Vertfest 2012 is here – Prepare for a weekend covered in snow and slathered with awesomesauce!

For the sixth year in a row, Outdoor Research is bringing you the most incredible celebration of backcountry and sidecountry verticulture the world has ever seen: Vertfest is back with a vengeance in 2012, and is kicking off on Saturday, February 18 at Alpental, Wash.

On tap; the Monika Johnson Memorial Rando Rally race on Saturday, backcountry and Sidecountry clinics on Sunday, gobs of demos for both skiers and splitboarders on both days, and Seattle band Head Like A Kite performing for free at Saturday’s award ceremony.

Sign up for clinics before they fill up and register to race on the VertFest site.

So grab your sticks or your board and head up to Alpental to get in on the action and make some turns. We’ll see you there!

Tiny house gets a "guard" dog, though we think Zoe looks pretty sweet.

When you find a place that’s good, stay there. The ski dream tells you that traveling from snowy destination to winter wonderland is the guaranteed way to find powder. Yes, you may see the world of ski areas and communities. Just make sure you’re there long enough to enjoy a few storm cycles. Once you’re out of the pattern it becomes more and more effortless to miss this storm or that one. For the tiny house and crew, driving away from Whitewater before a 70-centimeter cycle was our pattern mistake.

We may have not skied the best day in five years at Whitewater, but we did meet all the folks who would once we left. One of those folks was local patroller, Orry Grant, otherwise known as OG. A blonde hair, blue-eyed, hiking-machine, and unassuming bad-ass, Mr. Grant is without a doubt skiing powder at this very moment, regardless of what moment you are reading this. As a patroller and member of the avalanche control crew for Kootenay Pass, the Nelson native breathes ski-lifer.

Orry Grant embodies Kootenay mountain culture being born in Nelson, living in Revelstoke for years, and knowing the nooks and crannies of the best ski zones in the Koots. Coincidentally, one of our first impressions of the OG was in Kootenay Mountain Culture, a beautifully designed magazine that pays homage to the people, places, and centimeters that make BC a skier’s heaven. The Kootenays are a blessed place. For people like Orry Grant, that place is home.

Choosing Orry was really just another gift for the tiny house crew. We missed the major, epic storm, but we got to feel like we were helping make things happen for the Whitewater local. With a recent G3 sponsorship and a spot on the athlete team for OR, Orry’s life just became that much more entrenched in the world of skiing. And for that, the skiing community should feel grateful.

A smile goes a long way. Orry’s kind demeanor and smiles (plus his assistance as a patroller) will undoubtedly keep many people out there skiing. It will definitely bring us back to Whitewater. That and the hopes of hitting the storm we missed.

Where are they headed next? Rumor has it they’ll be coming south over the border headed for the Rockies. Keep posted to Facebook and Twitter for the latest from the Tiny House Crew.

By the light of the silvery moon

Whitewater is a mythical place for an American skier. Not too distant, but yet so far out of reach. As we drove north, I heard the boys talking of finding a Canadian girl to marry. There’s that option and then there’s ex-pat status. How does an American stay in Canada, land of epic powder for the winter? Or even a lifetime?

As we drove further north, our question went from how we could stay in BC to how we were getting into the country. With a house on wheels and amounts of ski gear that could outfit the entire town of Nelson, our odds seemed low. The border patrol was sure to find something wrong with our situation. But without even a mention of Ullr and his presence in the lower 48, we went north to the border anyways. It would be worth trying and getting turned around. At least we’d have tried.

We negotiated the border an hour before the crossing in rural eastern Washington closed, hoping the officer wouldn’t want to bother with questioning at the end of his shift. Of course, they pulled us out of our trusty old truck, Rusty Deluxe, and asked us to step inside while they inspected the tiny house and our bags of gear. The two solemn, but friendly (dare I say friendly? Canadians, it’s a stereotype to be proud of…) gentlemen threw our names in a Google search, watched the Sidecountry Sessions videos, laughed and treasured the spectacle of the tiny house, and sent us through to the land of “Neldor”.

Nelson, British Columbia serves up a fruitful combination of new age yoga/hippy culture, fresh prideful food, and Canadian quaintness. The Outer Clove, Baba’s, Oso Negro Coffee, and the two natural grocers in town could feed our crew for a lifetime without dispute. A vanilla chai from the town’s hobbit hole eatery, a.k.a. The Preserved Seed, could satiate our palette after every shred day. Life is easy in a ski town like Nelson. No desire goes unsatisfied.

