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.

Mission: Home Sweet Chile/ Winter Contrast.

Mission:  Home Sweet Chile/ Winter Contrast.

It’s hard to explain what this place is like I will do my best and probably fail.  There are beautiful people, landscapes and rivers here.   I am always looking over my shoulder for another snow capped volcano view that never gets old.  So many things that set this place apart from the many other places I have been.  I consider it a bit of a tragedy that it’s been such a long time getting here. At night I have a sweet mattress a med weigh sleeping bag and I sleep like a baby even without, “starfish” a pet name for my wife, not taking up all four corners of the bed.  The weather is perfect coastal warm air rolls in during the day the sun beats down, while at the same time the cold air from the Andes mountain ranges pushes in at night and is a perfect temperature for crashing out. “The Ande” as my new Chilean friend Lorenzo would call the mountain ranges to the east.  They don’t have any use for plural forms down here. The little Cabana I am staying in is amazing, It’s up on stilts, inside its just high enough to stand up in and nestled in a jungle that won’t bite.  The sound of the river roars into the place and I love it.  Ok everything green here has hideous thorns but no Mamba’s, spiders, hippo’s or vicious carnivorous on the river. It’s kind of perfect.  The price of things is cheaper here but you can spend a lot of money in a hurry at the bars, food is pricy at the restaurants but cheap at “elTIT” the local grocery store chain.  The Huge Exp, base camp is outside town, the NRA River Coach Tino and his partner in crime Lornezo take care of me along with the owner Dave who owns the place.  Dave’s place rents boats out which is smarter than flying them down here I think, especially for the hassle and cost.   It takes a couple min to catch a buss at the end of the driveway and it’s a perfect base for people to save cash, paddle and hang someplace cool.  I am sitting inside with a warm fire, a bunch of students all huddled around a big fat pile of Lasagna, considering how much hot pepper powder to put on it.    A stark contrast to my deliberations of a week ago.

This is what I was writing about 2 weeks ago.

Valley Life.

I moved to the area of Beachburg this year, bought an old house and attempted become a part of the community.  It’s really been kind of hard, you’re an outsider if you’r not Dutch in these parts, or related to someone at the local cenotaph. My latest obstacle came at the end of the driveway. My driveway is not all that long but its 3 cars wide taking about an hour to clear deep snow out of.  I am close to finished and just about to hold up the new shovel in defiance of Mother Nature and all things snowy and cold, I heard the low and deep grumble of a snowplows blade on the asphalt.  My wife told me that her dad used to send her and her two sisters to the end of the driveway so the plow operator wouldn’t plow the snow from the road on to the freshly shoveled drive way.  Now I am not part Taliban like my father-in-law Chuck (an essentially evil man that hides it better than I do) but I figured he was on to something with this little family first method mine-field trick.  I trotted to the end of the drive.  I could see the plough driver as he got closer, his dirty mustache and his beady little eyes.  Our eyes met in the early morning dawn his hands set and an icy glair…. I ran for my life and in doing so he honked his stupid little horn in glee while filling my lane.  Snowplow operators are all evil in these parts.  I spent 40 more min digging out my driveway again vowing sweet revenge and escape as the plough grumbled by.  It’s like some kind of trial,

some kind of right of passage.  Hazing for new comers to the area.  Next time I will wear wooden shoes and a scarf for that trick.  

 

Mission: Chile Huge Experience, no Hablo Espanola

Many people talk of horrible cramped up spaces on planes on long flights. Not me, I got three pimpin seats all to myself and LOVED my flight down to Chile. I snored all the way down all stretched out with 3 pillows. Dave Hughes asked me to chaperone the students, helping them with all the little details of gear, paperwork, navigation, and passport control from Dallas to Temuco. Dave also flew me down on his own dime to give his students extra attention on the river as well.

Its no secret I love to teach and it was a great opportunity to see Chile and escape the cold of Canada. The last I saw of Canada was an ice storm and a nice balmy 17ºF. I took some photos of the Lorne and Bus Eater. Quite a contrast from the view I see on a lake front patio. Photo also attached.

I sat in on a meeting with all the teachers to discuss the game plans for combining education delivery with the ever-difficult estimation of river flows. The school has changed a lot since I worked with Huge in New Zeland years ago. It’s the same amazing program more refined. The base of operations can only be described as beautiful. The architecture of the main building is as beautiful as the landscape around us. The Rio Trancura singing me asleep last night, a sweet warm water run with a play spot at the front yard. It makes the place an ideal spot to base, learn and paddle out of.

Billy Harris

Mission: MOOSEFEST, Brewing boat tea and the regular beat down.

Mission: MOOSEFEST, Brewing boat tea and the regular beat down.

