Bon Anniversaire!

I woke up on Saturday, the morning of my 23rd birthday, high in a valley between the Pitraco mountains with a pressing need to go to the bathroom. Surrounded by rainforest, the humidity there is significant and dew speckled my tent and showered me as I unzipped the screen, crawled out, and fumbled to shove my feet in my shoes. Getting out of a tent can be a long process when you’re in hurry. At 6:30 a.m. the field where we’d camped was full of light, although the sun hadn’t yet risen over the crests above us, and I was the only one of our group awake. I staggered into the woods and back, then knelt by the fire pit to rekindle last night’s embers. Because of the heavy dew in the valley, the breakfast fire is usually hard to start. The moss, leaves and tinder are moist and things just fizzle. But even though it’s the middle of summer, mornings 700 meters up are numbingly cold and a fire is the only thing that thaws the night’s chill.  I had luck that morning though, with the help of a piece of paper torn from my journal, and was soon sitting in front of a strong fire.

By that time, Alejandra was awake as well and we refilled our tin mugs with coffee twice before the riders woke up. Together, we were leading the two-day ride which leaves from Antilco, climbs the Pitraco mountains camping overnight in a valley, and descends the next day. I led the trip many times two years ago and with only six riders there usually wouldn’t be a need for two guides. But this group was special. We met them Friday morning as they piled out of a van, two women and four men, all legs and arms and wispy hair and hats with feathers and constant chatter. They were French and it took us a whole five minutes before they were sure everyone had met, greeted, and twice-kissed everyone else. Two of them, Marcela and Pascal, are a couple who own a similar ranch in the southern French countryside and did the overnight as a trial run to see whether they might establish a connection between Antilco and their business. Mathias wanted them well cared for and impressed, so he sent Ale and me together.

To follow up the feast we’d prepared for them the night before of chorizo sausages with a tomato/onion salsa (choripan), potato salad, cucumber salad, wine, pisco sour and a huge slab of fire-roasted beef (asado), Ale and I laid out an equally lavish breakfast. Bread, cheese, salami, ham, jelly, honey, hard-boiled eggs, sliced avocado, granola and milk accompanied the tea and coffee and the French were thrilled. They declared themselves “geniuses of breakfast” after discovering they could use a thin, green bamboo stick to toast their bread and cheese at the same time. Two of them were more colorful then the others, but in general I will remember them as cartoon characters: they gesticulated with their whole bodies, had wildly exaggerated facial expressions, and inserted loud sounds into normal conversation to provide humorous effect. They laughed constantly, smoked cigarettes they rolled themselves, and usually seemed like a six-person band of clowns. Ale and I laughed right along with them, often with tears in our eyes, even though we rarely understood a word they said.

The descent from Pitraco to Antilco takes four hours on a slow day. We had to delay our return until 6 pm for scheduling reasons, so Alejandra and I turned the day into an exercise in taking it easy. As it turned out, our riders had already mastered the art. Although they were all very experienced riders, even experts, they needed much encouragement to get up and going and on the horses. We lounged our way through breakfast and packing, shuffled between horses as we tacked them up and turned twenty minute juice breaks into an hour of napping and peanut munching. The French were jovial, smiley, and amorous, expressing love for the trees, the air, the fragrance, the flowers, the day, and their horses. They were such a happy, agreeable group and the day was so beautiful, I couldn’t help but think what a wonderful way it was to pass a birthday, even though I was so far from family and friends.

To further add time to our day, we rode further in the Pitraco valley forest before turning around and heading down the mountain. In the valley is a forest of manillo trees which are ancient, magnificent, trees- somewhat of a Chilean version of redwoods in terms of their size and impressiveness. The forest is dark, with dappled sunlight and the trees plunge upwards with thick moss and vine-covered trunks. Their massive serpentine roots wind around the path and bulge out of the ground adding obstacles to the horses’ way. It could be Fangorn forest, or the setting to any highly unbelievable fantasy. It is thousands of years old and has never been touched by anything rougher than horse hooves.

