The Magnificent Futaleufu!

I don't do mornings very well. I never have. Unfortunately, the Missoula Airport is, yet again, forcing me to wake up hours before the sun even thinks about shining in order to start on my day-long journey to Patagonia. I think perhaps this time an early morning will be worth it... My "international" vacation really begins at the L.A. airport where I embrace every language under the sun. It's here where I finally realize I'm going. This is it. No more wintertime for me--the south, and the Fu await me. I can now relax and wait for Lan Airlines flight to whisk me away to all of the beauty that awaits me.

Although I consider myself more of a country mouse than a city girl, everyone that heard I was going to Argentina claimed that I would absolutely fall in love with Buenos Aires. After my arrival, I can say that it's virtually impossible not to!! With the charm of Sevilla, architectural hints of New Orleans, and the warmth of Latin America, I fell in head over heels. I arrived to my hostel, which was located in San Telmo, dropped off my pack and hoofed it to the local market in Recoleta. My walk was filled with new smells, plenty of new sights and constant smiles. Carnecerias, local bakeries and vegetable markets lined the streets. There was a certain bohemian feel to Recoleta that instantly put me at ease. Buenos Aires is alive. After spending hours perusing the Recoleta Artisan market, I returned to my hostel to rest up for my upcoming week. Eight days on a class IV river is something that requires a lot of energy!

Today I head west. I generally like to head west. I board my flight in the Buenos Aires's domestic airport for a two hour flight to Bariloche-located in the Lake District of Argentina. I had heard that Bariloche is also very European: home to great skiing and even better chocolate. Unfortunately, I would only have the evening to explore. As I stepped off the plane in the Bariloche airport, which rivals Missoula's for convenience, I immediately locked eyes with one of my Bio Bio guides. You can generally tell a river guide by their footwear and eye wear, and Alex fit the bill. I met John, a financial consultant from New York City, who would also be on the trip with us, and he, myself and Alex piled into the van to head to our hotel. The further into Bariloche we got, the more it reminded me of home. The Lakes District looks much like Glacier National Park on a bluebird day. Spectacular glacial lakes dump into more spectacular glacial lakes creating hundreds of miles of the backpacker's paradise. I was already falling in love with Patagonia. After settling into my hotel room and meeting my roommate, Ellen, who shared the same birthday as me(only a slightly different year) I met the rest of my group. Immediately I knew that we were going to have an incredible week together. Everyone in our group had a different story, but we all had one thing in common. We all had adventurous spirits that led us to paddle one of the most spectacular rivers in the world. Alex took us to dinner at a traditional Argentine steakhouse, and as an "open-minded" vegetarian, I sampled my first piece of beef in over 2 years. Little did I know at this point that my "sampling" would be a theme throughout my trip. I can see why Argentinians take pride in their meat! After dinner it was back to the hotel then off to bed to prepare for a travel day to our base camp in the Futa Valley. The cool mountain breeze lulled me to sleep.

