Burdened again with baggage and an obviously American appearance, an aggressive taxi driver targeted us instantly, "Taxi? Taxi? Taxi? You need Taxi?". Thinking it a ridiculous and expensive proposition--after all, our destination was over an hour
away--I gave a firm "no". Briefly he gave breadth, but do good businessmen give up? Again he attacked, "You want Taxi. Good taxi!", so I questioned colloquially for a quote. "Cajón de Maipo?! Hmmm...twenty thousand! Twenty thousand no more, good price, good price!" Meanwhile, off goes Gerald with an "adios" and "aufwiedersehen", but Mercedes remained, trying--despite no English at all--to assist us, even though her friend and ride had arrived. Mercedes made him monitor Leandra to the money exchange. Then, Mercedes tore into conversation with the cabbie. Worthless, I watched: the speed and pitch of the conversation, the pointing in palms and throwing up of hands, their acute eyes and exchanging acumen...then it stops...
As Leandra and her escort return, Mercedes trustingly sighs, looks into me, expressing more than her words, and says, "Sgood, sgood,". The driver, holding the happy "I told you!" look, nods with overcome exasperation, saying "Si! Jes! Good price!". It turns out twenty thousand pesos in Chile is forty dollars. So, after hopeful "hasta luegos", we're off with Jose Luis--the best cabbie we will meet the whole trip. Not only is he a kind, funny, family man, but--after ninety minutes of winding valley riverside roads, two stops at stores for food, and waiting while we checked in--he drove us to our doorstep. Two regrets remain. The books tell tourists not to tip taxis in Chile, but after a heartfelt handshake and a hard-earned 20,000 peso bill, we wish we had. And, we wish we had his picture...
Inside Cajón de Maipo hides Cascada de las Animas. Appreciating their abundant Andean acreage, the blossoming Astorga-Moreno family has carved out utopia along the Maipo riverbanks and shares it with nature enthusiasts. Exemplifying environmentalism, recycling and reduction are evident and encouraged everywhere, from facilities to food service. Below, looking right to left, locate the office entrance opening to the dirt road dividing fields of flowers and alfalfa, fruitful orchards, healthy harvests, and lounging livestock, that descends to an evergreen grove that canopies cabañas, gardens, paths, picnic and camp sites, before a suspension bridge crosses to clandestine waterfalls, equestrian wanderings, and whitewater destiny...
Did I mention the restaurant perched on the river cliffs, hewn and strewn with woodworks, where guests might gather for Gewürztraminer and gourmet goat garnished with subtle smells and sounds of gorgeous forested gorge...
Or the pool, filled fresh from cool springs, poured between cresting canyon walls, perfect for nesting by circling eagles above...
There are times when frugality trumps luxury...but not here. Affordable and adorable, our little lodge, surrounded by serenity, was adorned with every rustic, romantic amenity: quilted queen bedroom, pristine kitchenette, an oven for fires where candles were set, full bathroom, a daybed, and better still yet, grapevines that dripped with an afternoon sweat...
On night number one, we unwound from an astounding adventure around the Andes--from Mendoza to Maipo--supping so fine on tomato and rice, sipping white wine that was chilling on ice, looking in books, finding things that entice, and sitting, just thankful that things were so nice...
The seemingly unbeatable peace and beauty of the moonrise that night...
...might have been matched by the dewy lit patches we passed in the morning, exploring and absorbing our new world.
Arriving on Sunday, this morning was Monday, and those who spent weekends were gone. It dawned on us we were alone--with nothing but nature and fate to have fun. Without hesitating we were investigating the slate of attractive activities: hiking, horseback, and, of course, more rafting! Obviously, we could hike when we like and rides only required guides, but a boat needs some paddlers to float. The staff said, "Go hike, when you come back we'll likely have more than enough to go rafting!" So, before it got hotter, we packed swimsuits and water, and trotted across the old bridge...
A smaller bridge led to the ridge...
Via vertical climb through surrounding sublime, we burst on the first waterfall. The upwardly march was parching and grueling, but the pool pulled us in, rewarding and cooling...
Even the Olympus felt the urge to submerge...
When dried by the sun, we "good-byed" number one, and continued the trek to fall two...