When we finally reached Antilco that evening, the French beamed and laughed while rubbing sand out of their eyes that had flown in as we galloped across the river shore. They tittered and thanked Mathias for such a perfect ride and he just smiled his big jolly smile because he doesn’t speak French either, but it seemed best to just let them talk. When Monica and Carmen, who returned earlier that day from a six-day ride to Argentina, ran out of the house and wished me a Happy Birthday, the French exploded into an overlapping cacophony of disbelief which I assume was them saying- “Your birthday!,” “My goodness!” “We didn’t know!” “What a shame!” “A song! A song! We must sing!” Then in an instant they circled around me, their faces calmed, the sound effects ceased, their arms relaxed at their sides, and they all stood still. And together, surprisingly harmoniously, fluidly and sweetly, they all sang me Bon anniversaire! and each kissed me twice.

I finished my most unique birthday with Monica and Carmen. After two hours of tedious unpacking and cleaning, both from my overnight trip and Carmen’s, we brought guacamole, salsa and chips to my room and the three of us stayed up late giggling, sharing stories about Carmen’s high-maintenance riders and my hilarious ones; about Luis and Aldo, the other guide we work with; about the trials and joys of working at Antilco and everything else we felt we should get out before Carmen and Monica leave on Monday evening. Finally, before heading off to bed, exhausted and happy, we toasted my birthday and our three weeks together with a swig of Pisco sour.

Photos from Rio Blanco

Carmen and I on the shore of Laguna Gepingue

Day Two, emerging from the mountains

Day Two, in front of rural farm



Moro and I

Raynald and Pehuen crossing rocky terrain

Shore of Caburgua lake, lunch break Day Three

Crossing a feeder river into Carburgua

Trek #1: Rio Blanco Jan. 21- 24

I returned yesterday, sunburned and covered in cuts and scratches, from my three-day trek to Rio Blanco. It was a hot, hilarious, and eventful trip. Creating a relaxed dynamic between all of the riders is a large part of my job, and fortunately, they all got along easily without much of my help. The six riders shared a common language of English, although three spoke Spanish as well which gave Luis people to communicate with.

Of the riders, Marie and Raynald were the oldest. They are a French couple, mid 50’s, who have lived in Barcelona for the past twenty years. They are very capable riders, sweet and easy-going and never hesitated to express they enjoyment and excitement. Birgit is a doctor from Vienna, who came with her fiancé, Mauricio, who was born in Chile but moved to Austria when he was three. Birgit has a little girl, wide-eyed love for horses and spent much time worrying over her horse’s health and happiness. Mauricio is a surgeon and at first, seemed buttoned-up and straight edge. But, after a few beers, and two days in the mountains, he was a talkative and often joked about how this trip was getting him back in touch with his Chilean roots. The last two, Clare and Dean are a recently married English couple who are traveling around the world for nine months. I got hardly a serious word from Dean who was kind and sweet and a constant source of jokes, much of them self-deprecating as he is a large man. I spent the majority of my time talking with Clare, although it wasn’t entirely because we became instant friends. Clare is a highly nervous and anxious person, and after a small misstep with her horse on day-one she was overcome with fright and nerves. I spent the rest of the day talking her back down into a calmer state and riding by her side, trying everything I could think of to take her mind off of the dangerous trails. Overall, the eight of us had a very fun time, much of it spent laughing and they all mixed well together.

Horse-trekking through the mountains and rainforests of Chile is indescribable. We climb for hours at a time, squeezing the horses between boulders and too-narrow paths and through bamboo forests, sliding down steep mud descents, jumping three- to four feet-high fallen tree trunks, and clambering over rock fields where the horses balance precariously and keep moving. Those words mean little though and it’s hard to relate the feeling of letting a horse carry you over terrain you’d hardly attempt on foot. We trek for six to eight hours a day, with a short break for lunch, and arrive in the late evening to camp. On this particular ride we spent the first evening at the edge of a lake, and the second two nights at the Rio Blanco hot springs. We set up tents and sleeping bags, then I cook dinner over the fire and we all eat.

Even riders with a lifetime of experience find themselves unprepared for the mountains. When promoting and explaining rides, Mathias purposelyremains vague about trail conditions; but once riders are out, they embrace the challenge and handle the terrain.  Giving too many details about just how terrifying the trails can be only scares people away.

On day one, riding from Laguna Gepingue to Rio Blanco, we traveled along dirt roads for an hour and a half, before entering the wet forest. Trails were muddy and narrow and for four hours we climbed, descended and wound around ancient araucaria trees. The last hour of the day brought us back onto wide dirt roads cleared for logging, all the way to the rustic Rio Blanco campsite and hot springs. There, Luis prepared an asado, (a huge slab of roasted beef) and I cooked asparagus soup, boiled potatoes and made a salad out of greens from the garden of the family that maintains the campsite. It was a delicious dinner, with wine and beer, and we followed with a bottle of pisco sour.

