Of course, soon after publishing the previous post, I got some news from Don Juan that we're actually not leaving the valley until tomorrow morning. Alas, the good ole' Patagon hurry-up-and-wait syndrome caught up with me again.
So, tomorrow we'll blast through Murta to pick up the cattle, and then head straight to Puerto Chacabuco. Makes more sense, because the animals will have a hard time being in the truck for so many days on end, and it means I have a little more time in the valley, which is fine by me. I think an afternoon trip to Cochrane is in order, and coincidentally, I'll get to see Kris and Doug again, because they're arriving this evening to stay for a week. It'll be nice to reconnect with them before I take off, and I'm hoping I'll find a receptive audience for some of the ideas I've been brewing in my head for next season.
But that's all for now. Chau chau.
Should I Stay or Should I Go?
I'm sitting in the office in Val Chac on my last morning in the valley. I returned here yesterday evening after a wonderful five days on the Baker (which I'll tell you more about in due time) only to find that plane tickets had gotten quite a bit more expensive during my adventure (big surprise) and it was time to look for another way to get up to Santiago by the 7th of May, when a big ole' jet plane is gonna carry me back home. Luckily, Don Juan, a Pumalin employee, is here with a big truck and today is starting the journey back to Puerto Montt. He's got extra space in the truck, so I'm going along. Today, we'll make it to Bahía Murta, where we'll load up some cattle tomorrow and make our way to Puerto Chacabuco, where we'll hop on a ferry alllll the way to Puerto Montt. It'll make for a long journey, but cheaper and more scenic than flying. I'll head straight from Puerto Montt to Santiago via bus, and spend a few days in the big city before heading back to Colorado!
I'm looking forward to making my way home, but the suddenness of this plan to leave has me feeling a bit topsy-turvy. More than anything, I'm sad to leave the people here, because we've forged some great friendships and they've all given me so much cariño and help during my time here that I feel I can't equally repay them. At least I hand-wrote a few letters as farewells. It just cements even further in my mind the idea that I DO want to continue to be involved with this project and the people that contribute to it, and I DO want work to make it a better experience for them, just like they've inadvertently done for me. This is one thing I've noticed about the region of Aysén that has me absolutely hooked: the people here are genuine, they do everything they can to help you, they look you in the eye and say hello when you pass them on the street. It's a kind of human connection that is increasingly hard to find in the world, especially in the more "developed" places.
But alas, before I wax philosophical, it's time to say the last few hasta luegos and hit the road. Farewell, Val Chac! I'm northward bound.
I'm looking forward to making my way home, but the suddenness of this plan to leave has me feeling a bit topsy-turvy. More than anything, I'm sad to leave the people here, because we've forged some great friendships and they've all given me so much cariño and help during my time here that I feel I can't equally repay them. At least I hand-wrote a few letters as farewells. It just cements even further in my mind the idea that I DO want to continue to be involved with this project and the people that contribute to it, and I DO want work to make it a better experience for them, just like they've inadvertently done for me. This is one thing I've noticed about the region of Aysén that has me absolutely hooked: the people here are genuine, they do everything they can to help you, they look you in the eye and say hello when you pass them on the street. It's a kind of human connection that is increasingly hard to find in the world, especially in the more "developed" places.
But alas, before I wax philosophical, it's time to say the last few hasta luegos and hit the road. Farewell, Val Chac! I'm northward bound.
Big News
I'm going on a raft down the Río Baker!!!!!!!!!!!! Really no amount of exclamation points can portray how EXCITED I am...I feel like jumping up and down and screaming like a little girl because I can't put my joy into words. The Baker is a renowned river to paddle, and in light of its threatened life at the hand of HidroAysén, it seems an appropriate time to take advantage of this opportunity. Here's our route for the four-day trip, from Cochrane to Tortel:
I'm going with two kids from the states, Michael and Brianna, who go to UVM and have been here in the valley since mid-January with Round River Conservation Studies, a study-abroad program based on field work in various places around the world. For us, they've been doing a grassland study, moving up and down the valley counting plants in random quadrats they selected to get a general idea of what kind of grasses we have growing here. Their program finished a couple weeks ago and now the majority of the group is traveling in various places around South America.
The speed of this development is the most surprising part...they brought the idea up to me yesterday, we talked to a local Colorado ex-pat who runs an adventure tour company, and he agreed to let us borrow the gear we needed for the trip. WHAT. It would never have been this easy in the states, but nonetheless, I'm going down the Baker. Wow.
We start tomorrow, getting all our gear ready to put on the river on Sunday morning. We'll take our time and float our way to Tortel by Thursday, where we'll get a ride back on Friday afternoon. Almost a whole week out on the river will be incredible, and I can hardly wait to see what treasures the Baker has in store for us. Unfortunately, though, it means I'll be away from my computer and unable to post anything about Pumalín until I get back from the trip. Sorry, y'all. Hasta la vista, technology. Turquoise water, take me away.
read up.
