scarce, and any other traffic can be almost nonexistent. This became
painfully clear when it was time to leave Puyuhuapi. The bus to Futaleufu
would not leave for another 6 days and shorter bus excursions would be more
pricey. Still, a quick bus left town later that evening, so we decided to
try to hitch a ride while we waited.
Well, waiting on the side of a gravel road for hours while one or two cars
passed became the story of the next few days. Over the next 3 days, we
pieced together less than 250 km of short rides and buses. The hardest day
was making it less than 70 km to La Junta, much of which was spent waiting
and even walking with our heavy loads (upwards of 50 lbs each). The day was
rainy and we reached La Junta hoping to make it the last 77 km to
Futaleufu. After 3 hours of standing in the rain, we decided to call it
quits.
We found an abandoned and well sheltered car port along our route and
settled there. About that time we were joined by Max, a cyclists from
Massachusetts who we had already passed 3 times that day. He was a machine
who was surpassing 100 km a day on gravel roads and was actually keeping up
with us for the past 500 km from Coyhaique. He was on a grand tour of South
America and had already traveled from Santiago to Puerto Montt, took a
ferry to Natales and was now north bound to Colombia. He had already ridden
well over 1000 miles and was still going strong. We spent an enjoyable
night trading stories, sheltered from the rain. In the morning he shared
his oatmeal and set off as we vainly continued to look for a ride.
Finally at 2pm we boarded a bus and made a terrific chance encounter. I
happened to sit next to Troy, an English student taking a break between his
under and post grad degrees. He was traveling with two other friends, Cami
and Jeremy, who were from France. They were headed to Futaleufu for rafting
and had been given the name of an American there who ran a reputable
company. We decided to join up and raft together since it was the very end
of the season and it would be easier with a larger group. We ended up
staying two nights at a lovely hostel in Futaleufu and spent a dreary day
hiking up to the snow line and path finding. We had a terrific time with
our new friends and we couldn't have rafted without them, we soon
discovered.
The contact they had been given was Chris Spelius, an Olympic kayaker who had spent the last 20 years on the Futa (short for Futaleufu).
He was tall, well over 6 feet and he had an intense demeanor about him.
Later in the day we heard a story about a first run on the Niagara River he
did when it was running at well over 100k cubic feet per second. He was
worried about his spray skirt imploding, so he super glued it to his kayak,
having full confidence he could perform a "combat roll" if needed.
The Futa is a world class river, considered to be some of the best white
water in the world. Class 5 rapids are about as frequent as the class 3 and
4 rapids combined. It is on par with giants like the White Nile, though the
Futa is considered even more technical and less forgiving. The section we
chose to raft was 4 hours of non stop white water, ending with one of the
most difficult, commercially run class 5s on the entire Futa: Casa de la
Piedra, or House of the Rock. Even though there were only 5 of us on the
river that day, there were three guides in the water. The senior guide on
our raft, one in a cata-raft and another in a kayak. The cat and kayak were
always in front of us, acting as a safety net in case someone fell out or
the boat flipped. Rapids on this section of the Futa are very close
together and swimming them are a very bad idea.
Our raft was an 18 foot boat with a set of oars for the guide on the back
section on the raft. The cata-raft had the same oars, but in the center of
the boat. The kayak had carry loops which were used to tow swimmers back to
one of the rafts. The precautions taken quickened my pulse as we set off
for our first rapid, practicing emergency commands like "get down" and
"jump left/right". We also had to practice pulling each other in the raft.
The water was cold, but not terrible. The Futa winds through some of the
most amazing scenery in Patagonia. Colorful granite walls are clogged with
dense rain forest, hiding creeks until the very end when they plunge of the
mountains into the Futa below. A low, thin fog created an other-world like
feeling. "When the weather is like this, I always feel like I'm in Jurassic
Park", one of our guides says as we float over a section of flat water,
staring up towards the high cliffs, more than 500 feet above us.
Flat water was hard to find on the Futa. Class 3 rapids felt like ripples
after crashing through class 4s that carried on for half a kilometer. Wave
trains carried us 15 feet over the crest, only to drop us unto the trough
below, over and over. Our guide strung together commands, one after the
other. "Hard forward now! Get down! Positions! Hard forward, hard! Let's
go! JUMP RIGHT, JUMP RIGHT! Positions! Mike and I were at the front of the
boat since we had the most white water experience in the group. Water was
continually knocking us back and at times it was hard to breathe. Our guide
explained each serious rapid from an eddy upstream. Occasionally he would
ask us what we wanted to try. We always asked for the more intense line.
"we could try and go center-center and hit the hole" he said, not looking
entirely sure himself. "Let's do it".
I was the first to go when we dropped into the hole. The front left of the
boat buried itself in the water, tearing me out of my seat and surrounding
me in an angry bath of cold whitewater. After several seconds I came to the
surface and saw everyone in the water and the boat flipped. I was picked up
by the kayak and pulled onto the cata-raft. Luckily, everyone made it to an
eddy and no one was hurt. Honestly, it was exhilarating and even our guide
had a huge smile on his face. "We almost had it!" He gleefully shouted at
the other guides. After lunch we set out for the last section of the river
and La Casa de la Piedra.
Stopped in an eddy, all three of the guides went to scout the rapid. After
5 minutes of conversing they came back and described our line. "This is a
long rapid, you can't fall out in the beginning. See that rock right there?
That is the Casa. We have to go in between that and a hole but we can't hit
the rock. If we hit the rock we are all fucked". The guides were more
serious than they had been all day. The tension was intense. When the cat
and kayak went ahead of us they dropped below the horizon, out of sight,
then it was our turn. "Forward, hard!" Rocks and waves seemed to be
everywhere, the raft bounced and tossed in the churning white water as we
navigated the technical rapid. We crossed the width of the river twice,
maneuvering around sunken trees and holes that would swallow our entire
boat. And as quickly as it started, it was over. Our guide gave a whoop and
the boat broke out into cheers.
Back at the office we reviewed the gopro footage and praised our guides. It
was their last trip of the season and everyone was stoked to had had such
an awesome last day. Mike and I caught a ride with some of them to the
border and just like that, our time in Futaleufu was over. That night we
found ourselves in Esquel, a good sized Argentine city that we spent the
night in along side the road. This morning we were picked up in under 5
minutes and got a ride straight to Bariloche. We will spend a few days here, and perhaps take a multi-day trek in Parque Nacional Nauhel Huapi, Argentina's first national park! Stay tuned!
Great write...my adrenalin was pumping just reading this. WOW
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