More importantly than the food, is what quenched our skiing appetite. According to one local gent, “Whitewater gets more fresh centimeters than any resort in BC, eh?” Although this particular winter has been drier than last year’s strong La Nina, centimeters of fresh were common. The skies didn’t clear for our first week in the Whitewater parking lot. Every morning we peered out hoping to see Ymir Peak from the tiny house, but a low ceiling of clouds obscured any such view. We stuck to the trees and enjoyed the BC powder.

Our original schemes of staying in Canada for as long as possible panned out in an inevitable issue with Rusty D. After parking the tiny house in the first row at the ski area, we drove Rusty into Nelson, only to have the 1991 brown Ford catch on fire. Two extinguishers later, plus an appearance by the local fire department and police squad, and Rusty was totaled. We learned we weren’t just “stuck” to the trees. We also happened to be stranded in Canada, just fifty feet from the lift at Whitewater.

This kind of occurrence had happened once already in Silverton—a tiny house near epic skiing, with no vehicle to tow it away. Luckily, this time we’d fallen down the rabbit hole to Whitewater, a wonderland of sidecountry lines and charming characters—people who smile from ear to ear, yelp, and scream to their friends to come check out the little cabin on wheels.

The tiny house has made it home.

Follow along with the Sidecountry Sessions here on VertiCulture and with the video episodes on the Outdoor Research website. All photos, courtesy of Neil Provo. Next up… a little more time in BC, perhaps?

• Tiny house Silverton

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• Zack skinning up Sultan

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• Sultan approach chute

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• Ride walking in the high country

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• Northstar couloir. 4,000' of fresh all the way back to town.

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Silverton, Colorado is exactly the kind of place you want to spend the Yuletide season. Especially if you are a group of five ski bums living within 112 square feet—no shower and ski gear avalanching from every nook of space. The locals are blushingly generous, the streets caked white with snow, and the surrounding mountains a gift unlike anything that comes wrapped in waxy paper covered with Santas.

“People tour for miles and miles to get views like this,” said new friend and Silverton local Steve Mead. “Here in Silverton we get to walk to the grocery store with these sights.”

Surrounded by peaks like The Grand Turk at 13,160 feet and Sultan Mountain at 13, 368 feet, mountains towering thousands of feet above the town are the standard canvas. It’s precisely the kind of wall art we needed for the tiny house. Looking out of any of the teensy windows, snow-covered goliaths fill every inch of glass.

Two weeks ago the Outdoor Research crew graced the San Juan Mountain town of Silverton and parked the tiny house at a secluded 9,138 feet after an intense drive over Southern Colorado’s Molas Pass (intensified by a melted accelerator cable in a truck pulling a 5,000 pound trailer/house on wheels). The winding, icy mountain road ended abruptly in Silverton. Our planned five-day trip turned into over fourteen. At this point, we still don’t know our departure date. But, it has been apparent, there are worse places to get beached.

Built in the late 1800’s, Silverton never experienced a devastating fire like many mining towns in the West during that time. Many of the original buildings in the town are still standing (along with the secret underground tunnels from Main Street to the original Red Light District). There are two streets in the “business” district: Main and Blair Street. These days there isn’t much taking place. But, during the town’s glory days, Blair Street was the home to over forty saloons and brothels. Today only a few shops are open. Blair is where the tiny house has lived for the past two weeks, just down from the town’s hostel and the Avalanche Café.

With a year-round population of 500 people, the mornings are quiet albeit the occasional snow machine or dog sled drive by. Waiting for the sun to turn-up the valley furnace, we’ve woken up to many negative temperature days. But the tiny house has been toasty.

A few days up at Silverton Mountain and even more out in the San Juan backcountry, we’ve found rocks, the deepest facets we’ve ever skied, and challenging avalanche conditions with no patience for skier complacency. Every line feels like your running from the bank with bags of money only to evade the cops by chance. Maybe it’s just because we hail from places like Washington and Utah, but the snowpack makes you feel like you are getting away with something everyday.

Eventually we are going to need to escape Silverton, although being on a first name basis with the owners of the cafes, the guides at the mountain, and the ripping mountain folk that thrive in this place, is going to make that a difficult move. All we need is a biblical storm to hit Jackson, Tahoe, SLC, Whistler—Somewhere. At this point it’s the Jet Stream, or the mechanic’s decision, if the tiny house ever leaves the San Juans.

