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The Chilean Volcano Tour: Part 1!

8/19/2015

My brother and I managed to ski from the crater of a volcano during our time touring around Chile, and it was just enough to wet my whistle. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to kick off three weeks of Chilean volcano schussing, high adventure, and hot spring soaking with a fair bit of wine drinking mixed in for good measure. It was exactly the reason I sailed to Chile, and I had just the right cast of characters to bring it all together!

After my family flew back to the states, I zipped back south to grab all my ski gear and caught another bus to the north to meet my long-lost friend Thomas.

Thomas and I built skis together at Black Diamond for four years and had a lot of fun doing it. We got to travel all over the place – visiting suppliers, going to trade shows, and working with factories – and Thomas was hands-down my favorite person to travel with. It was always an adventure – from late night beers at the Hofbrau house with Conrad Anker – to a literal “Chinese Downhill” at the indoor ski area in Shenzen, China. Needless to say, this trip lived up to my high expectations.

After he left Black Diamond, Thomas became the president of Avatech, a snow safety technology company in Park City. It’s tough to test digital avalanche probes during the Northern Hemisphere summer, so a trip to Chile was the best option. Thomas invited me along to help with testing, serve as a translator, and take pictures and videos of the whole program. He flew into Santiago, scooped me up off the side of the road in Chillan late one afternoon, and we made a bee-line for the snowy peaks that were an hour or two to our east.

Nevados de Chillán is a string of five volcanoes with a ski area by the same name covering the lower flanks. They’re all quite tall and there is a ton of interesting terrain above treeline. The entire mountain is built out of lava flows, so there are lots of natural half pipes and swooping curves that’re super fun to surf around on. Its one of the bigger resorts in Chile and they're way ahead of the game when it comes to sidecountry access and avalanche education.

It had been snowing for four or five days straight, with one clear day (the day we drove in) and lots more snow on the way. Our timing couldn’t have been better.

Also notable are the streams of super hot thermal water that trickle out of the side of the volcano at various points to form the aptly named Termas de Chillán. It just so happened that we were staying at a hotel situated right next to one of these glorious hot springs, about a quarter of the way up the mountain. Not too shabby!

We checked in and met up with Joe, another Avatech engineer that had been there testing for a week already. With that accomplished and several hours/days of travel behind us, we made the easy decision to head down to the hot springs with a six-pack. The sun had gone down and it was starting to snow by the time we got out, and its safe to say that the stress of travel had melted away and was replaced by stoke for the rest of the trip!

We made it back to the hotel just in time to partake in the all-you-can-eat dinner buffet. Which consisted, naturally, of steak, crab claws, and fresh scallops among dozens of other things. It’s safe to say that there was a bit more selection than I’m used to on the Rascal. With full bellies, we had little option but to examine the offerings at the bar which were quite extensive and I got the opportunity to meet the owner of the resort and the manager of the mountain among other colorful characters.

We awoke to big flakes and some strong winds trying to push the hotel over. We slowly stumbled our way down to breakfast, where we found out that the lifts were closed due to the winds (which were slated to get even stronger the next day). Shucks. We obviously couldn’t let all of that pow go unskied, and there were some prototype probes that needed testing, so we slapped our skins on and went out for a little tour.

Thus we had the mountain all to ourselves for the next two days. Two glorious days spent skiing what pow we could find in the trees, digging cavernous snow pits to test probes, and getting spanked by the strong winds.

The technology in the probes is really quite incredible. They have a variety of sensors down in the tips of the probe and a user interface at the top. When you stick the unit down into the snow, it takes a bunch of readings and eventually spits out a chart of the snow hardness with respect to depth. Using this information, you can quickly draw some general conclusions about the state of the snowpack and track which problem layers might be capable of creating avalanches.

Once we were done for the day, we’d retire to the hot springs for a soak and a few beers and watch the flakes continue to fall. Once we were done there – we’d amble on over to dinner and sample whatever the nights’ glorious offerings were. After dinner, there was always some live music, or at the very least some drunk Brazilian girls singing karaoke! I was in heaven.

After a couple days of this (and right when I thought life couldn't possibly get any better), a truck full of professional snowboarders showed up. Thus, for the rest of the trip, I got to know Jeremy Jones, Forrest Shearer, and Nick Russell. They were all there filming for next year's snowboard videos and we drank beers in the hot springs with them each afternoon and ate dinner in the lodge with them each night.

They'd all done some incredible traveling and had great stories to tell. They'd just been out surfing along the coastline and came up to Nevados de Chillan to catch a weather window that was expected in a few days. They were also curious to hear about the voyage of the Rascal and it was fun to share my story with them. There was a semi-frozen tub next to the hottest hot spring to go for the "polar plunge" effect and each evening we'd push it a little longer in the cold tub. By the end of the trip I managed seven or eight minutes!

And then, to our great delight, the wind stopped and the sun came out!

We could finally see all the awesome terrain on offer, and we had a blast surfing around the mountain and digging into the nooks and crannies we hadn't been able to tour to. Unfortunately the upper part of the mountain was still closed, but luckily the weather was predicted to hold out for a few days.

Part of the reason for Thomas’ trip was education. Avatech makes lots of powerful tools (both on the hardware and software side) and they’re no good if you don’t know how to use them. Thus we had a couple of sessions with the gentlemen that work in mountain operations for Nevados de Chillan to teach them about all the technology. It was in this manner that I got to meet Ro.

Ro (short for Rodrigo) is a total badass from Punta Arenas that gets to ski all winter (he works with mountain ops and ski patrollers to understand the snowpack and keep skiers safe) and go on adventures in southern Patagonia all winter. He has explored a bunch of the fjords I'm planning to visit while guiding scientific expeditions and he showed me a bunch of incredible pictures and shared all sorts of tips and tricks for navigating in the far south. As you might expect, he is also a ripping skier.

After another night of hot springing and beer drinking, we awoke to find the upper mountain was open and we met up with a friend of a friend, Alex Taran, to do a little more exploring. Alex runs the South American Beacon Project which seeks to help get donated beacons into the hands of mountain professionals in South America that wouldn't otherwise have the money to afford them. She also does a lot of courses to educate folks and she has spent several years living around Chillan.