An early morning was necessary to get us to base camp by dinner. We all awoke looking a bit groggy from the night before and loaded into the van that would be our home for the next few hours. A quick stop for lunch and a stop by some Argentine officials were the only things between us and the Chilean border. By mid-afternon we had passed through Chilean customs and were on the final stretch for our home-away-from-home for the next week. On the way, we passed through the town of Futaleufu, which was a charming river town full of bakeries, sunshine and kayak-topped pickup trucks. After a 30 minute drive up a gravel road, we made the left turn into the Bio-Bio base camp and were instantly greeted by all our guides. After very preliminary introductions, Ellen and I were whisked away by our tent captain, Phil, who showed us the lay of the land and informed us that he would wake us up each morning with a hot cup of coffee. What on earth have I done to deserve this type of treatment? The camp is incredible--everything a river girl could want! There were a dozen or so "tents" with pillow-top mattresses and down comforters. The open-air kitchen would serve as the epicenter to the week's activities, and Christian, the Bio-Bio chef made sure that his delicious creations sent their aromas throughout camp on a daily basis. A short walk from the kitchen led you to the (constantly) open bar and the wood-fired hot tub and sauna. Just above the bar was the yoga pagoda which was a wonderful place to relax, play guitar and enjoy a yoga posture or two. You could tell the entire camp had been constructed with creativity and sustainable intentions. Needless to say, I was more than thrilled to be spending the next week of my life here. Dinner served as the perfect time to get acquainted with our guides and the Bio Bio staff. Our guides were quite the international crew: there was Piero and Fico from Peru, Phil from California, Jorge and Alex from Costa Rica, Lorenzo from Mexico and Ashley and James from British Columbia. They oozed river-wisdom. The behind-the-scenes crew consisted of the warmest, kindest Chilean souls that I have had the pleasure of meeting. It was obvious that there is a lot of love in the Bio Bio family. Piero gave us a safety talk after dinner, making sure all of us knew how to keep ourselves safe. Tomorrow would be our first day on the river. Spirits were high. There is nothing better than sleeping next to the sound of running water. Particularly when it is in the middle of the most beautiful place on earth.

Phil didn't lie. A knock on the door at 8:15 A.M. informed us that it was time for morning yoga. A crisp, summer breeze hit my face as I stepped out of our tent. Yoga was perfect. It got my blood flowing and eased me into the morning and prepared me for our first day on the water. Breakfast consisted of eggs, potatoes, yogurt, fruit, granola, and toast with all sorts of delicious preserves. Its a good thing that I was about to be paddling for seven days-with all of the food in front of me, I could see myself constantly with a fork in my hand. After breakfast, we divided up into boats. I would be on Phil's boat with Ellen, Troy, Nikki, Alice and Randy. I decided to sit up front. In my opinion, it's the best seat in the house. Phil is a kind soul and a fantastic boater. He and his family have ties with the boating community in Missoula, and he had very interesting insights about his experiences on the Fu. I felt completely at ease with Phil from the minute my tush hit the tube. He told us that our first day's run would be Puente a Puente (Bridge to Bridge), to assess our crew's capabilities. All in all, Bridge to Bridge would take us about 3 hours, with non-stop class III-IV action. The power of the Fu was amazing-big, pillowy crystal-blue waves would constantly crest over our 18-foot raft and leave everyone in the boat completely drenched. The only thing more amazing than the power of the water was our guides' abilities to safely navigate their crews down this incredible and technical whitewater. Phil did a wonderful job of explaining each rapid before as we approached it, and he let us know exactly what to expect. However, without a doubt, when I looked to the left to see a boat-sized hole in the middle of the river, Phil's words went by the wayside. After a successful run by all three of our boats, we loaded up and returned to camp. The afternoon would be saved for kayaking. Piero, like many of my good buddies from Missoula, promised I'd have a roll by the time I left Chile. My kayaking had been limited to anything I feel comfortable swimming. I really love it, but rolling a giant plastic boat over in the water just had been something that never really clicked. We headed to a giant eddy and all got in our boats. After 20 minutes of Piero's instructions, I got the nerve to try a roll on my own. Somehow, I found myself upright in my boat! I looked around, still suspicious that Piero had flipped me over, but I was alone. I had done it. I rolled a kayak. Upon our return to camp, we were greeted with cold beers and an inviting hot tub. Our muscles were sore but our hearts were happy.

