Chile Diary

Facing My Fears
Where do I start? With my fear I guess; let's face it, I'm a wuss, so doing anything of this sort is bound to be like a Self-Help book ... so that's the way we'll take it

Building Confidence Through Confrontation
Now, I don't like doing anything that could cause great and immediate physical injury, so let's be nice to me for a minute (someone has to be, the boys are just locker-room jocks when it comes to sporty type things), and call this fear a highly developed sense of self-preservation, shall we? Right ...

White water. Think about it. Water foaming over large spiky rocks in fast flowing, deep, cold rivers. And you want me to sit in a raft, and chuck me into that water and watch me try and keep a boat steady whilst it bounces over arcs of spume and raging torrents? You know this is all for you lot, out there in 'NetLand, don't you? ... well, for you, to keep the website interesting, in I went, in the name of or whatever phrase you might like to give it.

Oh god.

Removing Barriers Through Partnership
At least we managed to persuade Marco, our erstwhile and sometime Swiss travelling companion and buddy to take part.

Marco

Like me, Marco had never done any white-water stuff, and had balked at jumping into the Pampas, so I knew I wasn't alone in the Wuss Top Ten. Good, a partner in cowardice.

The day started off with the 4 of us being driven out to the start of the run, along with our French instructor, a man with a wild look in his eye and strange hair that only a Frenchman could grow and like; and his two safety guys - Swiss French men, cohorts in Frenchness, keepers of the sacred 'wild look in eye' religion as well. A Klingon would say "Today is a good day to die!". Not me, I was going to listen to every blinkin' instruction flung my way. As far as I was concerned, today was a good day to get wet, have fun and blo*dy well nothing else! Not even to keep you lot amused over your lunchtime break at work!

Look Good, Feel Great
So, where was I ... ah yes ... at the start of the run, we got out the minivan (thought that was sensible), and out on our wetsuits. Wow, if you think we looked sexy in dresses you should have seen us in tight fitting rubber. Mm-hmmm, we were sexy. I had to rub my hands up and down my body, to feel the tight rubber against my curves and .. er, ahem, so the wetsuits went on, along with the safety helmets, jackets and lifevests, and then we had a dry run (literally, cos we were on land, geddit, eh, eh?) of the paddling instructions. Then it was deciding who to pair up with - pretty easy, Jackal'd been rafting before, so I bagsied him, and begged him to go in the back so that he could steer with his incredible KungFu muscles. The fool agreed.

Better Communication for a Better Life
We carried the ducky - sorry, did I mention the name? Yes, we went in a "ducky". Now, I know you British people will be thinking of thinly veiled references to young gay men, but I can assure you, the only ducky that Jackal would ever come in the back of is an inflatable kayak / mini raft, OK? Right, got that sorted out. So, we took the ducky into the water, and climbed in, all the while listening to this mad Frenchie going on about how to turn, which way to face the ducky into the current, where to put your weight if you're going to capsize, how to get back into the ducky if you slip out (boys, stop with the filthy laughter, right?), and so on and so forth. Myself and Papa Smurf took 5 minutes to paddle round in the calm starting area, sorted out our instructions for turning, and had a bit of a practice. Marco and Gordy bumped into us a few times, unable to control themselves (well, we were in rubber and ... oh god, someone stop me ... )

Taking the First Steps
And off we paddled! For the first few hundred metres, the river was nice and flat, and we could practise our paddling in unison thang properly. As we neared the first set of rapids, the instructor got us to paddle to one side of the river whilst he explained how to get through safely: paddle hard, faster than the current is taking you, the front person (that's me!) is more important for balance, so the oar must be in the water as much as possible, and the rear person is more important for steering (although obviously both people have a hand in everything to a lesser extent); so, I'm helping to balance the ducky, and Carlos has to ensure that we steer properly, so that the current doesn't get under the side of the ducky and flip us.

Instructions finished with, we looked at the rapid. The Pillars of Hercules framed a huge raging torrent of water, a million white horses leaping to their death between the rocks that forced the water into this nightmare of spume. Here it was, the Water of Doom.

Early Wins Generate Confidence
Start up the Hawaii-Five-O music, we're off and paddling. Steering into the main current, the ducky picked up speed as it centred itself in the advancing water, and we paddled for all our worth; quickly looming in our vision the two Pillars of Hercules framed the gorge of death that was to be my very first white water experience. Gulp!