There were all kinds of pow to be accessed from the upper part of the mountain and we followed Alex out into the side country to explore the "dedos" a series of chutes off to the lookers right side of the ski area. They were choc full of the snow that'd been falling all week and we got to ski a couple thousand feet of glorious untouched Andean pow.

Note those rad hot springs bubbling out in the background!

The terrain accessed by that upper lift is really top notch and when we weren't digging pits to test prototypes, we were getting as rowdy as possible and soaking up the sunshine and pow.

That afternoon, as shadows were starting to get long, and I was thinking that the day couldn't possibly get any better, we got invited on a cat ride up above the ski area.

It was my first time in a cat and the scenery, circumstances, and snow were all absolutely astounding. When we got to the saddle below the crater of the caldera, the cat stopped and let us out. I'm not sure if its normal protocol or not, but Ro broke out a nalgene of delicious homemade pisco sours and we all cheersed to Chile!

The rest of the group skied down from there, but Thomas, Joe, and I couldn't pass up the chance to get up on the summit. It was a short skin to the top and the stoke built with every step.

You could see steam rising out from the vents at the edges of the crater, but you could also see glorious pow, and as we looked down into its depths, it was clear that there was only one thing we could possibly do in this situation: ski into the crater of an active volcano.

Thomas led the charge (literally and figuratively) and decided airing into the center would be the best course of action.

It was a quick, easy boot up out of the center of the crater and before we knew it we were back up on the ridgeline.

Stoke was high and our mission was far from over - we still had 5500 vertical feet of pow to ski back down to the lodge.

As we worked our way around the rim to the aspect we wanted to ski, we came upon a bunch of volcanic vents that were steaming and sizzling in the sunshine. At that moment it became clear to me that I was about to fulfill what was, perhaps, my highest calling in life. I reached into my pack, pulled out a smoked sausage, and lovingly nestled it down in the hot, black rocks.

I'll forever remember it as the day that I skied into an active volcano, roasted a smoked sausage over a volcanic vent, and then had the longest powder run of my life.

With our bellies full, and a great mission fulfilled, we got down to business and did some top-notch schussing as afternoon slowly faded into evening.

Unfortunately, the time had come for the band to break up - Thomas had to be up in Portillo the following morning. That said, it was the perfect cap to an incredible trip and we all went our separate ways with big smiles on our faces. Nevados de Chillan was an incredible mountain and I'll never forget the awesome people I met nor the sunshiney pow we got to ski there!

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The Haney Family Chilean Winery and Hot Springs Tour!

8/18/2015

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I’ve been bugging my folks to come down and visit me in Chile ever since I first docked in Puerto Montt four months ago. Eventually all the tales of fjords, hot springs, and cheap wine were enough to persuade them and they booked tickets to overlap with my brother. In true Haney fashion, there were lots of delicious meals, a few bottles (boxes?) of wine consumed, and plenty of mountainous scenery to take in.

Chile’s bus systems are really well organized and efficient. I’ve taken dozens of busses – local, regional, long distance, international – and they’ve all been clean, comfortable, on time, and cheap. The overnight bus to Santiago was no exception. Porter and I fell asleep in our cushy reclining “semi-cama” (sort of a bed) chairs and woke up well rested in the middle of Santiago. We took another bus to the airport and waited anxiously for our parent’s flight to arrive.

It was a truly joyous reunion and smiles, hugs, & high fives abounded. Our connecting flight to Coyhaique didn’t leave for an hour or two, so we elected to head to the airport bar for a quick glass of wine to catch up. The last time we were hanging out, I was getting ready to sail to the Galapagos (and my parents were probably wondering if I’d get struck by lightning or eaten by a whale), so we had plenty to catch up on! The flight went smoothly and we got beautiful views of the Andes when we weren’t shrouded in clouds.

We even happened to fly right over the top of the Rascal where she was docked near Puerto Montt.

I was in charge of rental cars for the southern portion of our trip and we ended up with a boxy Mitsubishi SUV to deal with the eternally muddy dirt roads of Patagonia. It was only my second time driving in six months, and I was being very careful and cautious. However, I only managed to drive about a hundred meters before a “Carabinero” (Chilean police officer) started making hand signals at me. It looked like the “rubbing your stomach while patting your head” sort of gig. He was wearing a particularly Russian looking fur hat and he seemed to be having quite a bit of fun with his hand coordination exercises. I slowed down and noticed that he was looking away from me – to some distant part of the parking lot. “Must be signaling someone else,” I figured and drove right on past him.

That was a mistake, it turned out. As I passed him, he lost his shit and started waving his arms around and chasing after us. I immediately pulled over and he came right up to my window, asking in rapid (and barely comprehensible) Spanish why the hell I didn’t stop when he gave me the universal “pull your law-breaking ass over” hand signals. I explained that I wasn’t familiar with that particular hand signal and offered a thousand apologies for the ignorance of a stupid gringo. We were directly in front of the airport at this point and several amused locals and tourists looked on with great interest. He carefully inspected all of my documents for a few minutes and let us go on our way. We all let out a sigh of relief.

After checking into our little B&B, we set out to explore town and get something to eat. Coyhaique is a cute little town with the classic center plaza and lots of restaurants and bars. We happened into one that specialized in roasted meats (surprise, surprise) and started off our time in Patagonia right with a couple bottles of wine and a bunch of tender delicious carne.

Porter practicing his contemplative beard stroke in front of the restaurant

We all awoke well rested the next morning and set our sights towards Aysen and Chacabuco, a couple of port towns to our west. Aysen is a castellanization of the English words “Ice End” because it was the spot along the coast where the glaciers stopped flowing into the sea. For a long time, it was the only large port for hundreds of miles, but overgrazing, irresponsible logging, and some enormous fires sent immense amounts of sediment down the river that Aysen straddles to the point that it was no longer navigable for large ships. At this point, all of the commercial and fishing traffic goes to the relatively new town of Chacabuco which is situated at the mount of the river. We had a lovely day exploring the two towns and treated ourselves to a big seafood lunch at a little hole-in-the-wall in Aysen.

