I love kayaking. That doesn't mean I need to talk about it to everyone who inquires on why I am a super blond puny gringo kid hanging around Pucon, Chile. In fact even writing about kayaking is something that ends up turning into a series of, "and then there was a huge hole" "I totally boofed the shit out of it" "Dude I got worked so hard in that final stout" statements that leave others bored to death, and myself seeming like some new age extreme sport aficionado with the largest balls. Talking about kayaking for hours afterward is much like finishing great sex with a extremely gorgeous and perfect woman, to only tell her for hours afterward how great (or not) it was. No, talking about kayaking is not something that I like to do, however, It is a huge part of how I ended up in Chile, with many unfulfilled dreams.
The first time the dream of becoming a professional kayaker entered my tiny head, I was fifteen, sitting quietly in a Rotary Club meeting, captivated by the exploits of a young kayaker named Chris. His mom had asked him after his latest adventure, to come in and give a lecture about extreme kayaking. It was after this lecture, that I saw an alternative to college, to a normal life. It was after this lecture I started going to roll sessions more, I started begging my parents to take to the river in the dead of winter, and I started living to go kayaking. Three years later, and not enough money saved, I boarded a plane for Chile. It seemed at the time that it would be rather easy to achieve my dream. I would go to Pucon, find some people to kayak with, kayak all sorts of awesomely huge rivers and waterfalls, then make a video. Clearly people would be impressed with what was doing and find themselves compelled to just send money my way. Easy. A month and one famously near death experience later, I was no closer to what I had dreamed of. As my money ran out, I canceled my plane ticket home, a dreary Oregon winter not an enticing idea, and started working as a waiter at a small gringo restaurant.
Four months flew by, and the summer left quickly with the disappearing Chilean tourists. Pucon slowed to a quiet and serene pace. I started teaching kayaking at Kayak Chile, and saw myself staying for a while longer. Maybe my dream of being a professional kayaker wouldn't work, but I could still kayak in the winter. I could only imagine the rivers that would fill up after months of strong winter rain.
Everything changed with a decision to buy a pepper.
I left my house, needing to head to the store, a green pepper the only ingredient I had not purchased when I decided I wanted an omelet for dinner. His hand caught me in the chest, and set me firmly against the wall. His badge quickly revealed itself from out of his pocket, and the questioning began. Wrong place, wrong time. I fit the vague description given to the PDI, the investigative police unit. They found nothing they were looking for, and I was set free, but the experience tainted my sheltered view of the small town I had grown so fond of. I left the next week, my lack of money forcing me to bus to Peru, then fly from Lima.
Forty hours later, I found my urine smelling bus stopped by the ocean, rioting Peruvian miners having set roadblocks, and refusing to leave them unguarded. The next three days without food or water swirled into a struggle to maintain sanity, to survive what I was seeing. The days are some which I can never forget, nor should I. I changed that day. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, the tear gas, and the violence, I realized what I wanted to do, "Some day I will own a car, and travel all over Chile kayaking everything I can, alone" This thought gave me hope. It kept me alive.
After finally arriving to the states a few days later, another Spring of kayaking commenced. Another summer of multi-day river guiding followed, and finally I was able to board a plane to Chile, a return ticket set for January. I canceled the ticket a few days after arriving back in Chile. Something about this place captivated me. Something about this place would not let me leave. It felt like home. I kayaked all Spring, then started teaching kayaking again in the Summer.
Now summer is over. Work is approaching its final days. I am running the Kayak Chile facebook page, I am working everywhere I can when there are no trips scheduled, and I am constantly on the verge of having no money. My kayaking gear is in tatters, the result of two years of constant use. I am no closer to achieving my dream than I was last year. I am at the end result of my choices in life. I am still obsessed with disappearing into the wild and finding myself alone is some committing canyon, just the water and I. The hope I once had of becoming a professional is gone. I don't seek the attention that goes along with that aspect of the sport, but I do seek the gear, the funding, the ability to have my dream of kayaking realized. I am often told by kayaking students of mine, "You must be living the dream, teaching kayaking in Chile!" While I love my job, it is not my dream. Dreams are something most people never realize, but instead cast aside and decide to settle for the next best option. It has been a long two years. Frustration definitely is my only friend here as I sit writing in a café on the main street. Tourists waddling by. This is my story and I will share it with you as it happens, for some reason I have yet to understand.
