Mission: Re-Education and goodbye to the Gang at NRA (huge experiences)

One of the students flew past me on his butt following his boat, he looked like he was riding a jack-hammer, his arms and legs flailing and kicking all the way down. He picked himself up at the bottom, rubbed his butt looking up.  He looked at me and chuckled and went about retrieving his boat from the river.  Better watch my step I thought to myself as the next student blew past me flailing.  Four of the six students so far fell, slid or dropped their boats hiking in or at the put in.  What a great way to start the day I thought to myself with a smile.  I know it’s the sadistic streak in me, the teachers all here love their jobs just as I do.  That being said most of us like to take a bit of pleasure in someone else’s pain from time to time and I think it’s healthy in a twisted kind of way.  All the lessons here I feel, are best taught by themselves. Each day at the end of the river run I ask the same thing.  “OK kiddies, what did you learn today”.  The reason I ask that question it so the people realize they have to take responsibility for that learning. But accidents are great in a way I think.  They in them selves carry the weight of action and consequence without the politics of the punishing administrator. Thus the small glean of delight one takes as an educator in days like these.  

That way when the digger happens, lesson and punishment get all rolled up into one tight little entertainment package for me.  It’s what makes these river schools like NRA so great to me.  In standard school there is no control by the educators any more.  Its all been taken away.  When I was a student I used to fear the stick, the strap, the teacher.  The worst of the worst, “go to the principals office”.  But these times are different.  Parents don’t take responsibility any more none of those great tools are used any more.  Students take the cue from ma and pa and don’t take responsibility either.  There is no action and consequence any more only this sense of entitlement.  But not here not in this place, who’s fault is it that you fell down the rocks again. “OH THAT PERSON IS YOU”  I hope to send my little monsters to this school someday and lets be honest.  Someone else is going to snicker at my little beast when he/or she, takes a digger on a jungle trail someday too.

Tacked on some photos

Mission: Sights sounds and Chile.

The familiar rumble of the van next door reluctantly cranks to life, it’s three on the tree shifter grinds into reverse as it prepares for a day of shuttles.

The clouds that have plagued us for the last couple days are starting to wear off.

The river that was starting to drop has now refreshed its stocks of water.

A new day starts in Chile.  The students are down stairs working out math formulas.

The teachers in the next room are discussing what is to be done about tomorrows plan.

The kitchen below my room is bustling with the cooking ladies.  They crank out bread on an old set of rollers.  The meshing sound of the bread makers gears pressing out its uniformity.  Pots of food sit simmering on an old wood stove that glows red in the evening when the lights are off and the day is done.  Chile is indeed an amazing place.   The rivers like the people are beautiful pure and clear. The hospitality is reminiscent of the rivers, inviting, warm and full of mystery. The vista of snow capped volcanoes and treed landscapes both compete for your attention again and again. An old bridge at the put in still hangs defiantly under the new more modern road above it.  Old pieces of the original wood hang on the last vestiges of cable strung across. 

The students and teachers pile down the rocky slope to put on.  To our left an ostensible ski hill of white and Bombay gin creeping upward, around another treed corner and out of sight.  To the right, a horizon line of excitement, anticipation and opportunity awaits us all. You can see the trout swimming on the bottom as you swiftly float over them the water like glass.  I pick out my first boof of the day and wonder if the children can see it too.  Selfishly and secretly hoping they don’t and I greedily have it to myself. Each on of them too busy tucking throw bags and water bottles into their boats to notice or so I hope.  Some of them I know fighting off the feelings of doubt, or reveling in the confidence of what lies ahead. The van pulls away stopping briefly on the bridge above us to watch, then with a plumb of unburned diesel it pulls away.  At the same time casting a fresh air of necessity into the hearts and minds of the students that are uneasy.  The river waits patiently for us, blades swing their arcs as we float toward our destination somewhere in Chile. 

MISSION: La Posada, water-fall practice and Pinochet’s legacy.

After a massive meal at the Dave’s Base Camp in Pucon, we headed toward the town of Choshuenco. (sounds like co-shwan-co)  Near by is the Baobab hotel that has a waterfall in it and a clean 25 footer near by for us to huck.  The river is followed up by a series of sweet drops and easy class 5 below.  The students of course were not allowed to be huckin the class 5 stuff, even though there are many who could.  We set out working on the techniques of running a bigger waterfall.  Tucking time, angle of landing, power use and where to run the drop so you have the most control.  It went remarkably well.  All the students enjoyed it, even after Steven Forester chucked his paddle, melted and had the daylights beaten out of him.  Tino took me behind the waterfall to a cave we could both paddle into.  The thundering roar and mist filling the cave with mist and mosses and for a brief time the two of us.  This place is magical, water you can see through like glass.  The mountains are all around us volcano’s peeking through.  There are massive trees everywhere, tunnels of trees that we drive through leaning out over the road.  Outside as a write this article, the fruit truck is yelling out his wares in Spanish.  The smell of tonight’s dinner seeps through the floor into my room.  We are no longer in Pucon, we are in the real Chile like Daves place deep in the heart of the country.  Rustic, poor and thriving.  The houses are old, the floors and walls are wood and thin.  I can hear a mother and her child playing a silly game next door.  I can hear the kitchen ladies, owners, sweeping, chatting in quick Spanish.  Tino, a fellow Level 6 Paddler lived here for a while with the ladies and translates when I get stuck.  So last night, we went down to have some wine with the ladies of the house.  They made this concoction red wine, strawberries together to sip on.  Very nice.  We sipped and Tino translated back and forth the conversation.  Pinochet the dictator evicted this family from their house in Santiago many years ago.  Pinochet took their wealth and home and dumped them out on the street.  They moved to Choshuenco, bought a small BandB with what they had left and it is where I sit now.  If anyone comes to Choshuenco look for “La Posada.”  Its on the main drag, it costs about 8 to 10$ a night and the food and hospitality is fantastic.  Right now the Huge Experiences Gang all spread over the property doing school work, chatting and having a good time.  While in the background Tino plots out the next river run for us to attack with our team of happy campers.