The drive between the two zones was gorgeous, with numerous waterfalls, towering peaks on all sides, and plenty of picturesque farmland in between.

The next morning, we planned to get up before dawn (to beat a road closure due to construction) and drive to the town of Puyuhuapi along the Carretera Austral. The Carretera is the only highway that runs south of Puerto Montt, stretching some 1240 kilometers through the mountainous countryside of southern Chile. It is connected in lots of places by ferries because of the difficulty and cost of building bridges in the fjords.

We couldn’t drive more than ten minutes without stopping to take pictures. There were ginormous mountains all around us the entire time with hundreds of waterfalls cascading down into the valley.

Showers and sunshine flirted with us all day with the result that we saw literally dozens of rainbows (the love children of the rain and sun!).

There were lots of livestock and llamas grazing on the lush grasses in the bottom of the valley and more than one river ran through it.

As we worked up and over a monster mountain pass, we got some excellent views of some glaciers up in the far reaches of the hills.

Eventually we made it to the first stop on our Chilean Winery and Hot Springs Tour, a little nook called Termas del Ventisquero.

Its nestled into the coastline of a fjord just south of Puyuhuapi and the springs overlook the sea.

We happened to have snuck some wine in, and relaxed in the springs all afternoon, watching the weather roll past and spotting dolphins out in the fjord.

A few of us even decided to take the plunge in to the cold sea water despite the risk of substantial shrinkage.

Puyuhuapi was settled more than a hundred years by German immigrants and a sizeable portion of its current population descended from those original few. We happened to be staying with an old German woman who spoke only Spanish and had a tremendous garden behind the hotel. My mom mentioned that she was impressed by it, and she suddenly found herself gifted with a bag full of wildflower seeds and a handful of beans. They weren’t just any beans, however. These were pole beans that had been planted for literally generations and were brought over from the “motherland” by those original German immigrants in the 1800s. My mom was able to successfully smuggle them back into the states, so we’ll get to see how they grow in Wyoming!

We had a big seafood dinner at the only restaurant in town and woke up early the next morning to head to our next hot spring – Termas de Puyuhuapi!

Termas de Puyuhuapi is on the other side of the fjord, so there is no way to drive there – a boat ride is the only way. We motored across with fairly calm seas and pulled up to this charming resort.

They have a variety of different indoor and outdoor pools of varying temperatures and the grounds are gorgeous.

It was definitely the priciest stop on our Chilean Winery and Hot Springs Tour, but we snuck a few boxes of cab in to take the edge off.

We even got up before dawn the next morning for a little sunrise soak.

The drive back through the mountains along the carretera was just as gorgeous as it had been on the drive up, and we took some time lollygagging in the town of Puerto Cisnes on the drive back. Lots of tall craggy-looking peaks stuck their ugly heads out as we drove past and Porter and I managed to spot dozens of ski lines that would take days of jungle bushwhacking to get to.

After some more fine dining in Coyhaique, we caught a flight back to Santiago and began the northern half of our Chilean jaunt.

We were staying in the small town of Santa Cruz which is in the heart of the Colchagua Valley – home to dozens of wineries. Day one started at a fairly new winery with French roots that is owned by the Marnier family (think Grand Marnier!). The whole winery is built into a hillside with several levels for fermentation, bottling, aging etc so that they can just use gravity to transfer the wine between levels instead of pumps.

The architecture was impressive and the wine definitely didn’t suck.

The next stop was for lunch at a restaurant that was attached to another winery. The food was top-notch. So good, in fact, that it induced a quick Haney nap in the car before our next tour.

The second tour was at a much older winery and it had a much more Chilean feel to it. Luckily for our sleep-weakened legs, the tour was conducted via horse-and-buggy and we got to see some of the countryside. My dad even snuck a taste right out of the fermentation tank!

After such a big day of swilling, we elected to spend the next day seeing the northern coast. There are lots of little fishing villages dotting the coast and we spent a lot of time beach walking and looking out at the sea.

A bit further to the north lies the town of Pichilemu, a boomtown that has been growing increasingly popular for its famous surf break at Punta de Lobos. There was a pretty good size swell rolling in and we spent an hour or two watching surfers get pummeled by the Pacific.

We’d heard about an incredible empanada shop that makes dozens of different flavors and we had to check it out for ourselves. Among the flavors we tried: Crab, scallop, & cheese as well as chicken, cheese, & merken (smoked Chilean peppers). They were all absolutely delicious – it was definitely a worthy stop.

Predictably, eating so many glorious empanadas sent the Haney clan into an afternoon nap tailspin and we (also predictably) woke up just in time for cocktail hour. We quickly found a bar along the beach, had a few snacks and pisco sours, and watched the surf roll in. Pisco is a type of Chilean brandy that is absolutely delicious and gets nestled right behind wine as the national drink. Its almost always sold as a “pisco sour” which tastes something like a boozy lemonade.

Unfortunately, Chile’s lunch and dinner timing doesn’t match the internal clock of your average Haney and we found they were closing for a two hour break between lunch and dinner just as we were getting fired up for a good sunset.

It quickly became clear that there was only one solution to such an unfortunate timing – we would have to bridge the gap with pisco. They were totally accommodating and served up two chilled pitchers of pisco sour to tide us over before they locked things up. As you can imagine, that went over really well with us, and we spent the sunset sitting on their back deck playing cribbage and enjoying our delicious cocktails. To their great surprise, we were still there when they got back and we decided to have dinner on the spot!

The next day, we pulled out of Santa Cruz early and worked our way further up the coast to visit another winery. We stopped and chowed on seafood (among other things) during the drive up and the scenery was spectacular.

For this post, I asked my parents and brother each to write a little blurb about the trip with the topic totally up to their choosing. Their command of the Spanish language can be a little lacking at time, so I was always doing the ordering in restaurants and sometimes we got "interesting" results. My dad is an adventuresome eater (to say the least), but some of the Chilean seafood specialties were at the edge of his limit. Here's what he had to say!