Some more food for thought, in the form of interesting articles I've read in the past month:
- Aysén and Chile's stupid addiction to centralism
- How Our Broken Immigration System Indirectly Killed Nelson Avila-Lopez
- Australia's Changing View of the Dingo - this has some unmistakable parallels to the opinion of pumas among ranchers here, best reflected in this quote from the article: "Like the wolf in America, the dingo is a symbol that may mean one thing to hunters or sheep ranchers and another to scientists and nature lovers."
- Who Will Win Over America's Latino Voters?
- Specialists in Rare Earths Say a Trade Case Against China May Be Too Late
- Chilean Town Withers in Free Market for Water - the backstory to how Chile's water came to be owned by foreign entities, opening the door for megaprojects like HidroAysén.
- Chile sets deadlines for meeting demands of Aysén protesters - too soon to hope for progress?
- Chile court rules in favor of Patagonia HidroAysén dam - dam it, this is bad: look at the map and know that the site of the Baker 1 dam is right here at the entrance to our park:
 |
| The site of the Baker 1 dam (in the canyon running down the center of the frame). |
- The 5 Best Treks in Patagonia - our Lagunas Altas trail gets a shout out!
- Beneath that Beguiling Smile, Seeing What Leonardo Saw
- In California, Economic Gap of East vs. West
- Why Trees Matter
Return
It's a rainy morning, my first back in the Chacabuco Valley since the beginning of April. I've been on vacation in Parque Pumalín, 700 kilometers and another world away from here. Things there feel like an old prehistoric world, what with the abundance of rain, green, and volcanoes. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Pumalín deserves its own post.
I arrived at the estancia yesterday afternoon, after two long days on a bus from Chaiten to Coyhaique to Val Chac. About two hours after my arrival, we were joined by our latest guests: Tom and Jenny, a really nice couple from New York with their 13-month-old daughter Sofia. They'll be here for a week, exploring the park and getting some fresh air away from the bustle of the Big Apple. The same day that they leave, we're expecting a large group of photographers on tour around the area with Jonathan, a Colorado transplant who runs an adventure tour company in the area. This group will take over for a night, and then there are no more visitors on the horizon for the rest of the season. Being within three and a half weeks of the end of my current travels is a weird feeling; going home seems imminently close and yet immensely far away, seeing as I've been gone for almost seven months. I'm looking forward to returning and seeing my dear family and friends (and my kitty!) but I'll miss this place as well. The drive from Coyhaique yesterday couldn't have been a better reminder of the original reason that drew me here...the sky was blue, spotted with a few puffy white clouds, lending light to illuminate the red and yellow leaves of the lenga trees as they climbed from the lips of sparkling turquoise lakes up towards the rugged snow-capped peaks of the Andes; all this, while sitting next to an old waso (a type of rancher) who remarked that my camera was a "tremenda maquina" (tremendous machine). Between yesterday and today, I've gotten warm welcomes back from everyone I've seen, and I can't help but smile at the fact. It's nice to feel that I've created a community here and made an impression on people; it alleviates some of the separation I feel happens as a result of working in the lodge all the time without interacting much with the other workers on the estancia.
My time out of Val Chac definitely helped me get some perspective on things here, and it was interesting to be able to compare this park, in its baby stages, with one that's been up and running for a few years (more on this in the Pumalín post). Lilly (the volunteer coordinator intern) and I have talked about the ups and downs of this project many times, and moreso in the past couple weeks since we were on vacation together. While I'm still piecing things together in my mind, the basic conclusion that she and I have both come to is that while we see that what's happening now on the estancia is flawed in many ways, it has enormous potential to be something incredible in a few years' time. It's something of the classic case of talking from an ivory tower, where the people who thought up the whole operation are wholly disconnected from those running it on the ground, and are consequently oblivious to the needs of their workers. The irony of their house on the hill above the estancia is lost on none of us, and in some ways helps put this disconnect into a physical form: the jefes live in a beautiful "castle on a hill" while the rest reside at their feet, in the same way that the jefes dream up a beautiful national park project without considering the practical side of the effort (like providing decent living conditions and competitive salaries, and fostering goodwill and useful skills within the surrounding community).
My sense of it is that we're faced with a choice, as we will continue to be for the remainder of our lives: either take the easy road and avoid associating ourselves with something inherently good but, in practice, flawed, or decide that it's worth all our work and time and energy to help to change it for the better. Why, might you ask, should we take the hard road? And why should it be us, two gringuitas, and not Chileans? The answer is simple, and one that we keep coming back to: we care about what happens here; we care about the land and the people and the success of the project, and we have something valuable to contribute. As my mama brilliantly put in an email,
At some point, each of us have to choose what our fight in life will be, and then hold on for the long haul; having an emotional investment in the outcome of that fight legitimizes all the work we'll face. As a testament to this and our (unintentional) attachment to this place, Lilly and I have both asked to return for the next season, in our respective positions, with the idea that we'd also work together on the side to improve the things we are unhappy with. Regardless of the outcome, it's been a big lesson for us to learn, that we'd rather join the team and do what we can to effect a change, and that we have valuable skills and ideas that make us desirable team members.