Molly, Zack, Neil and the Tiny House started their vagabond journey in Sun Valley a few weeks ago. Where are they going next? Keep posted here. Check out the latest webisode from the crew at www.outdoorresearch.com/scsessions. All photos provided by Neil. Find more from Silverton on his website, www.neilprovo.com

On Main Street in Sun Valley

No stranger to ski history, Sun Valley, Idaho is a living, breathing museum of the North American ski timeline, dating back to the 1930’s. On the other hand, it is an ageless place. While hosting the birthplace of some of skiing’s favorite young pros (such as Picabo Street, Lynsey Dyer and the Crist Brothers), this little Idaho hide-out still maintains the interest of mainstay figures like Warren Miller and Mike Hattrup and is the main office for companies like Smith Optics.

It all began in 1939, when the first chairlifts were installed at Bald Mountain in Sun Valley. The same year Ernest Hemingway finished “For Whom the Bell Tolls” while staying in suite 206 of the Sun Valley Lodge that fall. Lucille Ball, Clark Gable, Marilyn Monroe, and the Kennedy Family followed. Sun Valley was becoming a Hollywood haven. It wasn’t just for skiers.

Then in 1946 the most classic of all ski bums arrived. Warren Miller made his movies from 1946 to 1949 living out of the River Run parking lot at the base of Bald Mountain. First staging out of his car and eventually in an upgraded trailer, Miller made his mark on Sun Valley as a promised land for the occasional post World War II ski bum.

Naturally the 40^th Anniversary Party for Powder Magazine took place in Sun Valley. And we wanted to be there in the Outdoor Research tiny house as a tribute to forty years of darn impressive magazine making and a passion about skiing we can only hope to convey with the Sidecountry Sessions tour. None of us had ever been to this iconic place. It was time to hit the ski history books.

We pulled into the River Run parking lot at 4 a.m. in the morning. Surely the Powder 40^thAnniversary prom was over (although stories from others told us otherwise that morning at a relaxed 11:00 a.m. breakfast). The sun peaked into the tiny house around 7 a.m. An hour later, as skiers started to arrive, we looked out to see many curious faces peering in or at the tiny house. All ages and all types of boards were interested. The twenty-year-old snowboarder and his friends showed up right next to the seventy-year-old with groomer skis.

The group missed the Powder party and we never got to show Warren Miller the tiny house, but we were able to kick off the tour with many personalities, contributors, and fanatics of the ski community.

With the south faces nearly bare and an itch for powder turns, we left Sun Valley in search of the season’s storms.

Watch the first episode of the Sidecountry Sessions from Sun Valley on OutdoorResearch.com. New episodes will be posted each week. Check back next week for their update on Silverton, CO. 

I suffer from a fairly common vasospastic ailment called Raynaud’s disease and that quote from my neurologist is my life’s challenge.  This malady throws my body’s shell-core reactions into overdrive whenever I’m cold.  My capillaries spasm, cutting off blood supply to my fingers and toes.  This is both visually displeasing and functionally challenging, especially in my line of work.  I spend most of my days sweaty, stressed and cold.  If I am not holding ski poles, ice tools, or explosives, then I’m downing cups of coffee for 4:30am starts.  I work at or above 13,000 feet much of the year in wind, snow and damp cloud layers.  In a typical 12-hour day of winter work I might go inside for 10 minutes.  That number, 10, might also describe the day’s high temperature.  I’ve developed a few habits for keeping my hands and feet toasty even though the day’s elements and activities are conspiring to popsicklify me.  Here is a tip or two for happier ski touring (stay tuned for an ice climbing adjunct).

Warming her feet up in the bathtub before work

Stand In the Bathtub:  Ski boots are like thermoses; they keep warm things warm and cold things cold.  So cook up those feet before putting them in your boots and you’ll stand a better chance of having toasty toes. I stand ankle-deep in a hot bathtub before heading out on the really cold day to get the blood pumping to my tootsies. It makes a world of difference.

Keep Your Boots in the Cab:  Cold boots stay cold.  You gotta baby those things. No matter how scrunched the seating may be on the way to your tour, never never ever ever put your boots in the trunk or the truck bed.  Keep them in your lap or at your feet.  If space is truly at a premium and the drive to the trailhead is short, just put them on your feet and get in the car!  If this isn’t an option, stick a hot water bottle into each boot for the drive.

