Highways in Latin America don't run streight through town like they do here in the western USA.
They gradually become just like any other road in town. There are no road sighns. To get
out of town we usually drove slowly and asked 10 or 20 different people we passed how to get
where we wanted to go. Today we were searching for the Rio Lontue. At one point a
woman on her way out of town hopped in the car with us to show us the river. We drove a few
miles on a bumpy dirt road, then got out to walk the last 100 yards to the river around large
mud puddles, chickens, and pigs. There we stood on a large gravel bar overlooking the river,
but there was no sighn of a road leading upstream. Back to town for another try. We found
the road this time and stopped to camp on a beach on the river as the day's light faded. A
steep, rocky road led down to the beach. Nathan fearlessly drove down. Yan parked his
Falcon on the main road. We stayed up late drinking Piscolas (Pisco, a chilean liquor made
from grape skins, mixed with Coke) around the campfire. We roasted chorizo sausages on
sticks, gazed at the stars and joked and discussed the world's problems. The next morning
I fixed my paddle with a wooden dowel, epoxy, and duct tape. It was a little heavier, but
still seemed to float and seemed pretty strong. Just as we were about to leave a tour bus
pulled up and a moving truck began to back down the road to the river (and almost fell over!).
A herd of people began madly unloading tents, coolers, BBQ grills, and suit cases from the
truck. Apparently a group of friends and family had chartered the bus and truck to assist
them setting up a refugee camp for a weekend of camping. Once unloaded, we all helped push the
truck back up to the main road. We were lucky to have the extra help there to push the VW
wagon back up to the main road! Now we were on our way. A few hours drive through the campo
(country) and we were close. We were in the mountains now and the river had some rapids.
We came to a locked gate, through which was the only access point to the river. We were
unable to convince the gate keepers to let us through. They said we needed papers that we'd
have to return to town to get. We left a bit defeated. We parted ways with Jan and our french
friends. They went on to the beach at Pichilemu where they would meet Stephan's sister and
friend. We wanted to stick to the rivers and headed on to the Rio Ancoa. We stopped for
lunch, a nap and a swim on a small tributary river. Nathan backed into a tree as we left.
It shattered the rear window and crumpled the back door. We cleaned it up the best we could
and taped some plastic I had over the window and were on our way. Get us out of here!
On our way to the Ancoa we ended up on a road better suited for horse traffic. We made
it though and Marta told me I had achieved professional car pushing status. It was a
beautiful drive. We camped on the river near a small pueblo at the edge of the mountains.
The next day we drove into the mountains. The road was not very good and I got to do
some more professional pushing. We finally made it to some good rapids and put in. It was
a big water creek run. I portaged a few spots where important moves had to be made above
undercut rocks and sieves. My tricky little play boat wasn't instilling confidence in
my paddling ability. Where we took out a group of chilean guys invited us to join their
asado. An asado is a chilean BBQ. They cook marinated meat over a charcoal fire continuously
all day and drink wine and beer. Maybe some tomatoes and hot peppers to spice things up.
Nathan ran the 3 miles back to the car and Marta (she doesn't drive) while I got involved
with the asado. Nathan and Marta returned an hour later and we helped them polish off
the meat and their 2 garaffas (5 liter jugs of wine). One guy was a commando trainer for the
army and another unwrapped a bandage on his arm and showed us how in a car wreck his arm
was almost severed. It was a mirical he said that they were able to put it back on and
that he was still able to use it some. I believed him! They sang us chilean country balads
and recited chilean poetry. I felt embarrassed that I couldn't sing or recite anything for
them in english. They rolled back to town as the
afternoon changed to evening and we found a sandy campsite by the river. We had a campfire
under a million stars and in more familiar company I sang some of the simple songs I
learned from my grandpa as a child. We put in to paddle the next day where we'd taken
out the day before. Our asado buddies told us the biggest rapids were downstream. I
didn't make it more than a mile from the put in before I got into trouble. I missed
my boof (like a jump in a kayak) over a ledge drop and was getting endered (swapping ends) in
the hole. I went deep with my paddle to try and dig out and my paddle stuck on a rock on the
bottom and was pried from my hands. I swam out quickly and got to the eddy just below. A
class IV+ rapid continued just below. Vertical rock surrounded the eddy I was in. I chose
to climb out. About 30 feet up the rock turned to a rotten crumbly mess. I finally was
able to find a couple of decent holds and got a hold of some roots and bushes and got out.
I had to hike a mile down stream before I found a place to hike back down to the river. I swam
across and hiked back up to Nathan and my boat. My paddle never surfaced. I hiked back down
to camp and Nathan paddled the rest of the way solo. We'd hoped to paddle the Rio Achibueno
the next day, but I needed a paddle and we needed to fix the back of the VW. We were off
to Conception...
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