So here's to returning to places we've left, because in returning is when we appreciate the lot we have in life.
I arrived at the estancia yesterday afternoon, after two long days on a bus from Chaiten to Coyhaique to Val Chac. About two hours after my arrival, we were joined by our latest guests: Tom and Jenny, a really nice couple from New York with their 13-month-old daughter Sofia. They'll be here for a week, exploring the park and getting some fresh air away from the bustle of the Big Apple. The same day that they leave, we're expecting a large group of photographers on tour around the area with Jonathan, a Colorado transplant who runs an adventure tour company in the area. This group will take over for a night, and then there are no more visitors on the horizon for the rest of the season. Being within three and a half weeks of the end of my current travels is a weird feeling; going home seems imminently close and yet immensely far away, seeing as I've been gone for almost seven months. I'm looking forward to returning and seeing my dear family and friends (and my kitty!) but I'll miss this place as well. The drive from Coyhaique yesterday couldn't have been a better reminder of the original reason that drew me here...the sky was blue, spotted with a few puffy white clouds, lending light to illuminate the red and yellow leaves of the lenga trees as they climbed from the lips of sparkling turquoise lakes up towards the rugged snow-capped peaks of the Andes; all this, while sitting next to an old waso (a type of rancher) who remarked that my camera was a "tremenda maquina" (tremendous machine). Between yesterday and today, I've gotten warm welcomes back from everyone I've seen, and I can't help but smile at the fact. It's nice to feel that I've created a community here and made an impression on people; it alleviates some of the separation I feel happens as a result of working in the lodge all the time without interacting much with the other workers on the estancia.
My time out of Val Chac definitely helped me get some perspective on things here, and it was interesting to be able to compare this park, in its baby stages, with one that's been up and running for a few years (more on this in the Pumalín post). Lilly (the volunteer coordinator intern) and I have talked about the ups and downs of this project many times, and moreso in the past couple weeks since we were on vacation together. While I'm still piecing things together in my mind, the basic conclusion that she and I have both come to is that while we see that what's happening now on the estancia is flawed in many ways, it has enormous potential to be something incredible in a few years' time. It's something of the classic case of talking from an ivory tower, where the people who thought up the whole operation are wholly disconnected from those running it on the ground, and are consequently oblivious to the needs of their workers. The irony of their house on the hill above the estancia is lost on none of us, and in some ways helps put this disconnect into a physical form: the jefes live in a beautiful "castle on a hill" while the rest reside at their feet, in the same way that the jefes dream up a beautiful national park project without considering the practical side of the effort (like providing decent living conditions and competitive salaries, and fostering goodwill and useful skills within the surrounding community).
My sense of it is that we're faced with a choice, as we will continue to be for the remainder of our lives: either take the easy road and avoid associating ourselves with something inherently good but, in practice, flawed, or decide that it's worth all our work and time and energy to help to change it for the better. Why, might you ask, should we take the hard road? And why should it be us, two gringuitas, and not Chileans? The answer is simple, and one that we keep coming back to: we care about what happens here; we care about the land and the people and the success of the project, and we have something valuable to contribute. As my mama brilliantly put in an email,
Working with [them] doesn't make their conservation efforts worthless because they don't understand the human dynamic they encounter. Their cause is worthwhile, but it isn't churning at the highest functioning level because of their lack of ability to work with all of the players involved in their efforts. You grasp a part of the "teamwork" that they don't get, but they also grasp a piece of the work that you may not understand (working with donors, motivating investments, etc). That is why it takes a team to accomplish big things... And that is why you have valuable skills and understanding to offer them. At the same time, don't buy into the idea that you are somehow indebted to them or have to make all of your judgments based on their values. Instead, challenge them to keep growing and to consider aspects of their project that weren't obvious to them when they started.
And give them some kudos....they have done a wonderful thing in protecting these lands... they just need to take it to another level.
At some point, each of us have to choose what our fight in life will be, and then hold on for the long haul; having an emotional investment in the outcome of that fight legitimizes all the work we'll face. As a testament to this and our (unintentional) attachment to this place, Lilly and I have both asked to return for the next season, in our respective positions, with the idea that we'd also work together on the side to improve the things we are unhappy with. Regardless of the outcome, it's been a big lesson for us to learn, that we'd rather join the team and do what we can to effect a change, and that we have valuable skills and ideas that make us desirable team members.
So here's to returning to places we've left, because in returning is when we appreciate the lot we have in life.
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