Stay Dry:  You have got to keep yourself dry to stay warm.  Avoid sweating by starting your tour cold (I never do this but everyone else seems to have success with it), or ditching layers the second that you feel your body starting to perspire.  You don’t even need to stop moving for temperature adjustments; 1) unzip your jacket -the gloves and hat now go in there against your chest, 2) your Buff becomes a sweatband, 3) unzip your thigh vents and your done!  You’ve changed your outfit without skipping a beat.

Go New School, Ditch Your Poles:  The lower your hands are, the warmer they stay.  In mellow touring terrain, shorten your poles and stick them cross-ways at the small of your back.  Then just keep your hands at your sides or hook your thumbs on your pack. You can do this mid-stride.  If you really need your poles to tour (while breaking trail or in steep terrain), shorten them as much as you possibly can so your hands are nice and low and can get lots of warm blood into them.

Chapstick, Water bottle, Sunscreen, Candy Bar and Go!  You’ve got to take short, calculated breaks on a chilly ski tour.  Have a plan of attack in mind before you even pull in for the breather.  Ditch your pack, put your puffy coat on, reach into the pocket for a snack, drink a cup of hot chai, use a facilitree, ditch your puffy and keep moving.  Breaks should last exactly as long as you stay warm from your exertion.  Once you start to cool down, it is time to hit the trail.

Bring a Giant Thermos: I have stopped bringing water on ski tours.  I never drink it and it just makes me cold.  Instead, I pack a giant thermos of sweetened chai tea or chicken broth.  A cup of that at at every break and I’m warm, hydrated and caloried up.  Bonus tip: buy a thermos with a screw top rather than pop top.  The pop tops freeze open.

Sweet turns of Glynna Kerr at Red Mountain Pass

Change Your Clothes: At the top of your tour, quickly strip down and change into a dry long underwear top and sports bra so that you get that sweaty cold fabric away from your skin. I can get cold even on a sunny 60 degree day if my next-to-skin layers are damp.

Windmill Your Arms:   It usually takes 30 rotations in one arm and voila, warm hands!  You will lose your gloves down the slope so tighten them up or spread your fingers wide so they don’t fly off. You can also scuff your legs back and forth to force blood into those feet.  If my feet are cold, I just pump up my Hotronics (more on that later).

Install Hotronics: Counter to what that yoga  teacher may have taught you, some problems really can be solved by money.  I’ve got a set of Hotronic boot warmers in my alpine skiing boots, my AT boots and my ice climbing boots.  The heating element that goes into the insole of the boot is cheep, 20 bucks to set up each boot.  Then one set of batteries (not cheap) to rotate to whichever activity’s boot you are wearing that day. This product was sent from heaven and you should have them in your boots.

Tiny takes to the streets.

Session: noun \sesh-uh’n\ Any period of time devoted to a specific activity, such as slaying pow

“The opportunity to explore the accessible powder stashes with the most passionate locals is the mission. Getting it the best we can is our objective,” says Neil.

This winter, we’re subscribing to the gypsy life and taking off on a two-month tiny house road trip in celebration of a passion-driven, low impact, ski bum lifestyle. “We are refining the entire process of living as ski bums. It is really about figuring out what you do and don’t need. For me, I want to ski and there isn’t much else that I need,” says Zack. Over the next 6 weeks, OR ambassadors Molly Baker, Zack Giffin and Neil Provo, along with videographers Sam Giffin and Andy Walbon will be road tripping to North America’s most respected sidecountry areas in search of deep powder and influential snow loving locals.

Unlike any previous skiing road trip, the Sidecountry Sessions crew is on a mission to find the best snow and greatest communities in prominent powder territory while living out of a ski bum’s dream-home-on-wheels. Along the way, the team will be on the search for the most esteemed, enthusiastic and talented individuals to bring on as members of OR’s Grassroots Athlete Team. Could you or one of your friends be the next team member?

Based on recommendations of local skiers via Facebook (no, you can’t nominate yourself), Molly, Zack and Neil will ski, climb and adventure with chosen nominees in order to select the newest members of OR’s athlete team. “Being a part of Outdoor Research is really about being genuine with an honest devotion to a life in the mountains. It makes it really easy for the right people because they essentially continue doing whatever it is that they do and that embodies the mission of the company as a whole,” says Molly. To nominate someone you know? Post their photo to the Outdoor Research Facebook page. In the comments section, reference hash tag #SCSessions and include a brief description of why your person would be a great OR Athlete. If we come to their hill, Molly, Zack and Neil want to get in touch with them for a session of slaying pow.