Today would be a continuation of the day before. We would begin with the bridge to bridge section and then we would add two more rapids-Mas o Menos and Casa de Piedra, both class V rapids. Our crew was feeling good, and Phil was as energetic as ever. By the time we hit Mas o Menos, we were looking like an Olympic rowing team. Mas o Menos went quick. Before I could blink, I was gulping mouthfuls of the Fu. We paddled hard and had a clean run, which gave everyone confidence for Casa de Piedra. By the looks of things, it was going to be more than a challenge. The rapid was long and very technical. Phil explained that we would enter with an angle, hoping to catch an eddy on river right before heading into the meat. Then, we would paddle through everything and Phil would take care of the rest. Lucky for us, Phil knows the intricacies of the Futaleufu like a seasoned medical student knows all of the bones in the body. We made it through with a spotless run. This afternoon we had options. We could spend another day kayaking or we could relax on one of the rafts, which our guides turned into a booze cruise. I opted to kayak. It was a mellow run and we all had a great time getting to know how running water manipulates plastic boats. We took out a few miles downriver and luckily had warm clothes waiting for us-a few hours in a kayak can make you cold to your bones. Happy hour began as soon as we set foot in camp and we nibbled on empanadas and sipped on delicious Chilean wine. After a dinner of salmon, salad and the most perfectly-seasoned potatoes, I let the river lull me to sleep.

My first experience with a ducky was a 20 mile float trip with an old friend on the Yellowstone River. I've come a long way since then. That calm, wide river was more than forgiving on my giant rubber boat. As I was about to find out, duckying on the Rio Azul would be anything but... The group divided into two today to either ducky or horseback ride. Due to the fact that I took some wicked falls off of a horse in the fifth grade, I obviously opted to navigate my own watercraft. Our group got dropped off in the glorious Azul Valley, which looks like a scene plucked directly off of a postcard, and hiked a half-mile to our put-in. The river was silty-stemming from a volcanic eruption a couple years back that still affects the entire valley-but still clearer than most rivers in the states on their best days. As we began paddling, I realized that most of the day would perhaps be dodging rocks as opposed to hitting the giant waves that I was used to on the Fu. It took our group a bit to get into the groove. Luckily, I had plenty of duckying experience, and my nose-dives into rock fields were kept to a minimum. The group took some spills, which in turn led to a lot of laughs and a few bruised tushes. Just before lunch, we hit the biggest rapid of the day. The entire river narrowed into a small, meandering channel, and it was our mission to get our duckies down with great success. For any of my friends that tube the Blackfoot, think Thibodeau on steriods...The crew had a 75% success rate, and without a doubt, no matter whether or not we stayed in our boats everybody came out of the tiny rapid with a smile! We paddled into a glorious canyon that had the most incredible rock faces I've seen. Although I was surrounded by several people, the isolation that the canyon walls provided gave me ample time to reflect. It was beautiful. Lunch came and went, and it was up to the group to decide whether or not we wanted to continue paddling to the confluence of the Rio Azul and the Futaleufu. Luckily, it was a unanimous decision: onward we would go! Immediately as the current of the Fu took my boat, I could feel the magnitude of the water change. We went from a very low-volume tributary to a major, high volume river. Like terrified sheep, we followed our shepherds without questions. Avoiding holes and pour-overs, we went down the meat of a couple class III rapids. Another mission accomplished: I'd duckied on the Futaleufu River. As our guides helped us reach our take-out and decided to continue on to ducky "Terminator", an insane class V rapid, we were informed that a wine tasting featuring local wines from Chile and Argentina would be awaiting us at camp. Certainly not a bad way to end a tiring day! The wine tasting was incredible-Malbecs, Syrahs, Pinots, the whole works. Anyone who was interested in sampling the selection was given not only their own sipping glass, but also a brief history into the idiosyncrasies of each wine's production. I also learned a lot about how to look professional while sampling wine, which is something that I apparently was lacking. The wine tasting was a perfect liaison to a raucous South American dance party. The intercultural mingling was outrageous. Costa Ricans dancing with Californians, Peruvians dancing with Montanans-the whole group was really cutting a rug. Dancing is perhaps my absolute favorite thing to do in the entire world-I often find myself the solo dancer on many occasions, and dancing under the Patagonia stars was just icing on the cake to yet another spectacular day.

