Exploring a kingdom of ancient trees, snowcapped mountains, and clear glacial waters.
They pop like umbrellas from lumpy hills; they curve like palms over placid lagoons.
My partner, Felipe, and I had been hiking all morning just to see them.
The Chilean Lake District’s distinctive araucaria trees.iStockphoto/Getty Images
The higher we climbed, the colder the forest became.
Araucarias grow only in Chile and Argentina, and only at altitudes above 3,000 feet.
It was our first trek down this particular trail, but our fifth time among the magical araucarias.
The library at andBeyond Vira Vira, decorated with works by Chilean artists and designers.Courtesy of andBeyond
The Lake District was my introduction to Chile a decade ago, when I first visited Felipe’s homeland.
I was already sold on him, but I suppose this is what sold me on his country.
It’s a shame.
A walkway at Termas Geométricas, a hot-springs complex in Chile’s Villarrica National Park.iStockphoto/Getty Images
The region’s tourism offerings have matured so much in the 10 years since our first visit.
And I suppose Felipe and I have, too.
Because, well, we’re not in our twenties anymore.
Nothofagus, one of many architecture-focused hotels in the Huilo Huilo Biological Reserve.Courtesy of Huilo Huilo Biological Reserve
Just upstream is the resort’s organic farm, where chef Damian Fernandez sources ingredients for his seasonal menus.
We accepted the challenge the next morning.
Because of that, Kapstein told us, the place has “an ancestral energy.”
From left: Crab-stuffed tortellini — a play on a classic Chilean crab casserole — at El Mesón del Caulle, the restaurant at Futangue Hotel & Spa; the author’s partner, Felipe, hiking in Futangue Park.Mark Johanson
At one point, overwhelmed by the grandeur of it all, he briefly teared up.
Wiping his eyes, he hurried above the snow line into the blue ice of Pichillancahue.
“Oh, and did I mention it’s one of the most active volcanoes in South America?”
he added, brandishing an impish smile.
Bordered by tall, forested hills, the 18-mile-long lake has a sinewy, end-of-the-world feel.
A stark lava field, created during a 1922 eruption, cuts through the park like a jagged scar.
Felipe and I could trace our entire journey between each snowcapped volcano on the horizon.
If we squinted a bit, we could see the araucarias poking out from the hills where we began.
Fanning their ancient branches into the sky, they seemed like distant fireworks frozen in time.