And then we were in the thick of it - the front of teh ducky passed between the rocks, rose up, I felt weightless for a split-second, and then we came crashing down into the well of water at the bottom of the rapid, water flinging itself in my face, the sound of a trillion drops of water leaping along the river in my ears, the cold stinging of the water against my cheeks, my arms working overtime trying to find the water to balance, Carl shouting "hard right hard right!". And then we were through! And it was all OK! We turned slowly and paddled to the side of the river, turning round to look back at the rapid, just in time to see Gordy and Marco drift by, heads bobbing above the water, grimly holding onto their boat. We'd made it, the other 2 went in. What a rush!

Don't Run Before You Can Walk
The instructor paddled over to us, in his kayak, and said that, if we wanted, we could try and surf the rapid we just came down - this was easy, apparently; you paddle into the rapid side on, with great speed, put your weight to the side just here, and the combined effect of your balance and paddling and direction, and the rpaid hitting you from this direction will turn the ducky to face into the rapid, and you would find yourself surfing on top of the white water, facing up-stream, the direction you came from. Sounded fun. Let's do it.

We went through the instructions again, and practised them in the calm part of the river. Ready, let's go.
Paddling up to the rapid, we sheltered from the current behind one of the rocks forming the rapid, had a quick run through what we were going to do again, and then plunged, paddling furiously, into the rapid.

And gently twirled around and floated back down to the calm part of the river. A failure. Let's try again.

We waited until Marco'n'Gordy had tried, then went back to the rock, taking some last-minute advice from one of the other safety guys, who had just been surfing in his kayak on the rapid. Getting behind the rock again, we went over what we had to do, and, taking a last breath, plunged back into the foaming water.

And surfed. Oh yes, we surfed the rapid.

For about 0.025 seconds, until the current got under the boat and flipped us out - my worst nightmare, being flung out of the boat into angry water hiding big hard killer rocks. Capsizing is a little like a wedding in reverse - they you are, intimately wedded to your ducky, then in the space of a kiss, you're flung out into the wilds, and a white veil is drawn over your vision as the water whooshes up your face, and then you feel like your lost and drowning and confused, and everyone else seems to know what to do, except for you.

I eventually came up to the surface of the river, only to find the boat on top of my head, trying to drown me. Kicking the water slowed me enough for the boat to float over my head, and I came up gasping for air, grabbed my oar, and clung to the side of the boat. When we reached the calmer part, Carl and then I climbed back into the ducky. We waited for Marco and Gordy to finish their next attempt at surfing, and watched our knuckles turn bright red from the cold, battling with a whiteness that resulted from dripping the oar.

Building On Success
After the initial success of descending the rapids, we passed up the opportunity to try to surf again, figuring we had a long way to go, and we didn't want to die too soon. The next sets of rapids came along, and as before our instructor took us to one side and told us how to go through them - start on the left, turn quickly to the right, then left again, and wait for me in the calm bit at the end. If in doubt, follow the stream of white water through the rocks - this is the rapid current that is going to take you anyway, so you may as well follow it.

We got through these rapids easy peasy! If you've never been on rapids or white water, the surface of the river looks like a pockmarked face - stones sticking out of the water look like spots, surrounded by the white pus of raging water, and then where the water rushes over submerged stones, you get a slight swelling in the surface of the water, and after it a huge hole, a crater, where the waters crash in from around the sides of the submerged rocks and from over the top of it. We had great fun bouncing UP ... and SPLOOSH DOWN over the rapids, water jumping into my face at every opportunity so that I couldn't see where we were going, and most of the time knew only that I was keeping my paddle in the water, trying to avoid hitting the rocks with it. After a couple of dodgy balancing moments, both Carl and myself developed a sense of when to lean to one side to balance the ducky in the current. Just like professionals!

At one point I had to worry somewhat about my future ability to produce mini-mes, as we were taken by a strong current over shallower water, I saw a rock hiding just under the water just as the rubber-bottomed ducky went over it ... and then I saw the rubber raise up as the stone scraped underneath the ducky, and then I realised in that terrible slow-motion that you get in films that this huge rock was advancing at speed toward my nether regions, which were firmly pressed against the bottom of the ducky.

OOF!

The rock passed, everything went grey for a few seconds, my arms kept the oar paddling in the water, and everything became slightly less important for a time. Boys, this was a **wince** time worthy of Hot Shots Part Deux. Ouch.

So, after 2 hours on the water, and with our arms aching from the constant paddling, and our right hands frozen into an open-fist from gripping the oar, we came to the Final Challenge.