The last fall we see is the tallest of three. We stay and we lay in the spray. You know, what can you say? It was a wonderful day and we barely we're in it halfway!
After sunbathing practice we're back among cactus, retracing the ways that we came. We come to this couple, who stop on the double and say, "Joseph and Monica is name!" When he eyeballed my shirt, he was obliged to assert, "We like the most Blazers of all!" So, with all of us grinning, we recalled almost winning way back when Rip City stood tall--and despite being distant, in that swirling instant, the world seemed wonderfully small...
When I talked about rafting, Joseph said laughing, "No, thank you to asking!", but we took the path back with our hopes...
While inspecting the roster, our fingers we're crossed, but the director said, "So far, just three. No rafting today,"--he saw our dismay--"but, of course more is maybe Tuesday." So, just a bit worried, we signed up and hurried to eat and meet up with some horses...
If it's "nay" to the paddles, well then "yea" for the saddles--we can hoof it up Andean hills! Out of shorts, into pants, wearing shoes over sandals, we moseyed out to the corrals. With a backpack for water--the day getting hotter--we trotted the rickety bridge. And, lickety-split, we are mounted and fit for a bit of the bridle and reins...
With Diego, our guide, and Eber aside, we stride up the steepening trail. Growing wider and higher, I divulge my desire, encouraging Eber to raft. Alas, as a student, the price wasn't prudent--"And I couldn't, I don't stay tomorrow." Eber has good fortune, moving from Mexico, exploring Santiago, before soaring to school in Buenos Aires.
Diego's family tree branches out so broadly that the roots in this valley still grow. He knows what he's got, and he loves it a lot, not about to get out from its shade. From the green blades of grass to the high mountain pass, there's nothing he'd trade for the peace and his piece of this place. And his heart is, of course, as pure as his horse and the smile that hides in his face...
Scenery and greenery as pretty as this, can pretty well speak for itself...
This man is in charge of the horses. He leads a late tourist named Bo. This photo won't show her, but soon you will know her, but look at the glow in the gaucho. He gave greetings and jokes and Diego some smokes, but seeing him--"being" him--leaves me no words...
And, on we rode...
A strange dog who lived in the foothills, followed us most of our journey, darting in and out of bushes, disappearing into thickets, only to re-appear suddenly, usually in front, glancing and then leading us on, and vanishing again. He had a name..."Micho" or "Bicho" they'd call him, but to me he was sneakier, creepier like old "Gollum".
You can tell by the stare that this fair filly mare didn't care to spare water to share, and our pair of poor ponies didn't dare...
Delighted and dusty we guided our trusty steeds through the fenced entrance home. Grateful, we petted each horse's neck, did the fateful butt-soreness check, and in a smidge we were back on the bridge, walking and talking with Eber and Bo...
After asked about rafting, Bo, smiling and laughing, said she already signed up to go! Oh no! We still need three more for tomorrow!
It just so happens that all of the cabins have grills that are stocked up with wood! So with Merlot and meat, we take up a seat, under vines that are drooping with grapes. While the barbaque cooks, we browse through our books, as a four-legged forager looks. While the sunset is sinking, our glasses are clinking with both of us thinking "To Us!". Tonight, our appetite for food...and happiness...would be full as the mountain moonlight.
We wandered around before winding down, whispering, kissing, and laughing. But tomorrow we'd leave, and I couldn't believe that we might not go whitewater rafting...
Like children on Christmas, me and my missus, woke early to see if it happened. As soon as we rose, after slapping on clothes, we strode the road up to the office: closed. So, after a shower, some food and an hour, we heard the word come from the staff: "We have now enough, so bring us your stuff, so when you return you can go!" Checked out but checked on, we were going--not gone--but we didn't know danger was due...
Needing six, we had seven, and a mixture of heaven, meeting river and rapids and crew...
A Korean, an Argentinian, and five Americans. Wetsuits, helmets, paddles, PFD's. Eight man crew aboard an framed inflatable raft, experienced emergency expert in kayak, supplementary support in cataraft, professional photographer and driver following in pull-out transport. Safety speech and crew commands: English. Being able to whitewater in Chile: priceless.
One rocky walk and final talk later...
