The Highway at the End of the World

“King Penguins?” I asked again, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Is it safe to drive there?” I’m getting excited knowing that I’ll see a unique Colony of my favourite birds, nesting thousands of miles from home. I love stumbling on surprises when I travel, and this day is promising to be unbelievable.

“Si, Si,” the travel agent assured me. “This is Patagonia; everywhere is safe, especially on the highway at the end of the world.” She draws a big red circle on the brochure. “The Porvenir ferry takes you to the 35km gravel road that ends at the Park. After enjoying the Colony, you circle North to the ferry back to Highway 40.”

With almost a full tank of gas, I purchase water, picnic treats and head off.

Well, the promised 35km of gravel was a good 135kms of agony. Recent grading left a huge pile of soft gravel smack down the middle of my side. So I had two choices, scrape the underside of the rental car, or drive up the wrong side of the road and carefully lump back over the hump if a car approached, praying my wheels wouldn’t slide into the soft ditch.

Three hours later, exhausted, I arrive at a weatherworn trailer with a hand painted sign advertising “El Parke Del Penguines Rea.”

I had the Park all to myself. For two hours I observed and photographed the penguins, thrilled to capture a video of an adorable adult and two fluffy chicks peeking out from under dad’s feet. (That’s how the eggs and babies are kept warm, nestled under a flap of skin over the parents’ feet.)

Heading north across the Island, I was overjoyed that the main road was partially paved. The scenery was beautiful. Wind swept, grassy steppes and rolling hills overlooked the ocean. I was alone in this wilderness, unless you count an impaled guanaco (looks a bit like a small deer) on a lonely pole.

Approaching the ferry, I joined a long lineup of cars. Strong winds made the usual 20-minute crossing a good hour. I settled in knowing it would be a long wait. Noticing the gas tank was now under half, I planned to fill up as soon as I reached the main highway.

Finally, I’m on the ferry. It’s 11:30 pm, cold, dark, and windy. The End Of The World Highway feels like I am, indeed, at the end of the world. Of course there are no gas stations open at this hour.

I decide to wait for daylight and curl up on the back seat, the rocking motion from the strong wind lulling me to sleep. I’m relaxed, knowing that after I fill up, it’s only three hours to my luxury pre-booked hotel.

Nope. Navigating the main highway, with zero gas stations, I watched the gas indicator slowly kiss empty.

Ahead was a Police check. The car coughed as I rolled to a stop. I smiled at the young officer and explained my situation, pointing to the glowing yellow light on the dash, indicating I was truly empty.

“No gas here,” was his response as he pointed down the highway. “It’s all downhill. Just a few Kilometers.”

OMG! He was right! I rolled empty into the gas station and burst into tears, much to the confusion of the young attendant, wondering why this senior lady was crying over getting gas.

The impaled Guanaco on that pole? I’m convinced it was placed there by a frustrated tourist looking for a gas station.

Joanne McAuley is a Canadian traveller from Guelph, Ontario, always looking for a new adventure. She writes at solotravelshortstories.ca.