When your vagabond son convinces you to eat some strange critter, make sure you have your stomach fully fastened down. This was just one of the incredibly weird things he forced me to sample. Perhaps one of the worst was black harry seafood ball in a mixed soup of 5 inch muscles, fish of some unidentified type, clams, and a random little shrimp. At least he didn't force me to eat the red insides of massive barnacles, of course, he didn't taste those either. But seriously, when your son invites you on a family extravaganza trip like this, make sure you savor every moment of it! Life is short!

Lucky for my dad, the vineyard tour we had planned for the afternoon included a wine and cheese pairing to help satiate his hunger. This particular winery was the first in Chile to be certified organic and their tour focused on some of the biodynamic practices they use to avoid chemical fertilizer and pesticides. It was instructive and totally different from the other two wine tours, with lots of animals roaming around the winery and a bunch of other plants they use to help regulate the growing process.

From there it was a short drive to the city of Valparaiso, just west of Santiago and the largest port in all of Chile. Valparaiso has a long history and lots of windy streets and colorful buildings. We were following some google maps directions around and found one extra-steep street that our rental car didn’t have quite enough traction to negotiate despite numerous valiant attempts by Porter, our chauffer. We left some rubber behind as a momento.

Having been in the countryside all week, everything was a little overwhelming, but we checked into our hotel and went out in search of adventure. We found it in the form of a perfect rooftop bar to take in the sunset and a few local beers.

The next day was Saturday and we managed to find a few incredible markets to walk around. There was everything from produce to seafood to handicrafts and we ate more than our fair share of empanadas as we browsed.

Valparaiso also has an incredible collection of stray dogs - which brings me to my brother's submission - an ode to the street dogs of Chile!

There's always one thing that happens on a Haney family trip. You never know what that one thing is going to be, but you will know it when it happens. In the past it's been everything from singing The Beach Boys - Kokomo so many times that we wore the tape deck out - to saying "Bonjour" every time your brother is peeing in the woods pretending there was a family of French Canadians around the corner waiting to bust you for peeing in public.

On this trip to Southern Chile the thing was --- Street Dogs!

There are a bunch friendly pups that hang out on the sidewalks and alleys of every town. They're looking for a bite of steak or a kind pet from a passerby. Unlike a lot of street dogs, these dogs are very friendly. In fact, a quick rub of the ears might make you a day long friend that'll follow you through miles of city walking. These dogs seem to have developed a sixth sense for not getting hit by cars, kicked by surly humans, or in fights with theirs peers - by and large they're living the doggie dream.

You might ask what do these fellas have to do with that one thing on a Haney family trip? Well, Mom ended up taking pictures of every last one she could get to sit still, and even some she couldn't! And, Dad, well he couldn't help but whistle at each and every one of him. Turns out his whistle could be construed for the whistle the young men in Chile use to harass the young women! Tsk tsk!

These dogs were an absolute highlight of the trip. They were everywhere, they were friendly, and they didn't mind a little loving from a Haney.

Which, of course, segues beautifully into my Mom's submission to this blog, an ode to the wine of Chile!

I have to admit that my love for the "Chile Dogs" was only out-done by my love for Chilean wine! Walking back to our hostel each night we'd see lots of dogs sleeping (or passed out) on the sidewalks. Too much wine you ask? It's totally possible.

When we were in Mexico, it was tough to get wine with dinner, but beer was available on every street corner. To my delight, the situation was reversed in Chile! Chilean wine is cheap and tasty and it doesn't make you have to find a bathroom every hour. You can drink it cold or room temp. It's great to take to the beach (one of my favorite spots) and it always makes life seem more simple. The Chilean folks truly have it figured out.

I didn't think I was a Cabernet drinker, but that all changed in Chile. Dwy had the whole "boxed wine" thing figured out and he even knew to get the screw-cap type so we could carry it around like a bota bag. He is my child! So smart! He even brought a couple of metal cups from the Rascal to keep us from breaking glasses. David, who doesn't usually drink a lot of wine, managed to fall for the Chilean wine too. It was wonderful to sit in the hot springs and drink wine with the rain hitting your shoulders.

It was also great fun to tour all the different vineyards with David and our boys. So yes, I did love the wine and the dogs of Chile. Of all the dogs I saw, however, I loved the three big dogs I was traveling with the most. They made the trip!

After a lunch laden with wine, we met up with a friend of mine that took us on a tour of Viña del Mar, a resort town to the north, and we ended up catching the best sunset of the whole trip on the drive back. The clouds were low and it felt like the whole sky was on fire.

We ate some classic Chilean food that night, with plenty of meat, a little bit of “pastel del chocolo”, and a bottle of delicious carmenere. There were even a few late night sliding shenanigans on the way back to our hotel.

Unfortunately the final day of the trip had come and the whole gang had to get back to Santiago for flights and busses to all corners of the globe. We got a nice big breakfast in us to make sure we were properly fueled for a big day of travel.

On our way into the big city, we took a detour to the south along the coast to check out one of Pablo Neruda’s houses and lo-and-behold, we happened into a big delicious seafood lunch as well.

One final pisco sour sealed the trip perfectly and we all went our separate ways.

Next on the docket? A couple weeks of skiing volcanos in southern Chile with long-lost buddies!

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The Haney Brothers Take South America

8/16/2015

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I haven't gotten to see my family since I departed from Mexico for the Galapagos 6 months (and 6000 nautical miles) ago. So when my brother proposed that he come down for a month to ski pow, explore Patagonia, and eat as much beef as possible, I agreed immediately.

I had finally run out of time on my Chilean visa, so Porter and I planned to meet up in Bariloche, Argentina – a little mountain town known for its pow, its mountains, and its parties. I did my best to dry out the Rascal after the previous few days of exceptional rain and storms, tucked her in a sheltered, guarded marina near Puerto Montt and hopped on a bus for the border.

Bariloche isn't very far as the crow flies, but the road makes a lot of switch backs to get up over the Andes, so it takes a while to get there and by the time I pulled into town, stoke was at an all-time high! Our reunion was joyous and we wasted no time getting down to business.

What are you eating, Port?