Learning to Cope with Failure
The convergence of two rivers was to be our ultimate test. Our river, from our perspective, cut its way straight in front of us, and then curved to the right. At the curve, another river smashed into it. Rapids resulted. And unlike the rapids from further up the river, which were never more than 50 - 75cm drop, this one was a fabulous 1.5m drop of terror, enclosed on both sides by massive mountains of rock, jutting their death curves into the white-water channel. Oh sheeeeeeeeit.

Before we arrived at the rapids, we had been told that there was a calm spot just to the left where we could stop - if we paddled hard enough to get to it; otherwise, we were given brief instructions for how to go through the rapid, in case the current caught us and we couldn't reach the calm spot.

So, the calm spot came into view, our aching limbs, feeling like cold lead, tried in vain to steer us over to it, and of course the current said "no no boys!" and sped us on our way ... toward the Rocks Of Death. As we zipped along one of the safety guys shouted "Good Luck! Stick to the right of the channel!". That was the last thing I heard, before I was overtaken with joy.

Falling into the rapid, and being at the front, I saw the water disappear, an atmosphere of air yawning below me, and the ducky was tipping over it, and we were winning! We were paddling and steering and shouting directions, and we were halfway down the drop, and everything was great, and then ... then the current got under the ducky, the ducky leaned up, tipping the right side down, I saw rocks like alligators beneath me, baring their rock teeth, waiting to smash my head open with them; remembering the capsize instructions, I gripped my oar, and flung myself out, back first, and the world became a watery confusion.

I remember seeing the grey water and bubbles filling my vision, and hearing intermittent sqwooshlushwqswhooosh sounds of water rushing past my ears, and needing to breathe, and coming up for air, finally, after the ducky had bounced off my head (!), not knowing where my paddle was, seeing it float past and desperately grabbing it, then looking for the boat which was too far to reach, grabbing onto Carl's hand as he gripped the boat with his other, feeling rocks bang past my knees under the water, unable to do anything until we got over the rapids into a calmer stretch of water. And even when that arrived, I couldn't haul myself into the boat - my arms were too tired, my hands too cold from the water to grip the slippy rubber of the boat. Carl and one of the safety guys pulled me up, and when I knew that I was safe, alive, nothing was broken (ooh, except, girls, I'd torn a fingernail), I broke out into a massive grin. What a rush - the river tried to kill me, and I survived! Woohoo!

Master Your Destiny
A few metres further down stream, we came to the end point, where the minivan was waiting for us. Dragging the ducky out of the water, we tried to take our wetsuits off, only to find that our right hands were paralysed, our arms hurt too much, and the rubber was stuck to our skin. Lots of tugging needed ;-)

And then we went home, and that was my very first white water experience, on a grade III river, and I did enjoy it, and you never know, I might even do it again one day!

Right...time to continue moving south again where the clouds get thicker and greyer, the temperature starts dropping and exposure to all kinds of elements are to be expected. Rain, wind, snow, sleet, hail, sun....you get the picture.

We jumped on a bus out of Pucon to take us down to Puerto Varas. The original plan was to stay in Pucon an extra day, but the weather once again was against us, so we thought wed spend the best part of a rainy day on a bus.

A few hours later, the bus driver dropped us off on the Pan American highway, where we had to wait in the rain for a minibus connection to Puerto Varas. Nice start.

We eventually arrived in this small Germanic influenced enclave and spent a good part of an hour trekking around town trying to find cheap accomodation. One thing we found with Chile was that people are not willing to barter one bit. We would arrive at a hostel (which was clearly empty), and wed ask the price.

3 amigos: Greetings landlord, what be thy price for a bed for the night?

Landlord: 10 dollah

3 amigos: We are mere shoestring travellers my good friend, would you accept 8 dollahs per person, or 24 dollahs in total a night in exchange for a room?

The 3 amigos reckoned they had the upper hand, cos as its low season, and they have no rooms occupied, they should be able to get a good price for a room......or so they thought

Landlord: (Unwilling to budge) 10 dollah

3 amigos: Thank you my good man but we shall move to the old wench up the street who may offer us a better deal.

At this point the landlord is supposed to realise he has lost a sale, and should be willing to sacrifice 6 dollars in order to make 24 dollars ...

Landlord closes door.

Oh well, their loss. We eventually stumbled across a cheap hostel run by a German lady, so at last Gordy was able to take the upper hand and use some of his other linguistic skills. Unfortunately Gordy has now been so used to "trying" to speak Spanish, that his ability to speak competent German has gone out the window and he now speaks Sperman....a combination of the two languages ... hmmmm ... not a particularly flattering name that is it ... I'll quickly move on.