Clare, the English woman, decided not to come with us the second day. We did a full day ride from the springs, up to a high mountain lake and back down to the springs for a second night of hot baths and camping. We followed the same logging road back up into the mountains, then battled the bamboo and fallen tree trunks for two hours. It was brutally hot which made it a tiring day for us, but more so for the horses. The bamboo has a habit of pushing forward with the lead horse, then swinging back and whacking the following rider. We were soon covered in welts and bruises, and dripping mud that flicked up onto our backs and saddles as the horses struggled through the boggy pits. Midmorning, we had an exciting spectacle as the horses struggled to jump over a five foot high, five foot wide tree trunk. We dismounted, but it was still difficult. One horse managed to get its forelegs over then remained stuck with its belly resting on the trunk for several minutes before summoning the courage to get his hind legs over as well.  Meanwhile the riders stood and gaped, looking to each other without words we took our half day break lakeside and walked barefoot into the icy water in an effort to regain some energy.  The three hours home afforded the best views of the trip but were brutally hot and we all, horses and riders, limped exhaustedly into camp at 7:30 pm.

The morning of our final day, Clare told me through tears that she couldn’t get on a horse again. Rio Blanco is about six hours from Pucón and only accessible by rocky, dirt roads and I had no idea how we could get her home. Convinced that she was in no condition to ride, I went to the farmhouse to use the satellite phone to call Mathias and break the news. As it rang, she found me and said that she would do it. We had a pack horse with us, Pepe, to carry all the tents and sleeping bags and I decided to let her ride him instead of her original horse. It worked beautifully and although she was nervous she made it the whole day, which was a beautiful seven hour ride along the shore of Caburgua Lake and into the mountains above it.

An hour from Antilco, the trails ended so we stopped, met the van and horse truck and drove the rest of the way home as planned. At the ranch we ate another feast of asado, potatoes and pebre and recounted the most memorable parts of the trip: the hot springs, the treacherous cliffs and bottomless bogs; the scorching sun and sweating, heaving horses; the views; and most of all, the feeling of being completely lost in pristine wilderness without a car, horse, road or telephone pole in sight.

I’ve ridden much of those trails before, but this ride felt different from my treks two years ago. Somehow I’m a less anxious, more confident guide and I was able to enjoy the experience much more. I’m not as intimidated by Luis and I think I’ve actually gained his respect… or at least some. Helping Clare was hard and we had three long days and a lot of word, but the trip was wonderfully fun and the landscape was stunning. The next entry will have a few pictures! For more, go to

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2139932&id=513315&l=3ed378516b

Into the Mountains

I leave tomorrow on my first trek, a three-day ride to Rio Blanco. So instead of leading a half-day ride today, I worked with Alejandra to prepare the gear and food. I’ll ride with Luis, who will come as our horse whisperer, and six tourists, two each from Austria, Spain and England. Each rider brings a sleeping bag and mat and we sleep two to a tent. On top of that we carry most of the food we need (some bread and salad we’ll buy from farmers at our campsites), pots, pans, a teapot, utensils, ponchos, and the machete. All horses wear saddle bags which hang at their sides behind the riders’ legs, and usually they also carry sacks with all the sleeping gear. For my trip however, we’ll bring a pack horse, which relieves all horses of some weight. Even though we’re trekking, we eat well. Dinners will be quinoa with chicken and veggies; asado (roast meat) with potatoes and salad; and finally, pasta with soup and salad. Granola, fresh bread, cheese, jam, salami, butter and honey serves as our breakfast and midday snack. After dinner, we share wine and pisco sour, which is a delicious, tangy liquor from this region.

Luis will carry the machete and the bulk of his job consists of finding and clearing the trail. I go to teach and assist the riders, cook, and translate the few words of advice Luis. I suppose we draw a line between soft and hard skills- I deal with the riders and he with the horses. The only trek I did two years ago was with Luis as well, and it was a mostly silent five days we spent together. But this time I’m looking forward to guiding with him. Carmen, who doesn’t let distant people keep her from befriending them, has taught me a few tricks about cracking his pride and aura of mystery. He even pointed at me and said, “ella trabaja bien” yesterday as I trimmed hooves, which means, “she works well.” It’s the highest praise I’ve ever heard him give a girl, or anyone for that matter.

