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A Chile Winter
There I am, taking those last few strokes
in the calm rippled water, just seconds
before outer serenity is equalized by inner
rage–the point of no return above a gigantic
rapid. As I reach the first massive reactionary,
kicking hard towards the ugliness
on the left, I realize where I am, realize that
this is finally it—Zeta!
But it couldn’t be. The water is too high,
I’m way off line, and I can’t open my eyes!
It’s a straightforward move and I have every
intention of running it, but not today. Oh
no! Can I pull it off? How did I get here?
Am I here? Why am I so calm, so cozy?
The rumble is so pervasive, so mesmerizing—it
must be Zeta. But this feeling of
sheer comfort, this softness all around me,
a child’s voice in the distance, a cow bell
ringing somewhere, confusion...
“DESAYUNO!” Then it all comes together!
The breakfast bells and the vitalizing
surges of the Futaleufú River 100 metres
away have woken me from another
deep sleep. OK, so I didn’t run Zeta that
morning, but I WILL!!
Five days ago I was transported from my
other existence: the never-ending race
against deadlines, in the effort to maximize
effectiveness and gain market share, to
change the world. To be honest though, the
transportation began months earlier when
I sealed plans to leave the concrete world
behind and disappear into the Patagonia
Mountains of southern Chile.
The journey took me past the 7,000 metre
peaks that encircle Santiago, then
1,100km further south to the harbor city of
Puerto Montt. From there, I took a final
sight-seeing flight along Chile’s southwestern
coastline, where the meeting of mountains
and ocean have left a remarkable
scene of scattered islands, inlets and estuaries.
After a last phone call home from the
tiny ocean-side village of Chaiten, I was on
my way up the Futaleufú Valley—into a
world where electricity to the farms and
homesteads has only become available over
the past few years.
Campo ‘Cara Del Indio’ is the base camp
for Kayak Futaleufu, and is found about 8km
up the 30km whitewater section of the Fu,
on the land of the Torro-Mundaca family,
who settled here many generations ago. The
camp’s name derives from the natural etching
of a native ‘Mapuche’ Chief’s face that
watches over the land from across the river.
The Toro-Mundaca family has worked
hard to turn their land into a paddler's paradise,
building private, riverside cabañas, a
cedar-sauna and cliff-top jacuzzi, and serv-
October/November 2002 www.WaveLengthMagazine.com
Ken Whiting boofs the last part of
Terminator rapid. (To ‘boof’ is to take a
stroke off a waterfall so that you land flat,
rather than penciling into the water below
where you might hit your bow on rocks.)
ing home-cooked Chilean meals designed
for the hungry boater.
Once settled into camp, I headed to the
gear shed to choose the kayak that I would
use for the week. The Fu is big water, but I
was happy to learn that save for a few
James McBeath
‘toughies’, its non-technical, playful nature
makes it great territory for play boats. Our
first two days were spent warming up on
some fun lower volume class 3 rivers. The
Rio Espolon and the Rio Azul are both tributaries
of the Fu that provide high quality
play and breathtaking scenery. The Espolon
runs alongside the remote village of
Futaleufú and is a perfect river for working
out any cobwebs. Our second day was
spent on the Rio Azul, named after the surreal
blue color of the water. The Azul was
slightly steeper and more challenging than
the Espolon, and it took us to some faster
play waves and through two of the most
stunning canyons imaginable. A day on the
Azul also provides a perfect opportunity to
get acquainted with the Fu, as the two different
shades of azure coalesce just above
a fun 3km section that has four progressively
bigger rapids.
Despite having two days to warm up, the
sheer volume of the Fu made my heart
pound fiercely, but I was ready! I cruised
through the first few rapids with surprising
ease and even found myself reaching a
comfort level with the huge rollers and high
speeds. It wasn’t long before I was actually
calling the river on for more!
Then came the grand finale of the day,
‘Asleep at the Wheel’. This effectively
quashed my newfound cockiness when an
enormous exploding wave decided to crash
on my head as I neared its crest. SLAM!
But after a quick roll and a sweet roller-➞
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