This was our second South American river run, and some things were the same, some were not. Rio Maipo really resembles Rio Mendoza: Class IV+ action--enough to drown you and your boat, a murky, muddy, turbulent, continuous flow pouring impatiently out of the mountains. Today, however, we had blue skies and sunblock instead of hail and lightning. Our boat was bigger, sturdier, stiffer, and less elastic reacting to the troughs and crests--when the water hit, it hit back--plus it had oars which adds steering strength but reduces freedom. Lastly, compared to little more than silt up the nose in Mendoza and a flawless run, people almost died on the Maipo run...
In the beginning, our river reverence is relatively remiss..."FORWARD!! ALL FORWARD!!" yells Diego.
After half an hour of power paddling, the river gets wide and our guide asks for our paddles. Having heard this before, I'm the first overboard, to enjoy the short stretch we can swim. Brrrr! If I find it rough then it's tougher for others; our guide quickly recovers my new brother, Steve. Soon me and Miguel are pulled in as well, and Phoebe and Bo and Leandra. Anna was so far ahead, Diego threw a throw-bag instead--but the rope somehow slipped from his grip. Now, rivers won't wait, so her rescue was made by Roberto and Benjamin's boat...
Moments before more class III and IV, the rope, bag and Anna re-board, and onward we battle..."FORWARD PADDLE!! FORWARD PADDLE!! COME ON!! FORWARD!!"
Between his commands, I see our guides hand's frantically re-stuffing rope. Going from oars back to bag, he's re-packing like mad, and I joke, "You think that he knows he might need it?"
A big bend is coming, the current is humming, and Diego's still stuffing like mad. Weighing the risks in a race against time and space, Diego knows the throw-bad may be vital for survival, but meanwhile, the raft turns sideways--a potentially poor position. With a last panicked pack, the readied rope-bag is back, and Diego is grabbing the oars...just as the boat pours perpendicular into some more class IV's...
The photographer, Francisca, perched on a cliff downstream, snaps this tranquil photo as we emerge in the rapids upriver. You can see the way the water has carved out the wall on the right--which indicates the river's power and danger. And, that's where both of us, me and Leandra, were ripped out of the raft...
Rivers can kill. Having fallen in love with kayaking over the last ten years, hundreds of runs, and dozens of mistakes, near misses and close calls later, I know from experience. It usually happens from being unprepared--which is why Diego was so concerned with the throw bag. For example, one loose life jacket strap, a harmless class I rapid flips your boat, your PFD lifts covering your face, your can't see the rock, you die. It also happens unpredictably, after an unlucky chain of compounding events--a new log in the river, you get surprised, you mis-paddle, you panic, you die. This close call was caused by both: Anna floating too far ahead, using the ropebag, Diego losing his grip, an important piece of safety equipment now unprepared, risk assessment and a tough choice: preparing the throw-bag, positioning the boat...or--and this is what Diego, I, and others experienced boaters would attempt to do--both. Ironically, getting that rope-bag ready for an overboard passenger is what caused Leandra and I to fall out...
We hit this rapid, hard, front-right first into the trough. The wave lunges over the bow, and lurches both of us off...
Here's a picture! You'll have to ask Leandra for her version, but here's my recollection of our inadvertent excursion...
My mind said "Uh-oh, hold on". My eyes looked at my foot making sure it was locked in the foothold, but the wave won, and I spun and plunged in. As I fell I saw Leandra follow, and I felt her body on top of mine, which was good, because I knew she should be bobbing and back by the raft. Later, I heard she shot the rapid holding the boat's outer rope, fighting every wave, being brave, until Steve pulled her in after me. Meanwhile, I see what you see above...