After a long day of travel, the argentine specialties (ribeyes and cab) were just what each of us needed, and we drifted off into a wine and beef induced slumber until the next morning. We awoke to an overcast day with rain down in Bariloche, but snow forecasted for the high country. We boarded a very crowded bus and high tailed our way up to the ski area - we got to the lift ticket window in a driving rain storm and were informed that it was snowing TOO HARD for them to open the lifts and we should return tomorrow. Soaked, bummed, and thirsty we return to Bariloche and sampled just about every *artesanal* beer the local breweries had to offer.

The next morning dawned much the same as the previous, but with a bit more chill in the air. It was unclear if the ski area would open today but there were many more people at the bus station with skis. The busses up to the ski area are few and far between, so you really have to pack yourself in. Boarding the bus was a much different experience then the day before - 80's power-ballads and techno mashups piped into the bus's extra large speakers helped to provide some levity to the sardine can vibe and before we knew it, we were in a pow-surrounded mobile dance party. Discotecs are big in Bariloche - so we decided this particular bus ought to be rechristened the 'Buscotec'! When we got to the ski area we knew we were in for a treat. The chair lifts were running, most of the locals had their butt sleds out and we were some of the only people heading up the mountain with skis.

We hopped on the lift and couldn't see a goddamn thing, but it was clear from numerous hoots and hollers echoing around inside the clouds that there was pow to be skied. I've been skiing since I was two years old, and since then, I've hardly missed a month, much less a whole season. The voyage of the Rascal, however, required sailing through the tropics during the north American winter, and I didn't make a single turn last year. Such a blasphemy tore at the very fabric of my being and by the time I hopped off the lift, I was ready to explode with excitement. My legs were vibrating with tens of thousands of missed turns and my beard was quivering with hundreds of anticipated face shots.

I stepped off the lift and we made a bee line for the side of the slope. It was soft and fresh and fantastic and we let out a thousand hoots and hollers of our own as we sliced and diced our way down the mountain. Back in the saddle again!

The visibility was still really terrible, but we could occasionally catch the aroma of meat roasting from one of the mid-mountain lodges and restaurants. In fact, that was just about the only way we could find our way back to the chairlift - navigating by steak scent! I had a moment in the white-out when I felt like I'd found my way to the perfect time and place. "I've been training my entire life to ski by the scent of roasting beef!" I thought. "I finally made it."

Eventually the clouds cleared out and we ended up with half of a glorious blue bird pow day.

Finally skiing!

Deep enough to hide the lower half of a Porter Haney

It happened to be Argentina's Independence day, and flags were waving everywhere.

It's customary to fly the flag of the nation you're sailing through. I reckon the same rules ought to apply to schussing.

We met a kindred spirit from Colorado and did some touring as the afternoon progressed. Views were spectacular and you could see the lake sparkling in the sunshine thousands of feet below.

It was a hell of a day and we topped it off with even more delicious Argentine food.

There was clear weather predicted for several days, so we decided it would be a good time to venture on up to a backcountry hut in a valley close to the ski area called Refugio Frey. There is a big network of "refugios" in the mountains around Bariloche, but only Frey has services (food, drinks, etc) available during the winter. It takes about four hours to get up there and the hike in was gorgeous.

We made fast friends with the locals.

Porter's backcountry kit: slippery sneakers [check], nerdy poncho [check], world's stinkiest ski boot liners [double-check]!

You start by traversing along the base of the mountains and eventually you turn up valley and start gaining more elevation. The cold, clear night before had built an incredible layer of needle ice (some of it 2-3 inches long) that was immensely satisfying to crunch through as we hiked up.

We made it to the hut shortly before sunset and were treated to a glorious sunset and a hot, delicious dinner.

Thus began four days of perfect weather, great eating & drinking, and plenty of steep pow skiing. Frey is situated right next to a frozen lake at the foot of a valley, surrounded by tall spires and tight chutes. It's a world-renowned rock climbing destination, and we decided it wasn't half bad for skiing either.

It only costs about $40 bucks a night to stay there with breakfast, lunch, and dinner included. Even the beer and wine (that somebody had to carry 10km in there!) was pretty damn reasonable, and Porter and I spent lots of relaxing afternoons staring up at the mountains, drinking a nice bottle of Malbec, and battling it out over the cribbage board.

The guys that were working at the hut were very cool and helpful in pointing out lines and chatting about the snow conditions. We tried to earn our keep by setting steep skin tracks up the chutes for the handful of other people that were skiing up there.

THE SWITCHBACKS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL MORALE IMPROVES!!!

We found light, dry powder high up in the shade of the chutes and sunny, creamy pow down on the aprons.

Even the food was delectable, and the guys running the hut cooked everything from hand-made gnocchi to pizzas to (my personal favorite) steak and onions!

It was a magical couple of days and I won't soon forget them. I'm definitely hoping to get back someday soon!

On our last night there (we probably would've stayed longer, but we had run out of Argentine pesos), the wind piped up and the clouds moved in. The long slog out was tangled with chaparral bushes and snow-laden trees bent over the trail. It was a serious slog - anyone that knows my brother knows he absolutely detests wet clothes. He brings a change of shirt literally every time he skis. But, by the time we got back to the trailhead he was walking straight through rivers, ski boots and all. There was simply no way to get wetter than we already were. There was only one possible cure for such abuse - a couple of cold Isenbecks and a huge cheese fondue dinner.

Hot dogs in cheese fondue? Why not?

Porter and I felt like we had really gotten the best of Bariloche, so we decided it was time to branch out and do a little more exploring. The next morning, we hopped on the bus back to Puerto Montt and spent a few days checking on the Rascal (she was just fine, thanks), exploring my favorite haunts, and getting some work done. I introduced him to some glorious Chilean delicacies like pichanga, churrasco, and the lakes district's best pisco sours. We even managed to find him a top-notch hand made wool sweater from an old woman in a stall on the side of the road.

Porter's first Chilean sandwich

With our bellies full, some work accomplished, and a new appreciation for just how glorious pichanga is, we decided it was time to start chasing pow again. The process of renting a car took nearly an entire day (two different companies bailed on reservations), and eventually we found the last rental car available in Puerto Montt - a Toyota Yaris being rented from a wooden shack in the middle of a dirt parking lot. We gave it a quick inspection, deemed it a worthy steed for our endeavor (haha!) and pointed her north.