Find out what it’s like to spend the season searching for new ski talent while living in 112 square feet of unconventional living space. Showcasing local talent, communities and mountains, watch video episodes of the Sidecountry Sessions releasing each week and find out what happens when these gypsy shredders occupy your parking lot.

The tiny house made its debut at Powder Magazine’s 40th Anniversary party in Sun Valley, Idaho, then headed for the San Juans in search of powder at Silverton. Watch the latest episode of the Sessions at outdoorresearch.com/scsessions and stay tuned to Facebook for their next destination.

Antarctica is remote – physically, mentally, and emotionally. The whole continent doesn’t even show up on most map projections of the world. In the austral summers, approximately 5000 people live on the continent in permanent stations, seasonally-staffed stations, and field camps. About a 1000 people stay for the 7-8 month winters. The USAP is the largest operation on the continent, with 1750-2000 people in the summertime and 300-400 in the winter.

The continent is governed by a treaty, in which the signatures all agree to ignore everyone else’s territorial claims, agree to not stage any strategic military forces on the continent, and agree not to extract any resources – especially mineral. I think it’s important to notice that the last bit about mineral extraction actually has a deadline when that the topic will be re-considered. Presently, only the severe weather, heavy glaciation, and remoteness have kept it impractical to attempt any mining or drilling. But who knows what would happen if the material science made it possible and the economics made it practical?

To be fair, these heavy national policy thoughts are far from my mind as I’m getting ready for this. I’m starting to trade emails weekly with the two geologists, Greg and Claire, who are the co-leaders for this trip. Greg works in Berkeley, CA and Claire in Tacoma, WA. I’m heading down a week ahead of the team to start pulling together our field camp equipment and supplies. The six of us will travel to McMurdo Station via Christchurch, New Zealand, on a combination of commercial and US Air National Guard planes then fly again from McMurdo to our field camp in Patuxent Mountains.

Greg, Claire, and the rest of the team will be working on a few things while at the field camp. First, they collect erratic rocks – rocks that have been picked up by a glacier upstream, carried downstream, and then deposited when the glacier retreated. The last glacial maximum in Antarctica was 10-15,000 years ago, so by performing a unique form of spectrograph dating – measuring certain radiation levels in the rocks – the team can determine when the rock was deposited and exposed. And therefore, when the glacier was at a certain elevation.

Second, they’re using ground penetrating radar to look for features that indicate deeper glacier levels. Even when the glacier has retreated, the “eddies” often remain. We’ll also use the radar to determine if some of the smaller side valley glaciers are ice remnants from that 15,000 year old glacier maximum, or if they are active, moving glaciers that have been flowing downhill all this time. Third, we’re setting several survey tracks with precision gps to measure glacier flow rates and snow accumulation. And finally, we’re looking for signs of glacier etching – the polish and scratching as the glacier moved along a rock outcrop – to look for signs that glacier flow may have changed as the elevation dropped.

The goal is to be able to describe when and where the glacier flowed, and when and how it changed as the glacier depth decreased. Other scientists will be able to pull this information into their own projects. Climate studies is the first obvious application – as we get more information about the past, we’re better able to understand how much impact humanity has had in the Industrial Age and our modeling programs of future change will become more accurate.

My job is to keep everyone safe, on the ridge tops and across the glaciers. I’ll spend the most of my time scouting out and marking travel paths for our team to reach prominent exposed ridges and side valleys, and then accompany the radar team as they set transects up and across glacier flows. Mid-way through our 30 days we’ll also move camp about 20km, and three of us will also spend a few days re-visiting last year’s site to re-survey several gps tracks, measuring glacier flow rates and snow accumulation.

Right now, it’s about gathering up my personal kit and getting qualified, making lists and appointments. I’m lucky that I already own most of my own kit, and I’ll be able to supplement it with equipment from the USAP. I’m also lucky that my local guiding work has slowed down in the fall, and I’ll be able to spend time with my friends and family before leaving for two months.

Cerro Castillo

The smoke from the houses in Cochrane, Chile is suffocating. Zack is sick with the flu or possibly Girardia. We don’t know. Across from the bus station (after we discover the only bank in town does not take Visa) we meet Marcello Soto, who speaks a little English. He offers us coffee and a solution for getting money. His laptop boasts a “Patagonia Sin Represas” or “without dams” sticker. We wait for Marcello to take a shower, so he can bring us to the mercado to get money, but it doesn’t take long. Gas is very expensive in Chile, so the houses are cold and so are the showers.