Now, I've been "here" before, and knew what to do--which is probably the most important thing for survival. Time stops with lots of thoughts, and my mind kind of finds automatic: "Don't panic, stay calm" (it your oxygen last and improves decision making), "Get in river safety position" (feet first, lean back--which wasn't that easy banging off rocks in a class IV), "Let your life jacket do it's job--it will float you up" (and it did...eventually), "Why does my paddle always end up in my crotch?" (always try to keep your paddle--hopefully, you'll need it again, and you can extend it to rescuers--but holding on to it isn't easy), "Oh good, here comes the surface, maybe you will live" (that's when I hit the bottom of the raft--another reason staying calm is crucial), "Oh, great. Swim to the side." (it's very difficult to breathe or get rescued under the boat), "There you go, air, breathe it" (not out of danger yet, just not drowning), "Look around, find the boat, watch for rocks, ouch, there's one" (floating down a class IV is safer, not safe), "Extend your paddle, get yanked in the boat" (Correctly, Steve and Miguel grab my PFD shoulder straps and fall back, letting their weight pull me aboard)...Not done yet..."Check for Leandra, get back in paddling position, get paddle back" (the love of my life, my wife, is safely on board, and the river is raging), and "Listen for paddling commands" (rivers require respect and the needs of the crew outweigh the needs of the few, or the one). And, you just graduated from Rafting 101.
Above, if you look really close, you can see Benjamin's blue boat in front, behind him to the left is a big rock, and above that is Roberto's kayak. Directly left of that, at this exact moment, hidden by a tree, you can barely see our yellow raft, and somewhere in the water...are we.
To help swallow the size and scope of this treacherous stretch, find the rock below in the picture above near the upper right. Below, you see I've just been pulled aboard, Diego's got my paddle on his lap, and I'm about to scramble back to position. But what's that in the river that everyone's staring at? The other paddle...
Benjamin powerful oars push him upon it, but the paddle disappears in the depths...
Roberto spots it, caught swirling in the eddies--with expert skill he steadies himself on a standing wave. Vanishing, it escapes his exhaustive efforts...
Meanwhile, in the lull, an excited crew uses ears and eyes and expressions to exchange emotions and explications. "That was crazy wild!", "We didn't know where you were!", "I was under the boat!", "We couldn't see you forever!", "Good job pulling us in!"
Wisely, Diego keeps an eye on his colleague in the kayak...
But river's don't give a dam, and we slam through another class IV. For the moment, due to the Maipo's oar deal, Leandra is promoted to assistant supervisor.
At the next place to rest we pullover. Diego gets out and to scout up for Roberto. Benjamin oars near our shore. It's not long before, that even we can't ignore that Roberto should be here by now. Even Francisca, still clicking from high on the cliff, sees no sign of her co-worker--and husband...
Minutes go by. Benjamin, Diego, I and the rest, know that river's don't care if you're the best of the best. Hand signals from Francisca keep coming back "no". You could feel concern mounting like sand in an hourglass--seconds and minutes continue to pass. Asking me to hold anchor, Diego starts walking, hopping and skipping the rocks on the bank. Then he disappears, and we sit alone, waiting with Benjamin and Francisca's fears...
Then with a yip, and a wave in the air, Francisca yells smiling, "He is there! He is there!"
He was saving that paddle. And he had it and lost it! But, it surfaced right by us and Benjamin tossed it. So back in position, and stroking in beat, we finished the Maipo with everything: our equipment, our crew, and our spirits complete.
Back on the Maipo, after we fell in "el rio", to our guide and the crew I shouted "No, hoy no Dios!". It means "not today God," and I looked at Diego, and he gave me a nod, and I knew he was grateful. I mean how many tourists would get thrown the boat, and come up more happy with a big thumbs up vote? I loved it, and he knew it. During the shuttle ride home, I asked him the name of the rapid that ate me and Leandra. he said it was small, a class I, and didn't even have one. Divertido (funny)!
Back at Cascada de las Animas, we said goodbye to our new friends and the activities crew and paid at the office. It's hard leaving such a beautiful place, and we'll always envy the adventurous outdoor life of the family who runs it. We hauled our bags to the windy, rural, river highway outside the entrance to the office. We would stand there, like tourists waiting for a "collectivo"--a special taxi-like service that would take us to Santiago, where we had reservations in the historic London-Paris district...in the Vegas hotel.
We ended up on the local bus instead--very affordable...and, being about six o'clock, was packed, and hot, and swerving the curvy roads as fast as it would stop to let more folks hop on and off. We didn't recognize the man next to Leandra--a man from Cascada's front desk who had just got off work. Pablo spoke perfect English and proceeded to give us notes and advice on touring Santiago...
Then, it wasn't his stop but when we left the bus, he made sure the cab driver took care of us...
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