Lying midway down Chile’s 4300 km length, the country’s capital of Santiago offered my partner Lisa and I a cosmopolitan welcome to South America. Amongst leafy boulevards and spacious plazas, we plotted a 2500 km journey south to Patagonia, booking ferries and trains to link several treks and destinations. Question was, could we maintain the pace to fulfil our preparations?

The overnight train to Chile’s agricultural heartland of Temuco pulled into a postcard scene of rural life. Replacing Santiago’s thunderous traffic were donkey-drawn vegetable carts. Chic fashion here meant dyed woollen ponchos, or a new felt hat. After a week dawdling through one horse villages and gentle lakeside walks, we headed for Pucon, looking for something more challenging. This lakeside town is geared for short, furious tourist seasons offering rafting, trekking and mountain biking, the spin-offs from hiking the active Volcan Villarricca volcanoe that dominates the skyline.

Sunrise next day found us clambering over Villarricca’s twisted lava beds toward the pumice moraine above. At the snowline we clipped on our crampons, then zig zagged our way up to the 2847m rim, reaching the summit seven hours after daybreak. Cautiously standing on the snow-laden rim, we peered into the gaping cavity, the stark black walls plunging 100 metres. The once molten plug below had hardened to an eerie moonscape, leaving one small vent ominously spitting out lava. We imagined a seismic hiccup jamming against the fragile plug, then blowing the mountainside apart. Major eruptions in 1971 and 1984 had demolished one township, narrowly missing Pucon.

Two hundred kilometres south of Pucon, the remote, frozen crater of the Puyehue volcanoe was the next logical step. In Puyehue Parque National (PN), the ranger assured us there was a well used track ahead, with minimal snow. We headed off for the summit, gateway to the 72km trail beyond. A gut-busting day and a half later we found ourselves stuck below an overhanging bluff, just metres below the summit. The panorama below was a fairy tale land of spiked volcanoes and plunging valleys, the rippled plateau totally covered by two metres of late spring snow.

While we rested and scanned for the conspicuously absent trail, two condors cautiously spiralled down to check us out. Swooshing past, barely five metres away, their hacking beaks and keen eyes gave a clear message, we can wait. Five hours later we departed their snowbound domain, as any onward trail would remain buried under snow for weeks.

We hitched out, and south to Petrohue on the shores of Lake Todos los Santos. For $US20, a fishing boat took us 22km to the lake’s northern arm. The river valley walk through Vicente Perez Rosales PN is on top of a low saddle, thankfully below the fickle snow line.

The 48km trail threads through deep glaciated valleys, overshadowed by some of the regions highest peaks, born from the Pacific plate colliding against the static Andean mountain chain. The heavily forested slopes were reflected in calm, tannin-coloured lakes, the sub-alpine flora bursting through sombre, moss clad rain forest. Spring at last. Hot springs enroute capped off a feeling of new optimism. After stops at the quaint Germanic settlements of Puerto Varas and Frutillar, we hit the end of the major bus route. Puerto Montt offers visitors new world supplies in an old world setting of historical markets. If skiing, sailing or rafting is beyond the finances, restaurant competition goes to the other extreme. They are absurdly cheap. Quayside Angelmo is a seafood haven for gourmets, offering oysters, fist-size barnacles and abalone soup. The poached conger eel and grilled, smoked salmon captivated us several times.

Puerto Montt’s favours may challenge South American authenticity, but fishing boats and buses offer flexible transport to explore the isolated coastal communities and Reloncavi Estuary. Accommodation with local families lacks electricity and gourmet supplies, but the compensation is roaring log fires, kerosene lamps and home-baked bread. During long evenings, sharing tots of fiery Chilean pisco, it’s debatable whose Spanish improves most, yours or your hosts.

Two hours by ferry, Chiloe Island’s inhabitants live a similarly sheltered existence, more by choice. After the native Mapuche Indians repelled the first wave of Spanish in 1598, Chiloe became the sole Spanish stronghold. The Chiloe Indians and Spanish integrated to become fiercely independent, if not indifferent, to the mainlanders. Between thePacific’s ravaged coastline and tranquil gulfbays, Chiloe’s 9600 sq kms contain ample scope to discard your guide books and claim personal beaches, or explore backwater fishing villages.

Refreshed from a fortnights beach camping and horse trekking in Chiloe PN, we returned to Puerto Montt to board Navimag’s MV Puerto Eden for the 1500 km, four day voyage to Puerto Natales. The captain’s maritime charts resembled instructions for a maze with innumerable channels and passes overlaid with complex wind against tide predictions. For 48 hours the ship wove through increasingly restricted fjords before reaching the Pacific.

After waking to see a 30m waterfall cascading to oblivion 100m beyond the porthole, I joined the few hearty breakfasters. We watched a pod of killer whales leisurely passing to starboard as we tucked into omelette, juices and coffee. Ashore, snow flurries were bursting down from the valleys above, the snouts of hanging glaciers acting like launch pads, spilling swirling snow over the ship.

Following the squeeze through Canal Kirke, one of the worlds narrowest passes, we swept across a widening gulf toward Puerto Natales. Fighting 50 knot gusts, the ship crunched alongside the dock, scattering attendant boats in all directions. Natales’ windswept, frontier character mingled easily with travellers preparing for Torres del Paine PN, 145km to the north-west.

Covering 1600sq km, this International Biosphere Reserve contains some of South Americas most dramatic scenery. Bordered by ice packs, glaciers and the Andean steppe, the park is like a medieval fortress of granite spires and battlements towering 3000m above broad plains and sweeping valleys.

We chose an 80km circuit from the 250km of trails on offer. From desolute marshes, snowline passes, and valleys knee deep in spring flowers, no two days were alike. A sharp assent to the Torres disclosed a vast amphitheatre sprinkled with house size boulders. Towering above us, three granite fingers caressed the passing cloud, their sheer sides glistening with frost — nature imitating art. For a week, daily sunshine over-rode the squally nights. Camped within earshot of Glacier Grey, we heard massive wedges of ice grinding and crashing into the river overnight. In the mornings it was al fresco breakfast to a backdrop of drifting icebergs. On our 10th night, camped between the Cuernos and Cerro pillars, the weather finally broke.

Thunder and avalanches echoed between the narrow gorge all night, the campsite stream becoming a churning torrent. For 24 hours the storm tore at the granite and our spirits fell with each successive dump of snow. We aborted an attempt on the higher Camp Britanico, then walked out of the park, following icebergs down Rio Grey.

We’d completed four treks, from seven starts out of nine researched. We realised later, after a total of ten weeks covering 6000km, nobody “does” Chile. Whether it’s a fortnight’s pre-booked tour, backpacking, or months spent climbing, there’s no point to setting a pace. Every day’s going to be a full day any way.