing and coffee. Our morning eventually evolved into a heart-warming and honest conversation with fellow hikers Lynnie and Sophie. Mother and daughter, exploring their strong connection and shared admiration of the natural world around them.
Sophie spoke of the abundance of flowers on the Great Divide Trail, and it couldn’t be more true. Day four absolutely spoiled us with flower-filled fields, the exquisite perfume of newly-sprung buds and bees buzzing around them.
We met the first horse lords on trail, too! A family of four was on their way to Lone Lake Cabin. Our respect for equestrians - or horse lords - yes, we listened to LOTR audiobooks - increased with tenfold during this journey. It has become somewhat of a dream of our own. One day!
Our lunch spot was at Twin Lakes, where Ryan had a cold swim session. The weather soon turned and we prepared for the worst. We climbed a ridge and left Waterton Lakes National Park behind us. In the distance, big black smoke plumbs rose up and we could smell the wildfire. Pretty scary to experience a fire this way, makes you think of the scale of everything.
The smoke turned orange-red…
and soon, every notion of a horizon was wiped out. So we hiked on, into the void. I wasn’t comfortable, but Ryan reassured me of our safety. We entered the realm of Castle Provincial Park, where the sky cleared up and visibility returned. We camped at Jutland Creek with Lynnie, Sophie, and their friend Barb.
Day 5: Jutland Creek - Grizzly Lake (16 km)
Calling for help looks like this!
Day four turned out to be quite interesting. Today was the day of the notorious La Coulotte Ridge and the even more infamous Barnaby alternate! Clueless of what lay ahead of us, we started our day over Scarpe Pass and along the steep ridge to the peak of La Coulotte. After two false summits and lots of cursing, we finally made it to the real deal! Mind you, this ridgeline is pretty exposed and does not have much water or room for mistakes. We hoisted ourselves onto the peak and signed the trail register. While recovering, don’t forget to look around you: There are sublime 360° mountain views.
Next up? That would be the Barnaby Alternate - the very word alone still gives me the chills. This alternate would prove to be a time-consuming, challenging, route-finding scramble. Luckily, thanks to the GDTA members, there are flags around the scariest bits.
I wrote the following excerpt in my diary:
“The alternate totally wiped me out. Following a game trail, sometimes fully disappearing, then popping up again after some time. Ridgewalking is what it was. Up and down the hill, up and down the next one - I lost count after a while. I still felt quite cheerful, but when we consulted the map and I saw that we barely managed 1 mile per hour, I broke down. Lesson learned: Some things take time and you cannot fight it. So don’t try.”
Alternates take time, patience, and some courage, too. This was something I heavily underestimated. But I am very grateful for the experience and now, I find myself a lot stronger, more capable, and knowledgeable in rough terrain.
Sliding down doesn’t always come easy.
We skied (read: tumbled) down the gravelly trail towards Grizzly Lake, home to of a pair of Loons and, according to multiple wooden constructions, the occasional bushcrafter. Barb, Sophie, and Lynnie came rolling into camp not soon after and they too slept on the shores of Grizzly Lake.
Day 6: Grizzly Lake - Lynx Creek (34 km)
Time for a big push today. We were ready to get off the ridge and back to the trail.
An early-morning deer encounter, one of many.
After one week, your trail legs start to show. They grow stronger, and your pace picks up. Hiking up and down is part of your every day now, and you start to get the hang of it.
Bighorn Sheep
The last part of the Barnaby Alternate holds some beautiful memories.
We bagged some incredible peaks with fun trail registers (Fireball!) and met a large family of Bighorn Sheep after getting lost and trying to find our way back. Every down has an up…
Finally, the last cairn was in sight and a long, exposed descent led us to the three Barnaby Lakes. We greeted many hikers and fishers, and considered having a swim but went for a small dip instead. All the way down into the valley we crossed a road - the first sign of “civilization” - and disappeared into the woodlands. I remember eating thimbleberries until our fingers turned red, and filling up fresh water at Suicide Creek - scary, intriguing name. With relative ease, we climbed the hill and made our way on the relatively new trail into the dusk.
Day 7: Lynx Creek - Coleman (30 km)
The last day of the first section took us through cow country. Lynx Creek Campground (self-registration, +/- 21 CAD) had more cows than people in it. We ended up hiking in a bicycle race, which was really fun, since A) we were not the only ones suffering in the heat and B) we were sometimes faster going uphill and C) we had our first trail magic! A friend of one participant handed us Cokes and cookies and we were unbelievably grateful - trail magic is rare in the remote Rockies.
The last 10 km or so are ATV country. All drivers were very polite and immediately slowed down for us. Hiking, however, felt slow. After what seemed like an eternity, especially without four wheels, the first houses of Crowsnest Pass popped up in sight. Finally, we staggered into Coleman’s Subway and devoured one footlong (Chicken Teriyaki) each. We checked into our Airbnb and watched “Pretty Woman” until we fell asleep.
Interested in our GDT Gear Lists?
Coleman & accomodation
Finding a place to sleep in Coleman shouldn’t be too hard. For B&Bs, there are Safe Haven (We do not know if they will be open in 2023) and Country Encounters. The Paddock Inn is also a hiker’s favorite.
