Cucao is the place where the road across Chiloé runs out of island. The small village sits on the wild Pacific coast of the Isla Grande, about thirty kilometres from the towns of Chonchi and Castro, beside a long lake and at the gate of Chiloé National Park. Beyond the last houses, the land becomes a wilderness of dunes, wide grey beaches, temperate rainforest and boggy meadows, and the sea is powerful and cold. The weather arrives from the west unfiltered, so expect rain, wind and sudden gaps of brilliant light.
The road from Chonchi crosses the island's central ridge, a green corridor of farmland and forest, and it is a pleasant ride at an easy pace. The surface is paved for most of the way, with some patched sections, and the bends are frequent but gentle. The climb is modest, but the transition from the sheltered east coast to the exposed west is dramatic, as the trees bend and the air turns salty. Fog and rain are common, and the road can be slippery, so ride carefully, particularly on corners. Summer from January to March is the driest period, though even then, an umbrella is a good idea.
Chiloé has its own culture, shaped by isolation. The wooden churches that dot the archipelago, many of which are UNESCO World Heritage sites, were built by Jesuit missionaries and local carpenters using boat-building techniques, and the island's folklore is full of legends about the Trauco, a forest sprite, and the Caleuche, a ghost ship that sails at night. The food is distinctive too, with curanto, a stew of shellfish, meat and potatoes traditionally cooked in a pit with hot stones, as the island's signature dish. Cucao has a few simple restaurants and guesthouses, and it is a good place to try it, though be sure to ask about the cooking method and portion size.
Fuel is best bought in Castro, which has nearly thirty thousand people and a full range of shops, or in Chonchi. Cucao has little, so fill up on the way. Take a walk on the beach, where the Pacific rollers crash and the horizon is empty, and consider the long journey that water has made from Asia or Antarctica. The smell is of salt, peat smoke and wet wood, and the quiet at dusk is deep. It is a place that rewards those who come to the end of the road.