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Chile/Argentina Border, November 28, 2003

Typically, our group takes a couple of hours to pack clothes, kayaks, food, and clean our domicile. Today, we accomplished these tasks in less than an hour. Mostly because we packed at the end of our thanksgiving day for our trip to Bariloche, Argentina.

After hopping out of bed, we tied our kayaks with incredible speed and efficiency. Then we ate eggs, fruits, and cereal. We ate all of our fruits, as we would not be allowed to cross the border with them. The day had a great beginning, and it was clear and sunny as we left the volcano region of Pucon. I thought, "Maybe we can paddle in the afternoon in the Patagonia Mountain's Rio Manso." The day had a different plan in store for us.

The day first began going astray as we departed Pucon and passed the lakeshore town of Villarricca. We expected an hour and a half drive to Osorno to catch a bus across the Argentina border. I was listening to music when Todd Baker shouted; "I left my passport in the truck." David Hughes and our Chilean driver Andres were traveling behind us with a pack truck. They had to wait in Pucon for proper trailer documents to arrive at the bus station at 10:30am. We called David, and Andres was sent to Villarricca to meet us while David waited on the trailer papers.

An hour and a half later and we were back on the road again. Now, Andres and David would not be far behind us. We arrived at the bus station at 1:30 pm, and missed our bus by ten minutes. We would wait for the 4:45 bus. We passed time by roaming town and playing cards.

Finally, we got on the bus. Eight passengers had to stand for the bus ride. Thus, we were happy to have seats. The bus was large, nice and comfortable. After crossing the Chilean border we had to drive through a no zone area for forty kilometers. Then we arrived at the Argentina border.

It was this no zone area that caused us to have to ride the public transit bus. David tried to hire private vehicles to meet us at the border, but neither our vehicles nor the Argentina private vans could cross into the no zone area without insurance from the other country. This sounds confusing, because it is and was. The bottom line is that after two weeks of research the only legal way for our school to go surf the Rio Manso was to utilize the public transportation system.

As soon as you cross into the Argentina no zone area the road turns from pavement to dirt. And it is almost as if we suddenly arrived in Patagonia. The mountains were blue and beautiful. We drove down the gigantic Patagonia Mountains, and came upon the Argentina border. Andres and David were mysteriously waiting with the pack truck and sixteen of our kayaks prior to the actual border. I could tell by their expressions there was trouble. The Argentina aduanas, customs, would not allow them to cross as the boats appeared to be illegal imports or for commercial purposes. They had no luck explaining Huge Experiences is a high school, and were almost kicked out due to their efforts.

David walked into the border control behind our bus. The aduanas began speaking with David and Vero, our Argentine Spanish teacher. As they spoke students plopped off of the bus and encircled them. We were shooting photos and videos, and the aduanas asked us to get in the customs line. David later told us our encircling flock was a good thing as the officials were able to clearly see there was only one kayak for each person. Thus, validifying their previous explanations.

In the end Vero signed her car as collateral in order for the kayaks to cross, and David signed papers stating he would pay $500 per kayak if they did not make the return to the border. The aduanas stamped our passports, and we returned to the bus for Bariloche. Andres and David stayed with the aduanas as they searched everything on the pack truck and trailer. They stated they would catch up to us.

We arrived and had pizza for dinner. Vic waited for Andres and David at the bus station. After chowing down on eight pizzas Vic rushed into the establishment. Andres had arrived without David. The equipment trailer had lost a wheel outside of Bariloche. This did not surprise us as the trailer was packed full of kayaks and camping gear for twenty people. Plus, while the roads of Patagonia are majestically gorgeous they are not exactly I-40.

David stayed with the trailer on the border to Bariloche road, guarding over our precious gear now worth $500/item to the aduanas. It was chilly in this Patagonia region and David stayed with his tent and gear in the case he needed to spend the night.

Vic took our new private bus we hired to take us to the Rio Manso that night. It was obvious we would not be going to the Rio Manso at this point. David had changed the plans, via phone, in order that we stay in Bariloche as soon as we missed the early bus out of Osorno. The private bus with a trailer took Vic back to David and the broken down trailer. David had hired a tow truck, and the trailer was being towed. We finished our dinner and the restaurant closed. Then we walked the tourist town streets with Christian and Veronica, our English and science teachers.

Vic, David, and Andres returned-tired, dirty, and exhausted much like the rest of us. We drove to our hostel. As soon as our heads hit the pillows, we were out cold. The day went from record breaking packing to "can anything else go wrong?" It will be a day we will all remember, and a great example of "positive improv."

"Positive Improv" is the Huge Experiences philosophy of being able to take a negative moment, adversity, or challenge and turn it into a positive experience. The positive improv of this day was to have a great story, and memories of my friends and I trying to make it to Argentina.

Now, I am writing this letter from the Rio Manso. We take daily hikes from our camp base to the forty-five foot waterfall and slides downstream. If we have a period off and we are caught up with school we have the option to paddle at the hole outside of our camp. And each afternoon we play in the waves as we prepare for a rodeo at the end of the week. Looking back, the trip to Patagonia was unquestionably worth the long day, and another huge experience.

A Day at the Seven Teacups, November 18, 2003

It is the way water rushes over the edge of a rock, plunging into the dark blue pool that excites my nerves. The noise, the ones that are intensified when fear overrides me, can be heard in my mind miles away. I sit on the shore next to a twenty foot high waterfall as it bends to the right. The shore I sit upon is not a beach, or next to a couple of shrubs. Instead it is 35 feet high above the water. I dangle my legs over the side, while wrapping my arms around jagged rocks behind me. The water keeps falling off the ledge, turning into a foam landing pad at the bottom of its decline. A small hole is formed as the water circulates back onto itself.

I make a small note in my head to make sure to take a strong stroke off the ledge so I don't end up recirculating myself. I notice the combination of the churning water and strong current, boils are evident.

My friend, Mike D, tells me, "if you swim don't be surprised if the boils pull you under for a few seconds, you will come up for sure, just be chill."

The noise of the rushing water, the color change from velvet blue green to white foam and back to blue green again, combined with the words of swimming combined to create tossing within my stomach. Emily Jackson, the only other female student in our school, is sitting about ten feet above me as the terrain climbs and then descends back to the water. I glance at her child-like face and notice the look in her brown eyes. The look is full of fear, but mixed with excitement. I continue to soak up the feelings of the others. It becomes apparent to me that Emily and I are the only ones on the edge of our seats with this nervous anxiety. I ponder, why guys act as if they are a rock wall not exhibiting their emotions?

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