Section A: Complete!
Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave any questions or comments.
Back Home… Wherever That May Be.
After 7 months on the road, we are back in Belgium. Initially, I wrote "back home", but home has become such a fluid concept over the last few years.
I have always been very lucky to live in beautiful homes amongst family and dear friends. That is all you could wish for... right?
But for a couple of years now, I developed some sort of bug, that now lives comfortably in the back of my mind. Back then, however, it scared the hell out of me. It constantly pointed me to the fact that somehow, I was missing out. There was a part of me, a longing lingering undiscovered, and I was terrified of exploring it. I knew it would be like opening Pandora’s box - and there would be no way back.
So, I resisted and decorated my life in the best way possible. I went to work 5 times a week, turned my bedroom into a green tunnel of books and magic, and frequently indulged in long, hot bath sessions with a good book: In other words, I did everything I could to adjust to life as we know it. And hope it would be enough.
But all around me, friends and acquaintances made personal progress. Whether that included starting a family, building a business and a house, or focusing on their careers: They made a choice. And I was envious: I wanted to choose, too.
So, I chose myself. Being 25 at the time, it was about time to wake up that part of myself that I did not dare stir. And that might have been the biggest step I ever took in my life. Filled with hope, excitement, gratitude, fears, and a fast-beating heart - I jumped. After that, anything was possible now.
Time to say my goodbyes, time to leave home behind.
And that is how I dove into the dreadful, intrinsic system of permits and passports, covid-laws and international flights. My personal belongings were boxed up and the city was notified of my absence. I was free.
A couple of weeks later, I set foot on the Pacific Crest Trail in Washington. At last, I knew and understood: This was it.
Feelings of infinite happiness, of belonging. Finally, I had found home. Moreover, I would find someone whose home it was, too. And together, we climbed hills, swam in cold lakes, and swatted pesky mosquitos. It was our home now.
Our home changed every night: From campsites in the deep forests of Washington, to sleeping under the stars in Oregon parks and sandy beaches on the Oregon Coast Trail. From Walmart parking lots, state park campgrounds and hot springs to long stretches of desert and beautiful BLM lands. Whether we slept amongst desert, sand, rock, or trees: I never felt more at home.
After several months of adventuring, I took the plane back to Belgium. Back home? Not entirely. I remember a heavy feeling upon returning to my home country, once so safe and comfortable. I know the rules, the language, the public transport, the tv shows, our many failures, and numerous benefits. I know every little piece of the puzzle that is my little country, and I hold it dear. And yet, returning felt like a daunting task. It also meant separation from Ryan, who stayed behind in the U.S.
That winter, I worked for 4 months in a Red Cross refugee center. I missed my partner in crime and I missed that part of myself that I finally allowed to be free. But as Simon & Garfunkel once sang, April Come She Will…
And April was the month when I sold half of my stuff, put the other half in boxes again, and hopped back on a plane across the ocean. The plan was that there was no plan.
Ryan picked me up in the airport of Las Vegas. Customs was not exactly happy upon my arrival: "No job? No home? No plans? Well, missy...What do you think you are doing?" My point exactly. After some interrogation, they finally let me enter the United States. And off we went.
Now, seven months later, we are back in Belgium! Back home? Who knows. We now know; Home is quite a fluid concept. We are moving into a beautiful house in Bruges with a wonderful roommate. A whole new adventure for Ryan and myself: Living domesticated lives for a bit! We swap catholes for a flushing toilet and a climbing crash pad for a bed. Living here offers us a place to rest, process the adventures of the past year, and make plans for the future... Wherever that may be.
Whether it is a mountain cabin, a lakeshore campground, a Walmart parking lot, the trunk of a car, a cheap motel 6, or a house in Bruges - I now know:
“… when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”
(Herman Hesse in Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte)
Housesitting | What is it and how does it work?
Ryan and I have always been on the lookout for different ways of traveling (Read: traveling on a budget). That is one of the many reasons why we love vanlife. Ryan has lived on the road, in one way or another, for the last ten years. Since April ‘22, I have officially joined the party.
Living out of the van is an incredible experience. Not only does it bring a strong sense of freedom, but it also takes you to the more remote places in the backcountry…
… But every now and then, the need for more comfort pops up. Sometimes, we need a break from the road.
Disadvantages of Vanlife
You see, living outside is not all sunshine and rainbows. Especially vanlife can be difficult and stressful at times. From being subjected to the elements - rain, snow, wind, heat, and cold - to simple burnout from the never-ending demand of chores: When you live in your car, everything requires a million steps to do anything.
Never mind technical problems, on the lookout for trash bins, public toilets, showers, and strong Wi-Fi… Vanlife has been a conscious choice and has worked out well, but every now and then, we feel the need to recharge.
Looking for a Place to Recharge - free of charge...
You can, of course, book hotel rooms and Airbnb’s. They provide much-needed breaks from life on the road and offer a place to clean up, rest, and recharge. They are not cheap, however, and stays over time really add up and drain the budget. So that is why Ryan and I started looking for alternatives. We know, and love, the concept of couch-surfing, but as a couple, it sure is nice to have some privacy now and then. Surely, there must be another way?
