Bariloche, The Valley

Fifty kilometers from Bariloche, on the border of Parque Nacional Nahuel Haupi, lies Valle Encantado. It’s a climber’s paradise, filled with rocky spires that sprout out of the ground like the fingers of God. It’s also private property.

It was to be our most ambitious mission. The goals were as such:
1) Build a raft.
2) Float down the river on the raft, camping as we travel. A modern Huck Finn tale.
3) Build a sauna in which to relax after a day of raft construction.
4) Don’t get arrested.
We failed to realize any of them.

To get to Valle Encantado we first got a ride to the ‘town’ of Confluencia, two kilometers north of the valley. Confluencia consists of a gas station, a bridge, and, on the other side of the bridge, a hotel. We left the gas station on foot.

Immediately upon arriving we met some of the climbers.
“What are you guys doing here?” they asked, with skeptic looks at our packs.
“We’re gonna camp in the valley and build a raft so we can float down the river,” I replied proudly.
“Oh…” and with that he walked off.
In fact, none of the climbers would give us a second glance. We didn’t know why, but they hated us. It turns out that, unbeknownst to us, the cops had come to the area the previous week to kick campers off of the property. The owners didn’t mind the climbers, as long as they enjoyed the rocks during the day and slept somewhere else. Now, due to the amount of people that camped there regardless, like us, there was talk of threats to close the property to everyone.

We crossed the river in little plastic boats. The loathing that the climbers had for us went so far that, as some of them were crossing the river at the same time as us, I offered my hand to assist them as they docked. They refused to take it. At that point we decided it best to get out of their territory and headed into the woods in search of a place to camp.

After hours of hiking, our packs weighing us down with tools and a week's worth of food, we finally settled on a site that would serve for our labors. It was right by the river, and hidden enough that we wouldn’t have to worry about being noticed by the police. The problem was, the highway was right on the other side of the river, and it killed the wilderness ambiance that we were looking for.

A hearty dinner with rice and whiskey led us to our sleeping bags.

















The next day we had to prioritize our goals. The day before, as we hiked through hours of thicket and thorns, I had lost my rain jacket that had been strapped to the back of my pack. Luckily, Pétur had another thing in mind, which required him to backtrack as well. During our search the previous day we had come upon a rocky cliff that dropped off into the river. Pétur wanted to jump off it. After months without snow our adrenaline addict had to do something to get his blood pumping. Ryan, a guy from New Jersey with whom I had crossed paths with numerous times, had joined us for the week and he was feeling man enough to take the leap as well. Haukur and I decided to watch.

The cliff was 32 meters high, over 100 feet. We didn’t know this until afterwards.

It was all set. We had checked the water to make sure there was a good landing, Haukur was set up to get it all on film, and I was at the bottom of the cliff to serve as medic in case anything happened, all they had to do was jump.

Pétur, of course, was the first to go. I didn’t actually see him jump, but the gunshot like sound he made when hitting the water was hard to miss. The impact had knocked all of the air out of his lungs and when he came up to breathe the noise that came from him was similar to that of a death rattle. I was shaking, not having any idea if he was okay, but he swam to shore and brushed it off like nothing had happened. He just wanted a high-five.

Ryan was still building up the courage. Two or three times he signaled to us that he was ready, and two or three times he stepped back to think it over again. The fourth time he jumped.

“Oh my Goooooood!”
Boom.
“HELP!”
I looked back and screamed at Haukur and Pétur on the nearby cliff where they were filming, “FUCKING HELP!”
I stripped off my clothes and was in the water faster than David Hasselhoff. The impact had taken everything that Ryan had and he couldn’t swim. I dragged him to shore and laid him on the beach where Haukur and Pétur where waiting. He was alive, but hurting. You could see the worry on his face.

By late afternoon Ryan was still in pain. It was best that he sought medical attention. The team comes first, so we abandoned all plans and Haukur swam across the river to get help while we packed up camp. An hour later, sitting on the shore with all our gear, we saw Haukur get into a raft, using a shovel as an oar.
“Well, we’re in trouble,” he said as he floated towards us.
“What kind of trouble?”
“The police are waiting for us on the other side.”

Haukur had arrived at the opposite shore and went to the gas station in Confluencia. They told him they had no phone, nor raft and couldn't help him. He ran across the bridge to the hotel. They refused to help as well. They did call the police though. Of course, once the police were there the gas station was more than willing to help and offered Haukur the raft that they didn't have before.

After a brief interview with Neuquen's finest, Ryan and I got in the back of the squad car and we headed into town.

Everything, like always, worked out fine. The cops were hilarious. We listened to Manu Chao in the car and they just laughed when Ryan told them what happened. The Argentines think we're crazy. A quick X-Ray at the hospital showed that all of Ryan's bones were in the right place. We returned to Jorge and Ivan's place.

Haukur and Pétur were already there, Jorge and Ivan had come to rescue them. They thought we were crazy too.