Porter turned into my chauffeur when we couldn't get the rear seats to fold down for our skis!

Pucon is another picturesque little tourist town beside a lake and it has an active volcano (Volcan Villarica) above it. There is normally a ski area on the flanks of Villarica, but due to the volcanic activity (you could see the orange glow at night!), it is shut down this season. We figured we could just do some touring on it, but with all of the snow that had fallen in the previous few days, the road was unplowed, which meant several hours of skinning just to get to the skiable part. We passed several trucks trying to make the ascent up the unplowed road with chains, but their attempt was futile and they all ended up getting stuck before long.

We eventually realized that our own attempt was futile as well (no visibility, miles left to go, extra gloppy snow, not nearly enough beers, (and horror of horror for Porter, a wet t-shirt)), and decided to retire to an afternoon of partaking in other volcanic delights - the hot springs!

After a couple of hours (and a couple of beers) in the hot springs, it was clear that we'd made the right choice and we started thinking about our next move. The weather was expected to clear again and we'd heard about another ski area a couple hours to the north (that was actually open) situated on a volcano. We knew we'd have to get up early to make it there for the next day, but we didn't want to waste a good window and we pulled out of Pucon at 6 the next morning (sunrise isn't until 9 down here, haha!). The Yaris protested a bit, but Porter navigated through the early morning hours (and through a fierce hangover) while I struggled to stay awake in the co-pilot's seat. Eventually his driving stamina was all tapped out and we traded places. For the first time in more than 6 months, I was behind the wheel of a car, and we didn't realize it at the time, but a formidable task was ahead of us.

Snowbanks started to form along the side of the road. The Yaris's headlights peeked at them and her nearly-bald summer tires squeaked with fright. We began to gain more elevation and the snowbanks grew higher with patches of snowpack on the road. Porter and I looked at each other and silently wondered if the Yaris was capable of going the distance.

With a half dozen miles left to go, we turned up the road to the ski area and found ourselves in a winter wonderland. Dawn was just starting to break and there was only one thing to do - keep our momentum up, hope nobody was coming the opposite direction on the ice packed road, and pray that the Yaris didn't lose her tenuous grip. Ullr must've been watching, because we were granted safe passage all the way to the parking lot. Bewildered lifties and four wheel drive jeeps with chains stared at the three of us as we pulled in. The Yaris beamed with pride. It was an auspicious start to what would be a tremendous ski day.

The ski area wasn't very crowded and we made mellow pow laps as they slowly opened lifts higher and higher on the mountain.

Eventually the uppermost lift opened up and we decided it might be a good idea to try and summit the volcano. We neglected to bring crampons, but the snow was fairly stable and we picked our way along the ridgeline until we made it to the rim of the caldera. And when I say picked, what I really mean is a combination of skinning, boot packing, and Porter's carefully honed technique of side stepping with skis on (I don't subscribe to this method, but Porter managed to utilize it for hundreds of vertical feet). It was a very clear day and you could see to Argentina on one side and nearly to the Pacific on the other.

The descent ended up being 5,000 vertical feet of perfectly wind-buffed powder and it was one of the most delightful ski runs I've ever had. My goal of sailing to Chile to ski volcanos was officially checked off!

A big warmup was predicted for the next few days and most of the volcanos and ski areas were expecting rain, so Porter and I decided to work our way back south along the coastline. There were lots of cool beaches and fishing towns along the way and we enjoyed meeting folks, browsing fish markets, and soaking up the relaxed pace of the Chilean coast. We even treated the Yaris to a few boat rides - the cable-operated single-car ferries were top notch!

Porter lost a lot of cribbage games during that stretch of time, but he kept a good attitude about it and as our time drew to a close, he even managed to skunk me once or twice.

All-in-all, it was a glorious three weeks of gallivanting and bonding with a my big brother. The time had come to take things up a notch, however, with a bus ride up to Santiago to meet our parents for another week and a half of hot springs, glaciers, wine tours, beach days, and (believe it or not!) pitchers of pisco sours! Stay tuned for the next chapter!

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Living the Life in Chile

8/6/2015

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The last six weeks have been absolutely magical. I’ve had visits from long-lost college buddies, more than my fair share of delicious Chilean food, and some top-notch adventures down in the fjords.

The Gorski Pichanga Fest
It all started in early June when a friend of mine from college came to visit. Lauren moved to Utah shortly after I left and I hadn't gotten to see her in years. She happened to be visiting her sister who was studying abroad up in Santiago and she brought Jessica and another Bucknell alum, Reuben, along for some sight seeing around Puerto Montt.

We had a big dinner on the Rascal the first night and decided to kick the trip off with some land-based travel to the magical island of Chiloe. We spent the next few days seeing sights, hiking around in the woods, drinking frosty cold Escudos, and learning about the mythical lore of Chiloe.

During our time in Chiloe, we also learned about a glorious Chilean culinary invention that goes by the name of "pichanga". It's a distant cousin of Canadian Poutine and it all starts with a big bed of french fries. While recipes vary from establishment to establishment, most are topped with chicken, sausage, steak, cheese, hot dog, hard boiled egg, ham, pickles, avocado, tomatoes, carmelized onion, and olives. You can imagine our great surprise and delight when the first one showed up at our table, and after sampling a single bite of its decadence, we were hooked.

Given the description above, you're probably thinking, "half of those things don't sound like they go with the other half!" ...and you're absolutely right. How can you possibly pair a cold tomato with a hot piece of smoked sausage or a pickled onion with a cube of ham? I found that it was exactly this absurd imbalance that makes pichanga so balanced. It was the unexpected flavor combinations and changes in texture and temperature that make it such a brilliant and delightful dish. A plate of pichanga is obviously way too big for one person to handle on their own, so it makes a good group meal, with each person picking and choosing their favorites. Every restaurant has their own take on pichanga and some are much better than others, but I can't say that we ever had a bad pichanga. In fact, we enjoyed them so much that we managed to eat 3 during 24 hours at one point.