Annie and I finagled our way into a full day of kayaking with Piero. After a great deal of batting our eyelashes and significantly more begging, Piero agreed to spend the entire day with Annie and myself practicing rolls, peel outs and ferrying. Our morning was more than relaxed(the three of us were still enjoying the dregs of our late-night dance party), and after we rested our weary souls, we geared up for the trek to the nearest eddy. After 30 minutes of paddling upstream, unsuccessfully attempting to keep my boat straight, we were informed that we would be portaging for about a mile. The "portage" consisted of getting scraped by branches, slipping on rocks, and getting my sunburned, chaco-wearing feet stuck in knee-deep mud. Annie and I looked at each other and wondered just how much we really wanted to be kayaquistas. Finally, minutes from asking Piero if he was leading us on some sort of death mission, we made it to our eddy. We stretched out a bit, and then piled back into our boats for a roll session. Piero's advice was simple: "Its easy, just don't screw up." Eloquently said, the message was in the back of my mind as I was constantly flipped over in 45 degree water. Annie and I were getting the hang of things. Most often, both of us would pop out of the water assuming that Piero had used his sneaky, Peruvian ways to flip us back over, only to find out that he was nowhere to be found and it was our own hips that had snapped us upright. Ahh, what a feeling. We were on cloud nine. While the three of us were lunching on melon and chocolate, I noticed a boat floating through Himalayas, a class III+ rapid just above our eddy. Piero went to rescue the boat and left Annie on our own. I had heard rumors that a couple of friends from Missoula were in Chile for a kayaking holiday and I was strangely hopeful that the boat belonged to one of them. It was a longshot, but traveling is always a reminder of just how small the world is. After a few minutes Piero returned with the boat and a group of paddlers met us in the eddy. The boat belonged to their friend, and when I asked if they knew the whereabouts of my Missoula pals, they gladly informed me that they had been traveling companions for the past month!! The world certainly is small! My new friends invited me to an asado, and promised that they would relay the news to my buddies. Somehow the only thing that could make my smile even bigger on such an epic day had happened: I would be spending time with my pals in the middle of Patagonia.

Today would be, as Jorge called it, "The best day of our life." We would be conquering Inferno Canyon-a beautiful, deep Class V canyon with two portages. We had an atypically early morning-Phil's knock came at 7:30 instead of 8:00, and everyone was sure to eat enough protein to get them through a tough day of paddling. We put in on the Rio Espolon, giving our muscles time to warm up to the Canyon. I had switched to Lorenzo's boat for the rest of the trip. Greg, who had been paddling a cataraft for the first two days, had opted to go with his wife, Alice for the canyon. Although I was sad to bid my old boat farewell, I was equally as excited to have Lorenzo as my guide. At the confluence of the Espolon and the Fu, we eddied out to have a safety briefing and do some communal stretching. Everyone was encouraged to share their favorite stretch. I busted out my favorite from my days of college hoops. We all had butterflies in our stomachs, not knowing what to expect from the infamous Inferno Canyon. The first rapid was Entrada, or Entrance Rapid in English. Nate and I were up front, setting the pace for our boat. We gathered momentum and hit a wave that completely engulfed our entire boat. We surfed for a second and emerged just in time to see a giant wave train in front of us. The water in the canyon is HUGE! I most certainly did not want to swim. We made it through and turned around to look at what we had just done. Woah. It was truly incredible to look back on the crazy whitewater that we had just gotten ourselves through. The next rapid on our plate was dynamite. It is a fairly new rapid, caused by the creation of a road above the river. What used to be a class III rapid was turned into a gnarly class IV+ rapid with some pretty heavy consequences. Lorenzo and the other guides went to scout. We were to go last, and after seeing the other two boats go through, the butterflies in my stomach were back. The issue with Dynamite is the force of the powerful water pushes the entire river into a wall on river left. Hitting that wall means a virtually eminent flip. As we made our way into the rapid, I could tell by Lorenzo's voice that this was a no-joke rapid. We really dug it in, but inevitably we found ourselves on the wall. On Lorenzo's command, we high-sided and saved ourselves. The adrenalin was on high for our entire boats. After a paddle high-five, we looked at the rest of our crew and noticed the excitement in their eyes. We made it. The rest of the canyon was indescribable. After portaging two rapids-Zeta and Throne Room, we continued on on journey with some more class IV rapids. Finally, we made it to flat water where Annie and I got to row the boat a bit. What a feeling that was...having the opportunity to row a boat down the Futaleufu. We returned to camp for the usual antics. A happy hour spent with great people followed by my favorite dinner of the week-an incredible curry that melted in my mouth. As I drank a glass of a fantastic malbec, I realized, dreadfully, that I would be leaving this unreal valley in just a few days. It was a thought that I tried my best to get out of my head.

