In the rugged north of Chile, where the Andes mountains seem to touch the sky, lies the remote and little-known Santuario de la Naturaleza Río Sasso, a protected area in the Chilean region of Coquimbo. As the first rays of the sun dispel the icy cold of the night, I awaken in my tent to the silence of this unspoiled landscape. Endless rock formations, and the Sasso River in the middle, bringing life to this valley. This is the domain of the trashumantes, nomadic shepherds who have followed the rhythms of nature for generations. Our host, Oscar Gervacio, one of the last real trashumantes, is already waiting by the door of his makeshift hut. With a reassuring smile, he invites me to join him.
The first steps outside the hut feel like a leap back in time. The air is still cool and fresh, the smell of the livestock ever-present, and the only sounds are the soft bleating of goats, the screech of a vulture, and the rhythmic rustling of the wind through the bushes. As we head into the mountains, Oscar tells me about his life, one dedicated to caring for his herd: three hundred goats, seventy sheep, three mules, two horses, five dogs, and a single proud cow. Oh, and Murango, the cat.
Oscar told me about the peace he finds in the mountains. ‘Nowhere will you find as much peace as here,’ he said. With a short whistle, Oscar sets all the animals in motion, ready to be milked. All three hundred of them. Every day. Not to mention the sheep and the cow. You have to be up for it.
But Oscar wouldn’t want anything else. ‘My grandfather and my father did this too. I’m the only one of my brothers who does it, and perhaps you have to be a little loco to want to do this,’ he laughs with twinkling eyes.
We walk through the stretched valley, surrounded by nearly five thousand meters high peaks. The point at which a simple half-hour walk suddenly feels like a marathon. Oxygen is crucial, today’s lesson. The view from the highest point, also the border between Argentina and Chile, is almost infinite. A perfect movie location for scenes on another, uninhabited, and not-so-friendly planet.
Much lower in the valley, between the reeds growing along the banks of the Sasso River, I see a white heron that has just stripped a lizard of its freedom. The beak opens, and the lizard embarks on its final journey into the heron’s throat. Eat or be eaten: the eternal cycle of life.
Though we humans are almost always at the top of the food chain, this is a place where even you and I can sometimes end up on the menu. Oscar tells me about the dangers that lurk in the mountains, such as the pumas he sometimes sees sneaking in the distance.
‘They’re always there,’ he says, with a look that reveals his intimate knowledge of this land. ‘We hardly ever see them, but they always see us. Not that they’re really hunting us, it’s more often the other way around,’ Oscar says. ‘But if you’re not careful here, one misstep can mean the end. Literally. If I break my ankle in a remote spot and can’t walk anymore, I will die there. And that might also be the moment when the puma seizes its chance, or the vultures.’
The peace of the mountains is both overwhelming and calming. There is no room here for haste or distraction. Oscar points out the places where he has seen pumas over the years. ‘They’re territorial,’ he says, ‘and there are many of them.’
I realize that every step he takes is an echo of his ancestors, who walked the same path. Nomadic herder societies, like the trashumantes in the Coquimbo region, have a long and rich history closely intertwined with the geographical and climatic features of the Andes. These semi-nomadic shepherds have maintained a way of life for centuries that revolves around herding livestock, including goats, sheep, and sometimes cattle, depending on the season and the availability of food.
The origin of nomadic herding communities in Chile dates to pre-Columbian times, before the arrival of the Spanish in the sixteenth century. The indigenous groups in the Andes, such as the Diaguita and other tribes, largely lived off agriculture and livestock herding in the mountainous areas. Before the arrival of the Spanish, llamas and alpacas were primarily used as livestock.
Land use was heavily dependent on seasonal migration to find water and grazing land for their animals. This led to a semi-nomadic lifestyle, reinforced by the arid climate of the Coquimbo region.
Trashumancia. The word comes from Spanish and means ‘moving livestock from one pasture to another, depending on the season’. ‘Here we migrate with our herds between the lower valleys in winter when more grassland is available, and the high mountains in summer, where the cooler climate and meltwater create fertile pastures,’ says Oscar.
During the Spanish colonization in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, European customs were introduced to the region. The Spanish colonists brought new animal species like goats, sheep, cattle, and horses, which changed traditional livestock farming. Although Spanish culture introduced new habits, the practice of trashumancia remained important for the local economy in the Andes.