The next day we got some food enough for a couple of days camping and ventured on the bus to Petrohue in National Parque Vicente Perez Rosales. En route the rain held off despite grey clouds, and we arrived with reasonable hopes of a couple of dry days camping. We checked in at the Conaf centre where we were recommended some good hiking trails.

We set up camp next to a beautiful lake, Lago Todos los Santos, and ventured down a 6km trail down to Todos los Santos, a series of impressive falls and rapids also containing informative forest treks. A pleasent leg warmer to begin our next camping experience before the planned ascent of Volcan Osorno, or at least part of it, the following day.

We headed back to the campsite, collected some wood, and started a fire in order to cook some grub. I tried to initiate some camp song singing that I learned as a young scout including hits such as "Ging gang gooly gooly", "Oh you canny get tae heaven in a Playtex bra" and "On top of old smokey", but to not much avail. We hit the sack relatively early in order to get a good early start for our ascent of the Volcano.

HOWEVER
The next morning we woke up once again to relentless and unforgiving hard rain. There was no way we could attempt to climb the volcano in these conditions, so we had to spend the morning in bed, reading and hoping for some better weather - It did not arrive.

At around one oclock, we decided enough was enough and we need to get out for some fresh air, so we ventured to the local hostal in order to get some brunch and hot coffee ... this was no easy task I tell you ... what was a simple 2 minute walk the day before turned out to be an SAS obstacle course ... mud had turned to MUD and trenches had turned into Grade 4 river rapids ... so after a 10 minute walk ... tired, wet, exhausted, filthy and in need of a warm fire and hot fluids ... we arrived at the hostal.

We spent a good couple of hours chatting and introducing "The Pack" to a couple of German lads to their great amusement, then went back to the campsite to try and start a fire. The rain had subsided slightly, and being the good little boy scouts that we were, we had prepared for the worst and gathered up some dry firewood the previous day ands stored it under a groundsheet.

A good half hour later, we had something that resembled a fire, though the wood was very unwilling to burn, but being natural born men of the wild it proved no problem and dinner was served with not much problem.

We headed back to Puerto Varas the next day as the weather was not looking to promising and we needed to start making tracks south, so unfortunately not as much walking was achieved in this park as we had hoped, but this was made up for in Argentian Patagonia later on.

We checked back into the hostel in Puerto Varas, where we slept for a while and recovered from two uncomfoprtable nights in the tent, and then met up with the Italian Stallion ... Wee Eck ... Marco, and headed out for a few beers.

Graeme and I got the club really buzzing with our Moonwalking and Jamiroquai dancing techniques (Astro here: I must say that under the influence of red wine, vodka and beer we both perfected the Moon-Walk! We were amazing. I think.) ... though the bouncers did have to check on us to make sure whether we were for real or not ... I think we have started a whole new dance craze in Chile ... watch this space!

Next we move on south to Puerto Montt and the Island of Chiloe for some more rain soaked action and BIG fish food

Island of Chiloé
Well we were kind of asking for it. So much nice weather in 5 months of travelling, we were bound to get caught up sooner or later by the rain, and sure enough we arrived on the Island of Chiloé and we were greeted on our second day by lashings and lashings of the wet stuff ...

We did however arrive in Ancud, a port town on the north side of the Island with glorious sunshine. We checked into a family run hostel, after being driven by the owner in the back of his van through the town ... Always a bit of a buzz. We dumped our laundry on the mother of the house then headed out to check out the town.

We were pretty peckish, so we went to a lovely old rustic restaurant to sample some of the local seafood. If you like seafood THIS is the place to be. The Island of Chiloe has some excellent seafood dishes, but none more memorable than Curranto ...

I ordered a lovely Salmon fillet, and was well chuffed when it arrived in front of me. I grinned smuggly as if to say "Oh the boy has chosen well", and tucked in. Carl's Curranto arrived, and the smug grin was soon wiped off my face. A huge ... and I mean huge plate piled high arrived containing:
Mussels, Oysters, Scallops, Pork, Sausages, Chicken, Potatoes, Dumplings, Soup and bread just in case you havent eaten enough already.

There is even a technique to eating the dish, which was basically start at your right and gradually work your way to the left. As Carl proceeded not to listen to the waiters' recommendation and tucked in to the dish as if he had not eaten in weeks, he received a "Humpf" of dissaproval from our garcon who left the table shaking his head.

The wee man took the best part of an hour to polish it off, but looked exceptionally satisfied afterwards ... you will never guess what I ordered for my dinner the following night!