Turns out that there is another way: Housesitting and pet sitting. It is exactly as the name reveals: Pet owners want to travel and are looking for people to watch their pets and their home. Et voila - both parties are satisfied. While their animals and house are looked after, we get showers, Netflix and chill, laundry, and a real kitchen. Win-win!
What is “housesitting” and what exactly do you do?
With my two favourite sisters, Maggie & Hazel.
Your biggest responsibility is taking care of the pets. In most cases, we’re talking about regular pets, like cats, dogs, and bunnies. When you have agreed on a housesit, the owners will then inform you of the nitty-gritty: How many times do I walk the dog? How many strokes does the cat want? How many carrots for the bunny?
It is also helpful to gather information about the pets’ medical history, sleeping patterns, and crazy habits. We learned this the hard way when all of a sudden two large dogs crawled up into our bed, leaving no room for us.
Unique Experiences
You see, we take our job as pet sitters very seriously.
Every once in a while, you can find pretty unique homes and pets. For example, a housesit in the countryside can take you to a beautiful farm or yurt. There are also many housesits in big cities, which would significantly help lower your travel costs. Sometimes, the pets are quite exotic: You could be keeping an eye on turtles, fish, or parakeets. Or farm animals, such as chickens, donkeys, horses, and goats could be your responsibility. A whole new level of housesitting, but a unique experience, to say the least.
Other Responsibilities
Quality time with young Millie.
Some owners will also ask you to take care of small, domestic jobs, such as watering the plants, collecting the mail, or putting the trash out. And naturally, you clean and tidy up the house before the owners return.
Relationship with the Owners
After several housesits, our experience has been mostly positive. We still keep in touch with some house owners, and we are always welcome to visit or housesit again. Sometimes, they will show you their appreciation with a bottle of wine or take you out for dinner. Not always, though, as everyone is different. But truth be told, it is nice to feel appreciated for the work you do. After all, you are taking care of their sweethearts, keeping the house clean, the mailbox empty and the plants alive.
Our Experience with Housesitting
This year, we have enjoyed 4 housesits, ranging from a couple of days up to two weeks. Our first housesit was in the desert of Nevada this spring, watching two small Shitzus, Maggie and Hazel. The owners were a retired couple, and they were true rockstars. They welcomed us into their home with drinks in the backyard. They treated us like family and took us out to dinner. We felt at ease immediately. They left their phone numbers and 4 bottles of wine. Maggie and Hazel, too, turned out to be great characters and amazing company. We took the time to explore the area, start our own company, and make future plans. All in the safe comfort of a home, 2 puppers and 4 bottles of wine. Needless to say, our first experience with housesitting was nothing but amazing.
Hard knock cat life.
In May, we looked after 2 cats and the sweetest dog in Colorado and in June, we watched over Marnie the cat in the mountains of Arizona. This was a unique and peaceful treehouse, complete with a hot tub, shelves of interesting books, and a wonderful patio. We felt a strong connection with both the owners and the house. Marnie, too, turned out to be the sweetest and fluffiest cat you could possibly imagine. Our stay here was healing and restorative in many ways.
Our Calgary Housesit
After 2 months of thru hiking the Canadian Rockies, this was the perfect way to sleep, catch up on work and make future plans.. Plus enjoy some puppy love from these two babies.
Now it’s your turn!
How do I start housesitting?
Housesitting happens everywhere! The service is offered worldwide, so all that rests you is to find the right platform. There is the infamous Caretaker Gazette (very old-school) - and you can always scour social media and newspapers for any applications.
But there are also several platforms where you can sign up as a housesitter and find housesitting jobs all around the world. We use Trusted Housesitters, an app that matches those looking for a house with those who need someone to look after their property and pets. You sign up, look for the location where you are or want to go, and can apply for the housesit you like most. (No, this is not an affiliate or commercial. Just some advice :))
Other well-known platforms are Nomador and Pawshake, of which we have heard good things of, but have no experience with ourselves.
Is housesitting for free?
Usually, it is not. Most platforms charge a yearly fee, and unfortunately, that fee grows more expensive every year. However, it is still a bunch cheaper than paying for rooms or Airbnb’s every night. There are some ways to get a discount, by making your friends become a member for example. When you live on the road full-time, it is (in our opinion) worth the cost.
Can I earn money while housesitting?
In theory, yes! But the platforms mentioned strongly discourage asking for money. They see it as a service platform for both parties. However, we personally think that it should be negotiable. Some housesits are actually a lot of work (think several dogs or multiple animals, a large house and property, …) and that is why getting paid is something you might be able to discuss with some owners.
Are there disadvantages to housesitting?
You have agreed to stay in a house, which means you cannot leave the home and the pets alone for too long. That means that there are no overnighters elsewhere or long excursions. The pets are your responsibility and must be taken care of. This might interrupt some wild plans you had during your stay, so keep that in mind.
We hope this article helped you on the topic of housesitting and pet sitting. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to reach out!