After a ride in the morning to make sure all rides fit well with their horses, we’ll load up the gear and drive forty five minutes northwest to Laguna Huife, which locals simply call Laguna Gepinghue, after the owner’s name. There we’ll make camp, eat and spend our first night. In the morning we head toward Rio Blanco which is a campsite with natural hot springs which are wonderful after a day on horseback. The third day’s ride I know, having done it two years ago on a trek. We’ll ride without gear, away from the campsite, up and into the mountains the pristine Laguna Isolde, and then return to Rio Blanco. The trails climb quickly and are narrow, barely wide enough for the horses to pass. We’ll enjoy another night at the hot springs and then ride out of the mountains back toward Antilco. It’s a short trip, compared to most of our treks, and an easy one, considering we’re camping in the same place twice.

The weather should be perfect- sun and clear skies for mountain views and starry skies. I’m anxious to get back out into the mountains with the horses and can’t wait to leave. Without fear of rain, and with only three nights of dinner to prepare, it will be a relaxing first trip! So… until I get back, with an update from my trek, luego!

Chilean Rains

Summer in Pucón is typically dry, sunny and hot enough for rafting, boating and bathing. But we’ve spent four days under overcast skies and have had few breaks from the aggressive downpours. Our dirt road snakes up the edge a small mountain crest and parts of it have washed out, which makes sharing the road while riding with trucks a treacherous adventure. It’s not only rainy, but bitterly cold as well. We light a fire in the main house and Monica and I turn the gas heater on in our room to make the nights a bit warmer.  Sometimes in the evenings we can hardly hear each other over the din of the downpourhitting the tin roof of the house. Mathias says he’s never seen a summer like this.  

I’ve led two sopping half-day rides in as many days. We bring ponchos for the riders, who are usually beginners, but it’s still four hours in the rain, brushing through wet branches and slipping down sloshing paths. I like to see how excited I can make the riders about the uniqueness of the experience. Eventually, they forget that they’re wet and freezing and concentrate on the adventure of it all. As we ride down the driveway back to Antilco, they’re mud splattered and dripping wet, but they smile hugely and thank me for all the fun. These are my favorite rides.

We had an exciting night Saturday in the hardest rain yet. The entire Boss family went to Pucón for a rare dinner out together, and Carmen and I stayed home to welcome back Monica from Chile- Argentina trek. Last Monday she left with two tourists for five-day trek to the Argentine border. There, the tourists crossed the border on foot and met Mathias’ Argentine partner, Hernan. They mounted new horses and rode for three more days on the others side of the Andes. Monica, however, loaded our horses into a huge truck, along with all of the saddles and gear, and came back to Antilco. Unlike the towed horse trailers used in the U.S., the Chileans put all the horses in the open bed of a truck to transport them. They loaded at 2:00 in sunshine, but quickly met rain. By the time they arrived to Antilco, water had soaked through the wool padding on the saddles and the horses were jumpy and skittish with fear, having spent six hours bouncing over rural roads in a rainstorm. 

Carmen and I drove a quarter of a mile down the road to meet the truck in the only place it could pull over safely. It is usually light until 9:30 here, but the black clouds and sheets of rain gave us an early nightfall at 8:00. I led the four horses off the truck, tied them to one another in a chain, and, running, led them the quarter mile back down the road, back to Antilco, and into their pasture. Carmen and Monica unloaded the gear, thanked the truck driver and sped back to the barn. We laid the gear out the best we could, but knew nothing would dry overnight. Tents, sleeping bags, saddle pads and riding chaps would have to be stretched out the next day in the sun.

But, there was no sun on Sunday, but we took advantage of a few clear hours on Monday to dry and repair all the gear. Since we three workers here (Carmen, Monica and I), we take turn guiding and do other ranch work in the meantime. The half-chaps, which cover the bottom half of the leg, need endless mending; leather saddle bags need conditioned with Mathias’ homemade mixture of beewax, oil and turpentine; the crude leather bridles wear often need re-stitched; and the horses frequently wear out their shoes and need hoof attention.