Traveling through Paso Rabolles (a high mountain pass on the Argentina/Chile border) through the Valle Chacabuco (by an estancia being built for someone from The North Face) to Cochrane, Chile, our mission was to ski the mountains and the snow that feeds Chile’s largest river, a site proposed for two hydroelectric dams. After thousands of miles from Buenos Aires, Argentina, we finally find ourselves in the region—with no money and only hopes of getting ourselves on horses to travel into the mountains.

A few days later and we are on a bus to Coyhaique, the staging point for the horse trip. A mid-sized town filled with broken down buses serving hot dogs with mayonnaise, we buy groceries, take showers, and get one night of good rest. On the day of our departure to Villa Castillo, we step out of the hotel on the partly sunny day that had turned into rain. Welcome to the Aysen Region of Chile.

On a sunny day

We spend one night in Villa Castillo. The gaucho is supposed to meet us at 1:00 p.m. that day, but when he arrives he says he can’t go into the mountains. We watch the sunny day disappear from the yard of the Chilean hostel. A dog tied to a rope relaxes when the sun appears from behind the clouds, but growls ferociously at us as the sun fades and small flakes of snow begin to sprinkle from the sky. We figure he is angry because of the cold.

Finally, one windy and clear day we hop on our horses loaded with gear and start the trek into the preserve. A slight scare with one horse collapsing into quicksand and we are on our way. The gaucho and his four-legged workers take us to the border of his land and the national preserve. We still have miles upon miles to travel and we quickly discover that we brought way too much food.

Zack and I decide what goes and what gets left behind. No extra chocolate, fruit, or unnecessary indulgences make the cut. And regardless of leaving the dulce de leche behind, our bags are still ridiculously heavy. We slowly make our way towards base camp, arriving about an hour past sunset. With howling wind and a chill you will only find in Patagonia, we set up the tent in a protective grove of trees in the flats below Cerro Castillo.

The next few days provide a mixture of snow, rain, wind, and sun. One entire day we are restricted to the tent, hearing our Argentine friends laugh uncontrollably for hours, probably crazed by the lack of movement. Only getting out to share a bit of mate or check if the sky might be clearing, we watch the clouds move at Ferrari speeds and decide that even if the sun were to come out, we probably wouldn’t be fast enough to catch it.

On the snowy days, we choose close and safe missions, dig pits, and in general try to size up what is offered before us. One particularly wind loaded slope boasts multiple layers of crusts from past rain events, some layers as far as eight feet below the wind slab currently being created. It is difficult to find our invitation into these mountains.

Finally we decide to climb and ski from a point near the summit of Cerro Castillo, an ominous spire of basalt with a glaciated apron and one tempting couloir. The hike is longer than it looks, with steep kick turns and a combination of ice, wind buff, and breakable crust. Boot-packing the couloir we feel safe and decide to carry on. Zack continues the final 400 feet to the top of the couloir, just below the climbing portion of Cerro Castillo, as I set-up the camera to document our descent.

The wind is creating small tornadoes everywhere and I can barely see Zack skiing towards me, making precise turns in the steepest and narrowest part of the chute. He continues by, disappearing into the distance, with only his helmet camera to catch the rest of the skiing.

Packing up, I realize we don’t have much time left at our base camp. We are due out of the mountains soon. Although, the conditions haven’t permitted success in terms of summits, powder, and good filming, the place I am standing is surely reserved for the wild and adventurous. Most people in town have never met visitors with skis trying to “find it” in these mountains. I feel lucky.

The hike out takes six hours. We do it without the horses this time, finding ourselves walking at night back to Villa Castillo. Half way down we reunite with our chocolate and canned peaches, feasting on the luxuries of life outside a tent. Trekking through the pastures filled with horses, one intimidating bull, and river crossings, it is apparent that the next time this place might look much different. Power lines, a dam, and who knows what other scars of modernization might exist.

“The water is life. Life here is tranquillo, but after the construction of the dam more people will be here—more trash, more cars, more dirty,” says our friend Marcello from Cochrane. “The Baker now is very clear, clean, and pristine and the older generations near the river have lived their whole lives as it is here. They don’t need or want the change.”

The video above was created by Weston Boyles on behalf of the Club Nautico Escualo and has been touring in Chile with the Banff World Tour. You can learn more about their paddling program on their site.