No 4x4? No Problem! - The Road to Campo de Piedra Pómez
On Tuesday morning, we set off on our mission.
First, we headed to the village shop to buy a few bits, as we wouldn’t be anywhere near civilisation for the next couple of days. Staying in town for five days had eaten into our cash reserves somewhat, and we hoped we still had enough to pay for fuel later. This was hard to estimate: we had no idea what it would cost now, given that the last price we’d seen was nearly a year old and undoubtedly highly inaccurate.
That was a problem to worry about later, though. For now, we bought a few basics and asked the shopkeeper if he thought we’d make it there in Ruby. He walked over to the window to inspect her — presumably checking our ground clearance — before returning to suggest we tackle the route in reverse. It was comforting to have a local confirm our planned strategy, and we left the village ready to give it our best shot.
Our goal was to reach Campo de Piedra Pómez. There are two ways to do this, as it forms a circular route. The quickest option turns left to follow the loop clockwise, but this section carries a warning for deep sand and a strong recommendation for a 4x4. We knew of several people who had managed to blast through in two-wheel drive, but also of plenty who had ended up buried. I didn’t want to jam sand into our new radiator core any more than I wanted to beg for help from local tour guides after a sign had explicitly warned us not to drive it.
The alternative was to take the route anti-clockwise, or en reserva, as recommended by the shopkeeper. This is significantly longer, diverting past a picturesque laguna and crossing the lower portion of an old lava field before arriving at the rocks. This route also carries warnings that it shouldn't be attempted without four-wheel drive, alongside conflicting reviews claiming it’s perfectly fine. These mixed reports made it difficult to decide whether we'd make it, but over the years we’ve often found that when people say "4WD required", they usually just mean high clearance and we’ve conquered plenty of routes we were told were impossible.
In the end, local knowledge supported the longer route. It also offered additional points of interest, and while it promised to be challenging, it was on hard ground rather than soft sand. We felt far more comfortable tackling rocks than soft sand.
The circuit starts just outside the village, so within minutes we were pulling off the main road. We stopped by the sign declaring the track a "4x4 Only" route and began airing down our tyres. This was complete guesswork: our air compressor had packed up just a week earlier, so not only did I have no idea what pressure I was dropping them to, but I also had no way of pumping them back up. I settled for letting air out for an equal amount of seconds on each tyre - a vague nod to symmetry - before we set off.
The first half of the route is a straightforward gravel track. Sections were heavily washboarded, but it was flat and simple driving. After 15 kilometres or so, we turned left towards the lava field. The road began climbing up and down the rivulets of dried lava, but the surface remained reasonably decent. The jet-black basalt sat in stark contrast against the pastel-grey mountains and bright blue sky; the views were already stunning.
Before long, we reached the laguna. A teenage boy ran out to meet us, taking down our details and requesting a 20,000 peso fee for road maintenance. Given the track had been pretty good so far, we couldn't complain. I asked him about the condition of the trail further ahead, and he insisted it was in terrible shape and strictly 4x4 only. We smiled, nodded and completely ignored him. As much as we wanted to stop at the laguna, today was about reaching the pumice field; since we planned to return via the same route, we’d have time to explore it on the way back out.
We hadn't driven much further past the car park when we met another camper coming the other way. They were a little surprised — and very excited — to see Ruby crawling towards them.
"¡Qué valiente!" the driver shouted out the window, pumping hist fist, as we approached.
We pulled up alongside and asked what the road ahead was like. They reckoned we could make it if we went extremely slowly. That gave us two votes for proceeding and one against, not that it made much difference, as we were determined to get there anyway. Onwards we went.
It wasn't long before we hit our first real challenge. The track across the lava field is a continuous series of steep climbs and descents. The gradient itself wasn't the issue, but rather the severe camber of the track. Halfway up one hill, I noticed the road fell away dramatically to one side—coincidentally, the exact side with our broken shock absorber, which already made us lean. I rolled back down to the bottom.
"I don’t like it," I told Lee. "I think it’s too extreme. We’ll tip."
Because it was a steep incline, we couldn't just creep up it slowly and go back if it got too much. It was a choice between powering up or abandoning it altogether. We looked for alternatives. We clearly weren't the only ones who had disliked the camber: off to the left in the soft sand were several deep ruts where others had bypassed the hill, but driving Ruby through that soft stuff was out of the question. I felt deflated at being thwarted so early in the drive.
Then I spotted a line right next to the track on the hill. It was steeper and far rougher, but I reckoned we could manage it. I sent Lee out to confirm the ground was firm; he checked and reported solid rock. I squinted at the incline, mentally mapping where the wheels needed to hit, which boulders to avoid, and how much speed to carry. Taking a deep breath, I slammed Ruby into first gear and put my foot to the floor.
She powered uphill over lumps and bumps that made me exceedingly grateful we’d sorted our rear suspension in Paraguay and fitted that heavy-duty sump guard in Panama. In a matter of seconds, it was over and we crested the hill safely. Nothing had scraped, and we were back on track.