For this last chore we are helped by Luis, a charismatic, proud man who lives two miles down the road and is, in all senses of the word, a genuine cowboy and knows it too. He is about forty-years old and wears his hair in a black ponytail at the nape of his neck. He decorates his belts with silver medals, and carries a worn, brown leather jacket. He’s eager to make sure foreign girls are well-aware of his prowess, but there is nothing affected about him. He’s half mystery, half legend, calming even the most anxious horses, finding passages through unblazed rainforest, and easily rounding up horses spread wide over acres of pasture land. He comes once every-week and a half or so to shoe the horses and, on Thursday, even deigned to teach Carmen and I. Though, “teach” is a generous word. Mostly he leaned back against the barn and laughed when I struggled to file the hoof correctly, or smirked, muttering that he could do it better and faster. I would hope. We spent four hours on six shoes. It was a job he could have done in an hour. I am thrilled to learn though, and should have plenty of opportunities to practice cutting away the old nail, filing down the remainder to a smooth, level plane, fitting the shoe and hammering it on.

This has turned in to a long entry, but this first week has been hectic. Only a few more thoughts…

                The property has over a dozen fruit trees (cherries, plums, apples, pears) and a huge garden that Karin tends. The cherries are ripe, as well as a few plums and a huge raspberry patch, and I find plenty of opportunities to steal away for ten minutes devouring fruit. The German-Chilean cuisine the Boss’ eat is very bread, cream, potato and meat heavy. Cream is more of a staple than a dessert treat, and they pour it liberally into tomato sauce and coffee alike.  The hidden traps in their diet snuck up on me last time, and I was determined not to fall into them again. So instead, I sit high in the trees and gorge myself on cherries. I even picked a bagful and made a kuchen (a fruit tart with an egg/cream filling) for the family. Upon tasting it, Remo paused, his face contorting, then said, “Interesting… I think I will add sugar.” He spooned on a thick layer of sugar, and followed with a quarter inch of cream. The rest of the family followed suit.

                As for everything else that fills my days, I am happy and having wonderful fun. Two years ago, my experience was more solitary. This time, we are three girls working together (in the rain). It’s added an element of friendship that wasn’t here last time. We’ve seriously begun a mini language school and take turns learning and teaching. I teach Carmen and Monica Spanish, although they speak some already, and they listen to me butcher German day after day. I’ve been picking it up pretty quickly though and committed to practicing.  Unfortunately, they both leave at the end of the month and I’ll be here alone through February until another German girl arrives March 1^st.

                I leave Friday for a three day trek through much of the same territory I trekked two years ago. With six riders, we’ll ride through the mountains to some natural hot springs called Rio Blanco then return. Then I’ll lead four riders overnight up into the Pitraco mountains for my birthday. I have two more treks scheduled, including an eleven-day ride, and am hoping there will be more. I plan to leave Antilco for two weeks around March 15^th to travel south through Patagonia, - so if you want an adventure vacation (spring break), come travel with me! For now though, everything is wet but wonderful.

Carmen

Some years ago, after Antilco made its transition from kayaking to horsetrekking, Mathias developed the idea of inviting volunteers to live at the farm in exchange for work.  For him, the advantage is in always having a worker on hand, not having to hire a salaried guide, and welcoming international youth into his family for months at time. And on the other side of things, the volunteers experience an exciting and incomparable period of intense work and exploration; they care for the horses and gear and travel the Andes and Araucaria forests of Southern Chile on horseback.

It is a particular experience though: workers must be self-motivated, content with long days of hard physical work, and unruffled by a life away from town, and very inconsistent internet access.  For this reason, several invited workers have left early and unhappily. Two years ago, I heard tales of the bad workers and great ones, whose reputations have been exaggerated and cemented in Mathias’ mind and Antilco legend. The faults of the good workers are long forgotten, and the talents of the “mistake” volunteers erased from memory.  The long list of past workers, as the Bosses memories recall, includes people only at far ends of the spectrum.

So, when I arrived Saturday and heard that Carmen was coming Sunday, I was excited. I had heard many stories about her from Mara and Remo, and Mathias as well. All three love her for different reasons: she is a kind and patient guide; a friendly caring sister; and a considerate and warm addition to the family. She is twenty-six years old, lives in Munich and works with handicapped children, but takes all her vacation time at once to return to Antilco and the horses. This is her third time back.

