Maybe
you've heard the hype. “It's the best river
anywhere,” they said, “You gotta see
it.” Maybe you're a bit skeptical. After
all, it’s a long way to southern Chile,
and you don’t expect you’ll find a
decent pizza place when you get there. Well, some
things are beyond hype. This river is for real.
Picture 15,000 cfs of warm, crystal-clear water.
Picture roller coaster rides on 20-foot swells.
Picture a surfing wave they call Aquarium, so
smooth you can watch the fish. Picture alpine
scenery with craggy peaks and glaciers hanging
over lush green meadows, and deep gorges with
sheer rock walls. This is Futaleufu country.
Of course, beauty this grand doesn't come without
a certain raw edge. There are monster holes, terminal
eddies, huge swirlies, rapids called Inferno and
Terminator, and several gigantic class 4+ rapids
that aren't even named. Nobody shreds here; one
merely survives. From the little town of Futaleufu,
near the Argentine border, to the last major rapid,
Casa de Piedra, the river runs nearly 30 miles
at an average gradient of 50 fpm. The upper half
has long flatwater sections interspersed with
nasty class 5 and class 6 gorges. The lower half
is a nearly continuous sequence of big class 4
and 4+ rapids with short pools. Road access is
available at several points on the lower half,
but the upper canyons feel very remote.
My trip to the Fu was arranged (catered is probably
the better word) by Chris Spelius and his company
Expediciones Chile. Spe has assembled a primo
team consisting of himself and Ken Kastorff as
guides, Pedro the shuttle driver and shade tree
mechanic, Ismael the gourmet wood stove chef,
Desireé the masseuse, and Juan Pablo the
photographer. Along with eleven other lucky paddlers,
I traveled by jumbo jet to Santiago, by small
jet to Puerto Montt, by bush plane to Chaiten,
then by dirt road three hours to join this crew
in a rustic schoolhouse near the banks of the
Fu. The total travel time from my home in San
Francisco was a remarkably short 30 hours. The
adventurers came from all parts of the U.S. and
from England, and included a number of professional
kayak instructors. Four out of the twelve of us
were women.
We were introduced to the Futaleufu by way of
the Rio Azul, a tributary that intersects at the
start of the lower Fu run. The Azul is born among
glaciers, and its beautiful cold milky blue water
drops through class 4 boulder gardens in a valley
that seems transported from Switzerland. The hot
February sun felt great as we stretched our winter
muscles. We had lunch at the intersection with
the Fu, on Spe's land. He owns the confluence.
That's one way to ensure river access.
After lunch, we peeled out into the Futaleufu.
It was immediately apparent that it was time to
pay attention. This rio was BIG. Though the flow
approached warp speed, the water gave the curious
impression of being viscous; it seemed hard to
accelerate or spin one's boat. Slowly we all learned
to loosen up and adjust to the futility of trying
to fight this river. Then we came to a rapid.
Huge chaotic exploding waves, no way to see what's
coming, just hang on and hope there's no hole
ahead; at the bottom: “Wow, Ken, that was
wild. What's it called?”
“What's what called? Listen up, guys, we're
about to get to the first rapid.” Gulp.
Fortunately, Ken and Spe have this river wired,
and we were nervous enough to listen closely to
their directions. They introduced us to the sneak
route through the Terminator, down the left shore.
The sneak route is class 4+ with two must-catch
eddies, and is basically the only sane route,
though Spe talks of running a center route some
day. The Terminator itself is a hole that occupies
the right half of the river midway through the
rapid, and looks like it could very well contain
lost civilizations. Just below Terminator is a
deceptive rapid mined with hidden holes. One member
of our group had the misfortune to fall into one
of these holes twice. The first time, he managed
to fight his way out upside down but still in
his boat. The hole remembered that.
On succeeding days we paddled the Terminator again,
and continued on through the Himalayas, a wave
train very much like Hermit in the Grand Canyon,
and through Big Pillow, Chaos, Casa de Piedra,
and at least a dozen unnamed but noteworthy rapids.
These rapids typically involve dodging a couple
of pourover holes while riding up and down on
a train of 10-foot waves. At Big Pillow, one drops
sideways off a smooth wave onto a river-wide seething
pillow, which slings one into an eddy. Fasten
your seat belt. Chaos offers a battle through
huge lateral waves before a jump into a giant
breaking wave hole. It makes Last Laugh on the
Bio Bio seem like a mere chuckle. The concentration
and consistent high quality of this stretch of
rapids is simply incredible. We were glad to have
two opportunities during the week to paddle these
rapids; most of us needed more than one shot to
get a clean run. In fact, on the last day a majority
of the boaters elected to pass up a second chance
at the upper run in order to take a third trip
down the lower section.
In the middle of the week we drove upstream to
put in just outside the town of Futaleufu. We
had heard that the upper section was tough, and
the fact that Ken and Spe seemed nervous did not
help us relax. Moreover, it was raining. We began
to talk seriously about taking a rest day. Then
Pedro played his bluegrass tape and the sun came
out. Re-inspired, we put on just above a small
gorge. In less than fifty yards one swim and several
rolls reduced the general level of confidence.
Then the river turned a corner between two massive
pillars and vanished behind a horizon line. This
was the beginning of the Inferno gorge, more than
a mile of steep, fast, turbulent, vertical-walled
insanity. Ken told us to “Just stay away
from that wall down there,” and peeled out.
We watched him get thrown up on the cushion inches
from the wall. Spe tried it, and he kissed the
wall, too. The next boater didn't even make it
to the wall before being thoroughly spindled and
mutilated in the turbulence. We watched as he
vanished around the bend, swimming, with Ken in
hot pursuit. Spe signaled: “Next.”
Well, we managed to get through with only one
swim and a lost paddle, but everyone rolled at
least once and we were all relieved to find a
few miles of flat (but fast) water below the gorge.
After lunch, we came to the rapid called Zeta,
where rock walls squeeze the entire foaming river
around two bends through a 30-foot-wide chute.
Potholes and arches carved in the rock and the
large amounts of water boiling up from under the
bank 50 yards downstream attest to the undercut
situation here. Spe and Ken and superboater Chris
Wilcox from Colorado all ran it more or less under
control, but the rest of us were happy to drag
our boats up and over the hill through dense underbrush
to an elegant 15-foot seal launch into the pool
below the rapid.
It turned out that Zeta was not the most terrifying
rapid on the upper Fu. A short ways below lies
the Throne Room, a quarter-mile gorge in which
the river drops more than 50 feet. At the bottom
lies the Throne, an immense rock blocking the
way. Even the river doesn't know how to get through
this rapid -- the pillow in front of the Throne
is 30 feet high. Only Spe felt like risking this
drop; the rest of us were happy to cheer him on
as he successfully powered his way through the
left hand slot. Below Throne Room, a few miles
of continuous waves and holes led to the take
out at Spe's beach.
After each day's paddling, we would pile into
Pedro's van for the quick ride to camp. Ismael
served dinner late, and it didn't get dark until
10 pm, so every evening there was plenty of time
for fishing, massage, and ping pong (Pedro was
once a nationally-ranked player). It was worthwhile
just to sit and watch the clouds get caught on
the mountain peaks surrounding the camp. On the
clear nights I slept outside in order to watch
the strange stars wheeling around the Southern
sky, and Orion upside down with his head under
the horizon. One week was simply not enough of
this place. I can’t wait to go back next
year.
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