In Patagonia, Caught Between Visions of the Future Jorge Uzon The gaucho are still very much part of life in the Patagonia region of Chile. But change is approaching and residents are struggling to grasp where they fit in. COCHRANE, Chile - At the end of a 200-mile stretch of mostly unpaved highway, nearly impassable during the long winter months and only marginally better in summer, sits the quiet community of Cochrane. For generations, this isolation nurtured a bucolic, if insular, existence where little changed. The grasslands around here were sliced up into cattle and sheep ranches. Folktales romanticized the gaucho lifestyle on the wide open Patagonian steppe, sharing maté around the campfire. But for all its remoteness, this hamlet has found itself at the heart of a heated national debate over the future - and some would say, the soul - of Patagonia itself. A short drive outside town, a $10 billion hydroelectric dam project, known as HidroAysén, is being planned, stirring a national outcry against what critics call the destruction of one of Chile's most pristine ecosystems. Last year, thousands of protesters opposed to the dams took to the streets of the capital, Santiago, while hundreds more clashed with the police in a haze of tear gas and water cannons within view of the presidential palace. But just within eyeshot of the proposed project is the entrance to an entirely different view of Patagonia's destiny: the 660,000-acre Patagonia National Park, which seeks to preserve the region's grandeur by drawing tens of thousands of visitors a year. The two competing visions of Patagonia are set so close to each other that they seem to be squaring off in a blatant ideological battle, leaving local residents struggling to grasp where they fit in. The inauguration of the first work-training center in this remote Patagonian hamlet was a case in point, a significant but awkward event. The building, a three-room log cabin-like structure, was created for the purpose of molding an agrarian population into a skilled labor force for dam construction. As back-slapping company men congratulated city and school officials, the honored guests, a collection of former ranch hands and itinerant workers, among them Modesto Sepulveda, a 27-year-old converted gaucho, stood sheepishly in a corner, nibbling on bite-size empanadas and dishes of ceviche. Mr. Sepulveda, a soft-spoken husband and father of two, was awarded a certificate acknowledging his successful completion of construction site basics. On this evening, however, he was more philosophical than festive. "Development is coming, and we had all best adapt because sooner or later we aren't going to have another option," Mr. Sepulveda said plainly. The energy project is a partnership between the Italian-Spanish company Endesa and the Chilean company Colbún, which plan to harness the power of the untamed Baker and Pascua Rivers through a series of five dams that would generate 2,750 megawatts, primarily for energy-starved cities farther north. But while protesters denounce the threat to flora and fauna, María Ester Quijanes, a Cochrane City Council member, is more concerned that the project will create a privileged class of citizens than with the environmental consequences of damming Patagonia. "Politically, I agree with the dams because I believe in energy independence," Mrs. Quijanes said, "but I do worry they are going to create a social imbalance between those who can adjust to a different work culture and those who can't." With a few notable exceptions, the controversy that seems to follow HidroAysén around the rest of the country is surprisingly absent from Cochrane. There is a simple explanation, according to Luigi Solís, 33, who was hired to build trails in Patagonia National Park: "They win you over with money." HidroAysén has invested substantially in Cochrane's future, supporting infrastructure projects, training hundreds to work on the dams while promising to train hundreds more, and offering 150 technical university scholarships for high school students. The company also has a Cochrane office with an open-door policy where citizens can peruse a model of the hydroelectric dam project.