With the third helper, Monica, gone for five days on a trek, Carmen and I have spent the last two days together working and guiding and she’s been the perfect companion and co-worker. She is very slight, though not short, with long wavy blond hair, and a small, alert face. She speaks English almost perfectly and the Spanish she learned her first time here is quickly coming back to her. My first language being English and hers German, we like to compromise most of the time in Spanish. In the frequent switches between the three, she often uses sounds to express herself when she can’t find the words in an appropriate language. Instead of telling me Bartolo once had a sore hind leg that creaked when he walked, she excitedly points to his leg and says “It used to ka-chuk, ka-chuk” all the time.” When our guide horses grow anxious, prancing and tossing their heads, I reprimand roughly them, saying compórtate!, or “Behave yourself.” Carmen leans down to their ears and coos.

In these first few days while I adjust to the reality of such a long stay so far away from home, she reminds me why I bought the plane ticket back here in the first place. We race each other across the sand flats letting the horses fly beneath us, and neither of can quite believe we’re back.  With no riders Tuesday, we spent the day working. We sewed new sheaths for the machetes out of old denim; mended and reinforced the half-chaps from riders’ legs; cut wood and metal rods to fix the fence where we hitch the horses; and cleaned and conditioned the leather saddle bags that carry supplies when we trek. Then we rode together to a narrow part of the trail on the shore of the Trancura river, with our newly sheathed machetes, and cleared it. We spent two and half hours battling blackberry thorns and low hanging branches, and emerged proud of our work and covered in tiny scratches.

She’s industrious and hardly ever sits, and in this way we work well together because I prefer to be occupied as well.  She only has three weeks here and is determined to make every second count.  I’m glad to have someone I can talk honestly to about Antilco, someone with whom I can share memories of horrible rides and obnoxious riders, as well as the excitement of leading long treks. Sometimes I find myself struggling to keep up with her enthusiasm, but that tug toward optimism is what I need now and I’m thrilled she’s here.

 It’s an added bonus that she shares some of the inevitable attention we draw being blonde girls on Chilean horses. When men in cars stop to take pictures, she just laughs and says, “oighh, this is happening all the time… always they are wanting pictures of the gringas.” We smile briefly then kick our horses and ride on.

Back in Pucón

I arrived in Pucón early Saturday morning.  Mathias, the owner of the ranch, and his daughter Mara met me at the bus stop in a shiny new truck with a “Campo Antilco” sticker on the back. Mara is thirteen years old and groaned all morning about her new haircut: her back-length hair is now gone, chopped off into a bob. Only one thin, long braid remains uncut. It is bleached yellow and colored blue. She pointed happily to it and said, “like yours was!” I looked to Mathias to see if he blames me for this fad, but he only smiled.

Leaving the states was harder this time. I had hoped that seeing the volcano Villarica again, and driving the long, dusty road out of Pucón and up to the ranch would replace my reservations with excitement. Maybe I should give it more time. I find Antilco hasn’t changed much from my idyllic memories. The Boss family is still here. Fourteen of the twenty-two horses I grew to know well are here and exactly as I remember them.  We use the same saddles and trails. The Mapuche community Quelhue has added a few more booths and entertainments to attract tourists, but remains mostly the same. Sebastian, a worker at the farm, is still here. Alejandra, the permanent Chilean worker I rode with often with and respected immensely, has left. But she has been replaced by another Chilean woman with the same build and same hair and same name. The new Alejandra occupies the exact same role, gives the same lesson to new riders, and has a similarly impish grin.  She’s only the slightest fracture in what otherwise seems to be a reproduction of my memories.

It is strange being back, but beautiful.  Summer here is warm and green. The sun cooks the forests and the smell of sweet, baked pine needles washes most of our trails. Antilco sits partway up a ridge of mountains, on the shore of the Liucura River. The river swells in the spring as the snow melts, but even now, well into summer, it tumbles violently, at times, creating rapids that attract many rafters and kayakers. The nearby lakes are warm, heated by the sun and volcanic springs, but the river is icy and a relief after hot rides. The ranch sprawls with several pastures, chicken coops, the main house and two cabins which are rented out to travelers. Of the many fruit trees, the cherries and plums are ripe and they are sweet and delicious. Before now, I only knew a springtime Pucón, but there seems to be no end to its summer wonders.