Today, once again, Jorge infomed us would be the best day of our lives. It would be awfully hard to top yesterday, but so far Jorge hadn't steered me wrong. Bio Bio had decided to save the best day for last. Today we would put in just above Terminator rapid, which is considered by many to be the most epic rapid on the Fu. From all of the pictures I'd seen before, it looked as if it was inconceivable to navigate a boat down this bony, incredibly technical rapid. After scouting Terminator on a brief hike, we were explained the most successful line. We would go river left, avoiding the "Terminator" hole and then paddle like hell. It was the last day on the river, and things had gone so smoothly for the past week, I had no doubt that we would get through the day with flying colors. We all suited up in our damp gear, and piled back into our rafts for our final voyage of the week. Spirits were higher than high. We eddied out directly above Terminator to recollect ourselves and prepare for the task at hand. Honestly, now that I think about it, I didn't have time to think going through Terminator. All I can remember is paddling like I've never paddled before and looking over and realizing how gnarly the Terminator hole was. Other than that, my mind wasn't really working. Looking back after we'd made it through was insane. The rapid looked more like a 100 yard waterfall than a Class V rapid. The power of the water was unparalleled. The pictures did not lie. The rest of the day was jam-packed full of whitewater. We did the rest of the river, through Casa de Piedra for one last time. All in all, we'd essentially paddled all of the whitewater that the Futaleufu had to offer. We all made it back to camp for our last night. The hot tub was full and the cocktails were flowing. I'm fairly certain that each one of us had a grin from ear to ear on our faces. The final dinner of the week was a traditional Patagonian asado, which is a brilliant way to cook delicious meat (spoken like a true vegetarian). In an asado, an entire lamb is slow-roasted over a fire to bring out the most delicious flavors(once again, spoken like a true vegetarian). There is no way that I could leave Patagonia without partaking in an asado-well, two asados in my case, and I loaded my plate full of the succulent lamb. As we all headed up to the bar for the final night, you could sense the melancholy throughout the group. No one was ready to bid the glorious Futa Valley so-long. Unfortunately, we had an early morning ahead of us our last night was cut short. For the last time, I soaked up the Patagonian night sky, and crawled into my inviting bed to dream sweet, sweet dreams.