From below I heard Lee's victory shout, "MY KOMBI CAN GO ANYWHERE!!!"
Wondering what the track would throw at us next, we trundled on. This section through the lava field continued for several kilometres. There was one more tricky climb that we stopped to scout on foot, but Ruby powered up that one too, with only a minor flick of wheelspin. So far, we were doing brilliantly.
One of the most nerve-wracking parts of driving a new, unmapped route is not knowing what lies ahead. We had no reliable information to go on, so we had no idea when we'd cleared the worst of it. My personal stress meter is directly tied to whether we can turn back. The scariest drives we’ve ever done — places like Florián in Colombia or Cerro Negro in Nicaragua - were routes where we descended something we couldn't possibly climb back up, forcing us onwards through deteriorating conditions until something inevitably broke. So far, there was nothing we couldn't do again and so we were still feeling optimistic.
By the time we successfully cleared the lava field, we still had around 11km of track left. Leaving the hillocks behind, we began an even slower crawl across the solid bedrock of the desert floor. There was no danger of getting stuck here, but ground clearance was non-negotiable. The rocks were jagged and unforgiving as we inched forward; even first gear felt too fast for this terrain. Thankfully, this rough stretch lasted only a kilometre, and within 15 minutes we were back onto a dirt track.
The final leg climbed steadily once again through the Arena de Mar (Sea of Sand) on a decent gravel road. If it stayed like this, we’d have no trouble reaching our goal. We crested a small, isolated hill in the middle of the plain, which rewarded us with a sweeping panorama of the vast desert. Aside from the camper we’d passed hours ago, we hadn't seen another soul.
Slowly, we pushed onwards. The brilliant white formations of the pumice field emerged on the horizon and, painfully slowly, edged closer. We let out a cheer — we were actually going to make it!
It had taken us three hours to cover the 42km route, and it was late afternoon by the time we officially pulled into the parking area. We were the only vehicle there.
In front of us, the surreal pumice field stretched out into the distance. The silence was so absolute it was almost deafening. Excited for a stretch, we set off into the rock labyrinth to explore, with the cats equally keen for a walk.
Over the rest of the afternoon, a couple of 4x4 tour trucks arrived via the quicker sand track, but for the most part, we had the entire place to ourselves. We soaked in the gorgeous sunshine, the blissfully windless afternoon, and the immense serenity.
Later that night, we attempted some astrophotography, but the plunging, sub-zero temperatures drove us back inside before we could properly dial in the camera settings. That breathtaking view - a sky packed with stars and the vibrant band of the Milky Way arching directly overhead - will have to remain in my memory alone.
At 9 pm, headlights cut through the darkness, followed by a knock on the door from park rangers. They informed us that overnight camping wasn't allowed and asked us to follow them to another car park. After a bit of persuasive chatting and reassuring them that we’d leave no trace and had our own onboard facilities (specifically we would not be pooping in the pumice field) they kindly relented and let us stay, leaving us to our high-altitude solitude.
In the morning, a few early tour groups completing the loop arrived, and we chatted with some of the friendly guides. After taking a few final photos, it was time to move on. We poured in the first of our backup fuel cans, checked the pressure in our air shocks, gave the tyres a perfunctory kick, and set off. We had agreed that I would handle all the driving over the next few days so Lee could focus entirely on filming. Taking the wheel once again, I pointed Ruby back the way we’d come.
Early that morning, a grader had come through and worked the first section of the track. Normally, a freshly graded road is a blessing, but here it was a nightmare. A six-inch layer of thick, powdery dust now covered the entire surface. Driving through it was atrocious: the brakes squealed as fine silt worked its way between the pads and discs, and the back end fishtailed as we lost traction. After a few hundred metres, I braked and veered onto the untouched desert crust beside the track, which proved infinitely better than whatever the road crew had done.
Fortunately, that dusty stretch was brief. The new 'graded' main track continued towards a massive sand dune and a trickier southern route, while we peeled off to the right to tackle the lava field once again on familiar ground.
Knowing what to expect this time, we made much faster progress. The two steep ascents were just as daunting in reverse, but we negotiated them safely. Looking back at the photos now, I realise just how close we were to rolling - I am extraordinarily glad I didn't attempt this route in the opposite direction on our old, worn suspension which might have just tipped us that final millimetre of the edge.
We made it back to the laguna and parked up to take some proper photos. The same teenager came rushing over, demanding we pay the entrance fee again. We argued our case: we were using the track the exact same amount as a day visitor, so why should we pay double road maintenance? After a brief debate, he conceded and waived the fee — it turned out he mostly just wanted to chat and ask questions about our travels.
We made friends with two particularly inquisitive llamas hanging around the car park, then walked down to the shoreline to watch the flamingos feeding in the water.
A small, crystal-clear stream fed the lagoon, its banks lined with the only green grass visible for miles. We relaxed and enjoyed the view, relieved in the knowledge that the hardest driving was behind us.
All that remained was to follow the main gravel track north towards another lava field just south of Antofagasta de la Sierra, where we planned to spend the night.
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