Still, there was hope, as from Castro, we caught a minibus to head across the island to Cucao, a tiny settlement on the isolated Pacific Coast - perhaps here we would find the "real" Chiloe, where trauca, picoya, brujos and other mythical creatures inhabit the forests and shorelines and the Caleuche sails the seas.

Cucao Coast Walk (17km - 30m ascent - 3m descent)

In this weather, the idea of a two-day trek into the heart of the park had rapidly faded and we settled for a day-walk to experience the windswept western coastline. To get our bearings, we followed a short path through the back dunes, colonised with dwarf olivillo and arrayan trees, low shrubs and herbs, to a couple of viewpoints out to the distant surf pounding in from the Pacific. To the north and south the coastal dunes and hills faded into the mists of seahaze and low grey cloud. We chose to head north.

The route north was a gravel road, leading to the small indigenous community of Chanquin, a few houses and a tiny church in the Chiloe style. We followed it as far as a curious boat-shaped bridge across the outlet of Laguna Huelde.

From here we headed along a narrow track beside the outlet to have a better look at the lake and the forest-clad hills behind, watching the wind gusts sheet across the water surface. Backtracking to the bridge, we decided not to push any further into the face of the northwesterly and, instead, turned toward the sea across the rolling frontal dunes, where wind-blown grasses drew circles in the sand.

From here we wandered down the road on the windswept side of the river to descend onto the beach once again and continue our southward walk. The beach was flatter, stonier and very exposed here and we found a large driftwood log to shelter behind for a bite of lunch - the sun even emerged briefly to join us, but was soon chased away by more cloud. To the south the cliffs approached the coastline and we could see small rockly islets through the seahaze.

However, before we could get there, our walk reached its southern limit when we found ourselves facing a stream cutting swiftly across the sand to flow into the sea. Not being the time for wet feet, we called it a day and headed back to the warmth of our B & B. It was a good decision - the rain squalls arrived just as we did, and it was much better watching the rain beat into the window panes over a hot coffee, then watching it beat into our faces over a cold nose.

We may have been thwarted in our original plans, but still we got the chance to experience the wild side of Chiloe - my impressions of the island were on the rise.

We spent the next three nights at Chonchi, a small village south of the main town of Castro, and when not sitting in our seaside room, watching the sea-lions and dolphins hunting salmon in the channel alongside, used it as a base for more touristy explorations of the Chiloe.

We explored the shingle houses of Chonchi and Castro, the palafitos lining the inlets of Castro on their ricketty stilts, the heritage-listed wooden and shingle churches with their unique architectural style, the Sunday market at Dalcahue and the smaller island of Quinchao, with its patchwork of farms (and gorse!) and small villages.

The tides rose and fell, and the showers alternated with the sunshine, as we drifted into the quiet inertia of Chiloe. It was a pleasant few days, but as we headed off by bus for the mainland once again, through the farmlands, forest and gorse, I could not shake off a vague feeling of disappointment; for me, Chiloe was the first place that we had visited in South America where the reality was less than the expectation.