The morning was full of lots of hugs, exchanges of phone numbers and goodbyes. The gang was heading back to Bariloche and then off to return to real life. I had some free time on my hands, so I decided to stay in the valley and camp with my friends from the states. It's not very often that you fortuitously stumble upon good folks from your past in the middle of Patagonia. I took the bus into town with the rest of the group, did some grocery shopping and waited for Edgar to scoop me up and take me back to Cara del Indio, a campsite where the kayaking world congregates. I was to be an eddy-flower for the next few days. Lorenzo kindly gave me an incredible camping hook-up. I hadn't planned on needing my own shelter, so I opted out of bringing a tent. Without Lorenzo, camping for 2 nights would've been very interesting. I set up my Eureka-I'm used to traveling light and using a one or two man tent, so when I unrolled the body and realized there was room to comfortably sleep a small family, I was more than excited. I'm certainly not accustomed to being able to stand up in my tent. As I pounded the tent stakes into the ground, I looked up at the clouds rolling in and realized that for the first time in a week, the sky was about to dump buckets of rain. Just my luck-my first night out of the swanky Bio Bio "tents" and I encounter an infamous Futa Valley rainstorm. After I triple-checked my rain fly, my buds and I loaded into Claudio's truck and headed down the road to yet another asado. Although my stomach could not fathom the thought of accepting any more lamb or beef, my olfactory senses were on a different page. The smell of roasting meat is something that this vegetarian still hasn't gotten over. The asado was hosted on the grounds of another rafting company in the valley. It was nice to see all of the familiar faces of the Bio Bio crew. Spirits were high and there was a constant stream of giant plates of meat shoved in front of my face. About 3 hours into the festivities, the sky opened up. Everyone embraced the rain and put their rain jackets to the test. It was a really beautiful scene-people celebrating their love of an incredible river. Finally, after all of our clothes were sufficiently soaked, we headed back to our camp to get into our dry shelter. Now, more than ever, I was thankful for my loaner tent. A rainy, dreary day would be all the worse without a shelter or a sleeping bag. The pitter-patter of giant raindrops drowned out the sound of the raging river as I drifted into dreams.

The pitter-patter of the rain still hadn't ceased. I opened my tent door to realize that the weather hadn't changed and today we would have to find alternative activities to the typical river recreating. As Claudio cooked me a delicious breakfast of eggs and potatoes, I tried to muster up enough motivation to get out of my warm and cozy tent and into the elements. Finally, the smell of garlic and onions prevailed, and I put on my warm layers and mozied over to the kitchen to scarf down my breakfast. This evening the crew was planning on going to the Futaleufu Rodeo. Having spent plenty of time in Montana, where some of the best cowboys call home, I was more than thrilled to see a traditional Chilean rodeo. From what I know, rodeos are less about the wrangling and more about having a great time with friends. I was hoping that a rainy day would not get in the way of a good time. As the day drew on, the clouds parted and all of us became hopeful for a clear evening. We spent the day relaxing in the sauna and catching up on journaling and reading. It was nice to have a vacation day on my vacation. I planning on getting a ride to the Chilean border with Bio Bio the next morning, so I wanted to soak up every last minute I had in this marvelous valley before I returning to the real world and the reality that is called "winter" in Montana. We heading down to town and walked to the rodeo grounds. It was a really great scene-the rodeo was held on the outskirts of town with ample stadium-style seating to go around. Like the Montana rodeos that I'm familiar with, there was more of an emphasis on the cerveza in your hand than the roping and riding. The rodeo was a really amazing insight into Chilean culture. Apparently rodeos are cross-cultural paradigms-although there were things about the Futa rodeo that were uniquely Chilean, I could've just as easily seen myself back in Gardiner, Montana and felt just as at home. As the sun set, the rodeo wound down and I decided to enjoy some dancing with the Bio Bio crew. We went to a local fishing lodge, showed off our moves and finally made our way back up to camp. Before I headed to bed, I took one final look at the glorious Patagonian sky. I had a long day of travel ahead of me tomorrow, and I wanted to make sure I had one last glimpse of the constellations of the Southern Hemisphere. The thought of leaving was almost unbearable, but the faces of my friends in Missoula filled my dreams that night. The last leg of my journey was about to begin.

The Futaleufu Valley is difficult to leave. There are only a few buses leaving every week, and thanks to poor planning on my part, I had missed them. Luckily, the folks at Bio Bio are amazing and incredibly generous, and Edgar was going to give me a ride to the border where I could hook up with another one of their drivers who would take me to Esquel. I lucked out in a big way. The morning was relaxing- I packed up and waited until Edgar was ready to head out. For the third time in as many days, I said goodbye to the Bio Bio folks. I have no doubt in my mind that my path will cross theirs again some day. Edgar and I loaded up the bus and headed to Argentina. My adventure was over, and oh, what an adventure it was! My arduous trip back to Missoula would be filled with thoughts of Chile, Argentina, Patagonia, and the amazing Futaleufu River!!