When we weren't gorging ourselves at Chilote dive bars, we spent some time hiking around in national parks, shopping for warm wool handicrafts, and taking in lakes and volcanos from a distance.

Sailing around PM
Eventually the crew had to head back to work and school and I spent a couple of days working on the Rascal and carousing with some Chilean friends around Puerto Montt. Late one night we were hanging around a marina and a plan hatched to sail the Rascal to a nearby hot spring the next day. We went to the market the following morning, bought a bunch of wine and a 15lb salmon, and pulled the anchor with a following breeze.

After a couple week hiatus, it felt great to be out sailing again and we soon found ourselves surrounded by whales.

My friend Jaime is a photographer and he was snapping pictures throughout the sail as we carved our way south.

Our following breeze slowly turned into a headwind and a contrary current and we had to lay up for the night a couple of miles short of the hot springs. It was disappointing to come up short, but we were awarded with an excellent consolation prize in the form of delicious Chilean wine and superb scenery all around us.

We made it to the hot springs early the next day, and though they weren't exactly piping hot, we had a snug little anchorage and we lit a big fire. The feast we prepared that evening was absolutely glorious - local foraged mushrooms and sunchokes tossed with garlic, shallots, and onions; and fresh caught salmon grilled right over the fire. Uniquely Chilean and totally delicious.

It snowed in the high country during the night and a few showers on the sail back made for prime rainbow conditions.

Fun in the Fjords
I spent the next few days getting reprovisioned in Puerto Montt and then pointed the Rascal southward once again for some more solo exploring in the fjords.

The idea of this sojourn was to explore all of the fjords and potential skiing-from-the-boat options within spitting distance (ie: 2-3 day sail) from Puerto Montt. I’d covered a fair bit of that territory in previous trips, but there were still a few fjords that’d gone unexplored and a few hot springs that’d gone unsoaked.

Having spent the last few years living in the Wasatch, I’ve got an absurdly skewed expectation of how accessible ski terrain should be, and that expectation has been slowly eroded during my time in Patagonia. The jungle is very very jungly.

I went on a few thicketeering missions during the last trip, and during that time, I learned a few tips and tricks to make it easier to travel in the rainforest:

You’ve got to wear high boots or waders because there are plenty of streams and holes and bogs and swamps that’ll swallow you up otherwise.
Walking up streams / climbing waterfalls means that the foliage is less dense (even if you’re submerged up to your waist most of the time) and the traveling is much faster.
Carrying a staff lets you whack stuff out of the way (which is supremely satisfying), probe the ground for quick-sandesque swamp holes, and keep your footing in a fast moving streams.
Gortex doesn’t stand a chance of keeping you dry, rubber fishing jackets are the only thing that can begin to stand up to the rigors of thorns and bushes and constant rain.
Steep approaches go a bit slower in terms of distance, but faster in terms of vertical feet gained.
Machetes are pretty useless, everything is either too thick to be macheteable or thin enough that its faster to just bull your way through.
Land slides and/or lava flows that demolish foliage are your friend.

Even with all of the learning and exploring I did, I still haven’t been able to find anywhere that’d allow you to complete the approach, make turns, and get back to the boat during the same day. Unless I find some magic further south, it’ll have to be a multi day mission with a night of sleeping in the jungle. Or perhaps I’ll just have to resign myself to road – accessed skiing instead. Time will tell.

Often times, there are huge rivers that flow out of the heads of the fjords, and while the Rascal draws to much water to safely navigate up them, the Superhighway is the perfect tool for the job. With just one person in her, she can get up on plane, which means that she only draws about 6 inches of water, and she can go about 10 kts which is faster than any whitewater I’m interested in running in reverse.

Lots of these rivers don’t ever see any human traffic, and its neat to be able to explore into such remote nooks and crannies.

At the edge of one fjord, dozens of miles from the nearest road, there is a research station dedicated to learning more about the plants, animals, and aquatic creatures that inhabit Chilean Patagonia. A friend in Puerto Montt told me about it, and I decided to sail over to check it out one morning.

It’s settled at the edge of a gorgeous valley, with tall peaks and glaciers looming over the top of it. I rowed over to their dock and was met by a German computer scientist who had been there for more than a year. Apparently they see very few long distance sailors (I was the first in more than a year) and he was kind enough to show me around the grounds and tell me about some of the research that was going on. The facility itself is beautiful, and everyone I met was digging into something interesting.

There is a certain type of conifer in Chile called the Alerce which is somewhat akin to the California redwood – they grow very slowly for thousands of years and reach an incredible height and girth. One day, someone came across one that was apparently dead, but still standing in the forest above the research facility. A section was taken from the trunk and they decided to try and compare its rings to other historical records to determine its age. Except that nothing seemed to match up quite right.

Eventually they decided to carbon date it and they found that this tree (which was still standing) had died 1600 years ago! It has been dead since before the time of Muhammad. Yet still it stands in the woods. The middle ages came and went and still it stands. It didn’t notice when Columbus crossed the Atlantic, nor when Chile became independent hundreds of years later. It was just standing there, dead as a doornail all of those years through rain and snow and wind and hail. Silent and unmoving and gigantic. Probably no human being ever even came across it until these last few decades.

Perhaps even more incredible is this: they found the tree to be 2400 years old at the time when it died. Which means that it was born 4000 years in the past. FOUR THOUSAND YEARS AGO! Incomprehensively old. And yet there in front of me was a polished block of wood, looking like a sparkling piece of furniture, as real and solid as a rock. And I could touch it and inspect it and marvel at it. And I did.

It took me quite a while to get over this incredible block of Alerce, but when I did, we had lunch (cooked by their live-in chef!) and went on a short hike up into the woods. The day was clear and the views were spectacular both before and after sunset.

That was the beginning of an incredible stretch of dry, clear weather and I spent the next few days tromping through the woods, searching for hidden hiking trails, fishing, and going on adventures in the superhighway.

Things were very quiet and calm in the fjords and I soaked up the solitude and the nature and the sunsets.