Two years ago Antilco ran four-hour, half-day rides every day and longer treks every few weeks. But, the earthquake a year ago still negatively affects tourism and so there are fewer travelers in Pucón, and therefore, fewer riders. In the three days I’ve been here, we’ve only sent out one half-day ride with three riders. Two years ago, we regularly had to turn tourists away. Strangely though, the interest in treks has risen. We sent out a five day ride to Argentina yesterday, although I didn’t go as the guide. Instead I led two inexperienced rides on a full day, seven-hour ride up the Pitraco mountains and into a valley which sits high between two crests. They were a young couple from Calgary, Canada and we had an easy ride, even though it grew hotter as the day went on and the bugs in the mountains are enormous and ferocious. They prefer dark colors, and tortured my horse, a black criollo named Tornado. Although they were beginners, the two riders were enthusiastic and handled the rocky, steep trail well.

I’ll be headed out on longer treks in a few weeks. For now, there are two other girls, Carmen and Monica, both German, working here with me. We share the work and take turn leading rides.  Last time, I did most things myself and I like having help and more company. So, for various reasons, my work is less than I was used to, which means more time with the family, although I miss the longer days of ranch work, preparation, and guiding.

Hopefully in the next few days the heat will break and we will have half-day riders.

Luego

Almost There

A short update from the bus station in Santiago...

It´s  a full two day adventure, traveling from Montauk to Pucon, Chile. Early Thursday morning I took a bus from Montauk to NYC, and from there a train to Newark airport. My flight to Panama City was the bumbiest I´ve ever been on, but we made it safely and on time. My flight to Santiago wasn´t supposed to leave until noon the next day, and I planned to sleep in the airport. After explaining my situation to an immigration officer, he let me sneak through the check station to retrieve my bag, and then sneak back up to the gates, where he said the seats were more comfortable. I found a spot with a few other travelers who seemed to be set up for the night, then stretched out and slept. It was hot, 77 degrees outside, and the lights glared. Sometime in the night a security guard woke me up wanting to see my documentation so they could keep track of sleepers. He was much nicer when he found out I could understand and speak Spanish. 

The flight the next morning was delayed. I never figured out exactly why. I think the Captain showed up late. But the delay ate up my short connection time between between landing in Santiago and the departure of my bus for Pucon. Aftter pleading with the bus driver to wait thirty seconds while my ticket printed, I watched the bus pull away. It´s the height of summer here and I´m sticky with travel and city grime. I´m in Santiago now, waiting for a later bus which I bought a ticket for. We´ll board at 11 pm and then drive through the night to Pucon, arriving at 9 30 tomorrow morning.

I´m looking forward to being done with travel and finally getting to Antilco, seeing the Bosses and hitting the trail.

Luego

The First Trip...

Two years ago, with a three month break from college classes, I  found work in Pucon, a town in southern Chile, on a ranch called Campo Antilco. Antilco is owned by a German man named Mathias Boss, his Chilean wife Karin, and their children Remo and Mara. At Antilco I helped care for the twenty-two horses and acted as a guide for half-day horserides and longer, multi-day treks. The chileans ride horses called criollos, which are shorter, stockier and stronger than the average horse. They are bred to climb mountains, and what they're capable of has to be seen to be believed. They agiley climb the Andes, covering steep, rocky ground; ford deep rivers while hauling tents, food and cooking supplies for the riders; and weave through the dense bamboo thickets in the great Araucarian rainforests. As a guide it was thrilling, and often terrifying, to lead riders into the mountains, navigate the trails, set up camp for the night in forest clearings and cook a rich meal of local foods including a generous asado (roast meat).


Pucon is a  resort town that sits in the shadow of the volcano Villarica and on the shore of Lake Villarica. In the summer the beaches fill with vacationers; the winter brings skiers to the volcano's slopes; and year round international travelers come to raft, trek on horseback, hike the volcano and explore the National Parks. Over the three months, I met dozens of fascinating backpackers for whom Pucon was just one stop on their larger world tours. Between the many travelers and the challenging, raw, and sometimes uncooperative landscape, I was thoroughly engaged and thrilled. I found that my age, blonde hair and nationality unsettled many travelers: most foreigners weren't used to putting their safety in the hands of a twenty year-old, blonde, American girl. I was an atypical guide, put I found ways to communicate with every rider who came through and I learned much from their stories and travels.

I grew close with the Boss family, and having maintained contact over the years, and being again faced with some free time, I decided to return. This time I will experience the summer season, from January to May, and look forward to leading more extended treks.
My first trip yielded many incredible adventures and I'm hoping this blog will be an easy way to document my experiences this second time around...
After a full 24 hours of air travel, and a nine hour bus ride, I will arrive to Pucon the morning of January 8, 2011 and from there the adventures will begin!
Luego...