It was moosefest so I made my drive over to Matt man and RObins house to pick up matty for the trip down.  I drove in the driveway and realized Something.  I kinda forgot that he coun't come this year.  First time in 15 years he missed the moose festival.  He was standing on his porch with a gun, and a box of ammunition and said.  "wana blow off some steam".  100 rounds later and a smoking barrel he had done just that.....

We met at the casino in 1000 islands, the creator of the worst kayaking videos in history.  Scrub that, best and worst.  I like Ben’s videos cause they are real, no cool guy editing, speeding up of moves, nobody talking like they are solving the worlds problems. Cars get blown up, gas tanks fall off, drunks get interviewed, hams get cooked on car engines and the occasional touch of porn gets tossed in for what amounts to No good measure what so ever.  We don’t know why S&M ben does it but we are glad at the same time.  In a bid to keep our costs down we decided that we would sell the heck out of DVD’s to make some money to pay for our trip down.  AND WE DID JUST THAT.  We sold video’s at the take out with a shot of Fire Ball Wiskey out of the H1N1 shot glass.  It was pretty wicked.

Along the way we ran into a huge Canadian Group that was a lot of fun.  We watched the whole weekend as Cale Reeder stuffed leaves into his buddy’s boat and then blamed bobby or Boydo, just to have some retaliation and Boydo’s boat filled with leaves too.  Both of them getting back at each other while at the same time brewing TEA in their boats for the rest of the trip.  We got blamed at first until everyone realized we were at the party and didn’t walk miles and miles to get the Cristy Hotel to do the evil deed….

 

Anyway People got worked, my buddy had a sweet run through Miggila upside down which ended in a swim,

but there was even a ducky on the river this year.  All in all we had a great time.  The group photo is of the Onterrible crew below Aggers…

There was even a ducky on the river... which always ends badly....

Here are some more photos of the gang.

FRENCHY's  we love em.........

BILLY HARRIS

Mission: Boating, Teaching and having a good time at it.

I love teaching.  I got 5 girls on the weekend that were all beginners from a local ottawa club.  Here are some photos.  We had a great time. Piano keys, with the dog, carving turns with the ladies all in all it was a blast.  The second day we all ran the middle channel.  Complete beginners but we had a great time just the same.  Special thanks to

Martin Cayouette for taking the photos.

Hope to see you all on the river.

Mission:  In my mind, your host.  Billy Harris

I am in the first heat tomorrow.  5^th paddler.  200 people to go.  Wow.  Guess its real now, no more training, no more gym no more talk.  Its go time.

It’s a strange feeling sitting alone in my room wondering if I can win this thing.  I feel that if I want it too badly I might fall short.  Then I feel like I really gotta want it as well to win it too.  With the wave changing all the time it could be luck too….  But its not.  Its all in the mind.  I once felt that I was the best freestyle paddler, I knew it in my bones.  A burning desire to prove to the world I was the best but wanting it didn't work.  Two worlds passed me by and left me with a set of silver metals I can only now look at.  One might be happy with that and today I am.  I wouldn’t be the person I am for winning.  Placing second dragged me to a dark place in my life.  One plagued with doubt, self-deception and pain and anger.  I wanted to be a big man about it.  “Live and Die In Character,” My friend said to me once.  But I didn’t, I sucked my thumb about it.  Replayed it over and over.  Video review bymyself counting and counting again and again...  Twice the same guy crushed me by less than a point combined but I felt didn't I felt.  To be honest I hated him for it too sucked my thumb sulking and angry.  I felt like I was robbed.  Kristine Jackson once said to me, “Remember that you are more than a kayaker, you’re a coach, a son, a brother a friend.  You are many things more than a paddler.  Paddling does not define you.”  It’s taken me many years to get that sorted and today I understand.

I have been often asked “why” the soul is just not in freestyle.  I always get a kick out of that, never have I looked so deep into a soul as I have my own and its freestyle that helps me do that.  My playboat the vehicle that helps me search these depths and find a better person for the process. 

Today and for the event the best paddler is not me anymore.  I wish it was, the best paddlers in the world right now are Nick Troutman and a little kid by the name of Jason Craig.  Technically the best paddlers I have ever seen.  Both well rounded in both wave and hole.  Well versed in competitions and well adjusted with a burning desire.  A work ethic like very few I know and both work hard.  REALLY HARD. But in the end its not always the best paddler who wins events in my mind I have proven that.  It’s the person who keeps the demons at bay and understands what it takes to do so.  Don’t think don’t try just do.  Trust in your training. 

So here I sit, wondering.  Will this be the one?  Can I beat this unbeatable kid named Nick?  Nervous, scared, happy and ready.  So far so good, the kid posted up 2400 a hell of a score.  I was that guy once.  I posted horrible rides in prelims too.  Monsters.  But I have learned that pace, is set by someone who has a solid mind a will to win and a good plan.  I will be better. 

The scores are all wiped clean.  Tomorrow is another day.  

Billy Harris.