Most of these fjords are dotted with waterfalls that are fed from either glacier melt or springs high in the mountains. This fresh water, falling into the sea, is less dense than the salt water, and forms a cap across the surface of the fjord. On particularly clear nights, without clouds to insulate the earth from the freezing depths of space, the temperature plummets. On these rare occasions, the freshwater on the surface can freeze. On my last morning in the fjords, the Rascal had the great pleasure of becoming an ice breaker.

At first, I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Is the Rascal really surrounded by ice right now?” I asked myself. But my ears couldn’t be fooled. The sound of the Rascal cutting through it was like the sound of a thousand fairies whispering in your ear.

The ice would slowly bridge up at the bow, and shatter into a thousand fragments and skitter across the surface of the ice, bending and folding and yielding. The Rascal plunged through with reckless abandon and left a jumble of shards and slush in her wake.

Sailing with B
During my sophomore year of college I had the good fortune to become acquainted with a man named Brendan Ryan. We quickly bonded over our love of skiing and grilled meats and we’ve been good friends ever since. Over the past half dozen years or so, we’ve been living on other sides of the continent and only get to see each other sporadically, which is truly tragic. We happened to connect on a skype call one afternoon, and two weeks later his plane touched down in Puerto Montt.

After a trip to the market, a few empanadas, a few dozen escudos, and a provisioning run, we pulled out of Puerto Montt and headed back down to the fjords. B hadn’t done much sailing before, but he was eager to dig in, and after a day or two of showers, the weather was predicted to be settled for almost a week.

There was a low cloud deck for our sail, but the morning after we anchored, the clouds lifted, and the majesty of Chilean Patagonia beamed down on us in all her glory!

We spent the next several days exploring the woods, going on hikes, soaking in the hot springs, and eating delicious mussels, plucked right out of the sea.

The weather was great almost the entire time and we spent our nights catching up, grilling choice Chilean steaks, and drinking boxed wine as B lost at cribbage.

Superhighway adventures were plentiful and we even managed to use her as a floating stage for honing our air guitar (and/or air flute) skills.

Our return to Puerto Montt ended up being substantially less casual than our time in the fjords. Our first day of sailing was pretty laid back with very light winds and clear skies. The air was exceptionally clear and visibility was at an all-time high.

Neptune even saw fit to provide us with a top-notch sunset. That was the last piece of good fortune we were to enjoy, however.

We anchored that night near a small fishing town that was apparently hosting an all night dance party lazer light show complete with loud thumping base, screaming drunkards, and close Rascal drive-bys. Ordinarily we would’ve joined right in, but we had to get up before dawn the next morning to make it to PM before a strong front that was moving in.

After a fitful night’s sleep, we rose at 4am, brought in the anchor and started motor sailing north with a very light (2-4kt) wind – just enough to fill the sails. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, a 25 or 30 kt gust slammed into the Rascal and heeled her over in a major way. Her lee rail buried itself and water started sloshing into the cockpit. The added weatherhelm was enough to get her to tack across the wind and all of a sudden she was totally heeled over in the other direction. I got down to sheet and let it loose so that the jib would spill its wind. The Rascal quit heeling over, but the wind was still strong and the jib was flogging around like crazy. We were both silent as all of this transpired, but B’s eyes were about the size of flying saucers and it was pretty clear he was scared half to death. I went up front to drop the jib and the Rascal promptly decided to eat one of the jib sheets for breakfast and by the time I got back to the cockpit, it was totally wrapped around the propellor and the engine had died.

We took stock of our situation for a second and found that we were both safe and sound, and there wasn't any damage to the boat besides the prop that was inoperable. We spent a few fruitless minutes trying to get it untangled, but the high winds, the big waves, and the fact that it was still 5 in the morning (and totally and completely dark out) we never had a chance. But, of course, sailboats are made for sailing and thats exactly what we did. Except we were sailing into a very fluky 20kt wind with huge waves, a 2-3kt contrary current, and no light to see the islands that were around us. Options didn't abound, however, so we kept tacking into the wind - sometimes making ground, and sometimes losing it. We talked over our options as we waited for the sun to rise (and a hell of a sunrise it was!).

We had several options - we could keep sailing and wait for the tide to change in our favor, we could find some place to careen the Rascal and wait for the tide to go out to fix the prop, or we could anchor some place and dive on it to remove the rope. I was for the last option, but B has something of a phobia (certainly well founded) of people getting in cold water. Careening the Rascal would've been safest, but wouldn't get us back to land in time for B's flight. Continuing to sail north was the easiest option so we continued doing it until the wind died. Eventually it became clear that diving was the only option and we drifted back into our anchorage from the night before, giving up the 3-4 nautical miles that we'd fought for over the course of the previous 8 hours of sailing.

I don't own a wetsuit, but I threw on some long underwear and a couple base layer shirts and jumped into the 50F water. B had a line around me in case things went bad and I started hacking away at the rat's nest around the prop with my 10" chef's knife. It was a fierce battle, but after about 10 minutes in the water, I had the prop free and we were on our way again. Some miniature bratwursts and a heavy down jacket had me warmed up and ready for action in no time!

We figured the day's drama was over, but it was getting late in the day and the aforementioned strong front was starting to build in. Before we knew it, we were motor sailing into 30 kts of wind with the jiblet and double reefed main up, taking water into the cockpit and holding on for dear life. It probably would've been best to just throw in the towel, but B's flight was the next morning and we didn't have much mileage to make. The wind howled and we gritted our teeth and eventually blasted through a narrow pass to find anchorage by the mainland. By the time we finally turned the corner, the wind was gusting to 35 and the rigging was singing with the strain of the tiny sails and the battering of the waves.

The stress of the day slowly gave way to a protected anchorage and a glass of port to finish off the trip. It was certainly a dramatic way to end things, and we were both happy to be back on dry land the next morning as we hitch hiked to the airport.

Stay tuned for the next chapter - which will include a month of skiing pow, touring hot springs, and gallivanting through wine country with the whole Haney clan!

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The Chilean Volcano Tour: Part 1!

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The Haney Brothers Take South America

Living the Life in Chile

Dwyer C. Haney

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