#18 Rafting on Rio Futu - Esquel to Futuleufu

Can you spot Reece in this picture? (Hint: he's not the old man).

We left the campsite in record time today; up at seven we had travelled the 40km's return to Esquel to arrive by quarter past nine to pick up our Oxford 'Lifetime Luggage' bag from the repair shop. Also just in time to see the arrival of the iconic Old Patagonian Express train preparing for its ride to Nahuel Pan. Said to be the only long-distance narrow-gauge steam engine train in operation today (not sure what that means but it sounds impressive!), it was described by Paul Theroux in his travel account of the same name as the "railway almost at the end of the world". I mention that because we are about to enter the middle of nowhere!

We looked forward to our second border crossing back in to Chile. It was a somewhat different experience to entering Argentina. For one, there was no snow, in fact the weather couldn't have been more perfect. I am starting to understand how border crossing can be dodgy experiences; its not that we experienced anything like that here, or expect to anywhere in Argentina or Chile, but when there is no one in sight, just a couple of guys in a house which you have to look twice at to be sure it is the border, I can start to see how easily corruption occurs.

The border post.

Futuleufu has a very small population (500 or so people) but its world renowned for rafting and kayaking on the Rio Futuleufu, which is why we were headed there. We are a travelling off season at the moment; things don't really start to get busy in Patagonia until December, when tourists outnumber locals. I wouldn't have thought being a couple of weeks out would have made too much of a difference but when checking in to our accommodation we were told that most rafting company's come from out of town and not usually until December. That didn't turn out to be the case; there were a couple running, including a locally-run business, Patagonian Elements, whom we ended up going with.

Aside from our time at Hostel Mora in Mendoza we haven't really had an opportunity to chat with many locals on our trip, only tourists. Our lack of Spanish just a small hindrance in this regard! The place we stayed at in Futuleufu was occupied with teachers working at the local school brought in from other parts of Chile to run a programme coordinated by a US women about our age. We sat around the kitchen table with these guys for the evening, at first the American girl offering the odd translation but after about half an hour clearly deciding that we should put what little Spanish we knew to use. So instead of completing his marking, we listened as the slightly nerdy Maths teacher of the group told us of his dream to motorbike to Peru on a 125cc asking us for tips, and  ignoring the teasing from the others about 'living his dream'. A fun evening.

Earlier we had been wandering the streets and ran into a French girl, Laura, who approached us with the line in her American accent 'are you guys the New Zealand couple?' Feeling like a celebrity, she had been searching for us in the hope we would be rafting the next day as that was the only way she could also raft. When we all turned up the next day we were told the river may be too high for the trip to go ahead. This was a bit mystifying to us as, thanks to that mysterious microclimate, the day before had been stifling hot and though we had the first of many nights to come in an incredibly comfy, soft bed, loaded with blankets, I was pretty sure we hadn't slept through rain.

Turns out that November is not always a good time for rafting on the Futu river because the melting snow can cause the river to rise. Luck favoured us although clearly there were some safety concerns as for just three tourists there was an additional guide on board, three additional guided rafts and a kayak. Reece rode the bike to the river as our plan was to carry on after rafting which was on the way to our next destination. That put me in the back of a ute with our two, young Chilean guides up front, flirting and joking with the beautiful Laura, conversation for the entire 40 minute trip conducted in rapidly spoken Spanish with me sitting in the back, completely ignored but content, attempting to translate the odd phrase.

The rafting was good fun and as it happened the only rescue required was of one of the guide's who flipped his boat on a grade 5 rapid and then lost it down the river. The only one mark on the day was the English guide in our boat who had come down from Colombia in search of a job for the season. I don't think he'll be offered one at Patagonian Elements after he contradicted the instructions from his wannabe boss, spoke over the top of him, and also thought he would try his luck with Laura with techniques worthy of a 10 year old, pushing her out of the boat into some pretty cold, water with a strong current. The three of us were talking about it later, wondering what made him think we were going to take instructions from him, a novice, over a guide who had been brought up on the river. The day was capped off with some spots to stop at from one of the local guides on what to see on the road we were about to hit, the famous Caraterra Austral.