In the twentieth century, modernization and industrialization began to affect the traditional way of life of the trashumantes. The development of infrastructure, mining, and agriculture in the Coquimbo region, as well as climate change, led to a decline in the number of semi-nomadic shepherds. Many communities became sedentary, either due to economic pressure or state programs focused on land management and modernization.
However, some communities continued to hold on to their traditional way of life, especially in the remote mountain areas where shepherds migrate to the higher mountain pastures in the summer months and return to the lower valleys in winter.
Nowadays, the lifestyle of the trashumantes is maintained by a small group of shepherds who adapt to modern challenges. Although the economic significance of their way of life has diminished, tourism and ecotourism in nature reserves, like here in the Santuario de la Naturaleza Río Sasso, have provided a new source of income and a way to preserve this culture. This protected area supports not only natural biodiversity but also a way to preserve the cultural heritage of the trashumantes.
And that’s also a key reason for Glenda Araya and her husband Gonzalo Cortesom, both in their late fifties, to continue their way of life. They have lived as trashumantes for forty years, closer to God and nature, in their own words. They speak lovingly of their three children, whom they raised to be at one with nature. ‘Nature speaks to you,’ says Glenda. ‘The silence here is sacred.’
Glenda is happy with my visit. She hopes that my stories will show the world that this way of life still exists and perhaps inspire a new generation to return to basics, to nature. ‘Our cultural and historical heritage is now recognized as an important part of the identity of this region,’ Glenda says. ‘We want to preserve and protect this way of life. We are proud of who we are and where we come from. If this disappears, a piece of culture that has endured for thousands of years will vanish. Nature has so much to offer us. We need to learn to listen.’
Back at Oscar’s farm, he teaches me the process of making cheese. Because that’s what Oscar does with all that goat milk: make cheese. It’s a simple ritual. The smell of freshly curdled milk fills the hut as Oscar presses the milk into molds, a process he’s been doing since childhood.
‘Sometimes people from the village drive up to buy cheese from me, and otherwise, I take what I’ve produced down to the valley when the season here in the high mountains is over,’ Oscar says. The taste of the cheese, slightly crumbly, fresh, and intense, tells the story of this land, of the animals and the people who have lived together here for centuries.
Every encounter I have in the Sasso valley deepens my understanding of the trashumantes and their unbreakable bond with this rugged, untamed world. Despite all the modern challenges, they hold on to their traditions with touching determination. Oscar’s life is a testament to this resilience. ‘It’s a hard life,’ he says, gazing out over the vast valley. ‘But it’s also a life full of freedom. I enjoy the emptiness, the peace, and the space every day. I wouldn’t want it any other way.’
The next morning, Murango and Ajo, the dog, greet me as I crawl out of my tent. They walk, playfully, with me as I explore the banks of the Sasso deeper. It’s quiet. Really quiet. Deafeningly quiet. As the first rays of the sun again stretch their searing heat over the mountains, I think of Glenda’s words: ‘Nature speaks to you, if you want to listen.’ I watch the playfulness of Murango and Ajo and hear the soft whisper of the mountains, where the soul of the Andes kisses you with every breath of the wind.
Do you want to experience the magic of the trashumantes and the beautiful Sasso Valley for yourself? Visit TouristEd Chile for more information about this unique travel experience and discover how you can get up close to this fascinating culture.
Love what we do? Help us keep sharing the world’s most inspiring travel stories. At WideOyster, we believe in adventure, authentic storytelling, and capturing the world – raw, real, and breathtaking.
We travel far and wide to bring you stunning photography, in-depth travel journalism, and immersive stories that inspire and inform. But this doesn’t come free. It takes time, passion, and resources to keep WideOyster running without paywalls or clickbait – just pure, high-quality travel content.
If you love what we do, please consider supporting us with a one-time contribution.
Click below to support us and be part of the adventure.
©WideOyster, 2026. Every journey we share is protected by copyright. Please explore and enjoy, but remember: all rights reserved.
WideOyster Media BV
Jacobsgasthuissteeg 11
Utrecht
The Netherlands
Just like every trip needs snacks, our website needs cookies to function. Accept our cookies and let the adventure begin! Read our Privacy Policy.