I was approached by a client, a man of few words, who had traveled with us in Patagonia multiple times before.
“Looking for a first descent in January,” the unsigned email read.
“Virgin river. Any ideas?”
His emails were always terse. I never took it personally; he was extremely busy with his business.
Securing first descents had never piqued my interest. My goal was always to find great trips for clients. When I started Earth River in 1989, the Magpie and Futaleufú were the first two rivers I explored. Their success led me to believe there must be dozens of other great rafting rivers out there. But years, and countless exploratory trips, later, reality set in.
“Not sure what you’re looking for,” I responded, somewhat pessimistically. I explained that the last great rafting trip discovered was the Río Ventana, a decade ago. Before that, you had to go all the way back to the Futaleufú in 1990. By the 21st century, what hadn’t already been discovered on Google Earth probably didn’t exist.
“Interested in life experience,” he replied, “not someone’s future vacation.”
The last-first?
First descents are notoriously prone to failure, offering significant exposure for both the guests and the company. Of the more than two dozen Earth River exploratory trips I’ve organized over the past three and a half decades, only a handful yielded results that justified the effort. Even though I had been trapped for days in a Tibetan canyon and had spent eight days portaging most of the Acobamba Abyss on the Upper Amazon in Peru, I understood the allure, for some guests, of being the first to do something.
On the Upper Amazon, we were out of the boats portaging more than we were in them. We fell so far behind schedule that I nearly missed a Magpie trip I was supposed to lead. I was lamenting this with one of the guests from the expedition a few years later, and he told me it had been the greatest trip of his life. “How often do you get to live a year in a week?” he said. I agreed, but it wasn’t a year I felt like repeating.
The next generation
I ran the client’s request by my sons, Cade and Teal, who guided and led our trips. With the exception of the Río Ventana, where they played an integral role, most of the great rivers had been discovered before they became guides. They liked the idea of being subsidized to search for something new. If not for their enthusiasm and competence, I would never have considered the client’s request. Raised on my obsession with safety, they had a healthy respect for moving water, especially when clients were involved.
With our truck and equipment already in Patagonia, it was the natural place to begin the search. I had scoured the region years earlier using topographical maps but had never found anything promising. Cade, however, combed Google Earth and discovered the Río Vodudahue in Pumalín National Park. It flowed through a stunning valley with Yosemite-like walls and was accessible only by helicopter. That option hadn’t been available in Patagonia for scouting or access until fairly recently, one of the main reasons it had never been run.
I showed the client the river on Google Earth and explained that it included several long, unnavigable sections, and that the area measured rainfall in feet, not inches. They could travel all that way only to find the river in flood. I offered to have the guides kayak it first, but he insisted on being part of the first descent. With so many stories of people poaching first descents, I advised him not to discuss it outside his family.
I had never encountered mosquitoes in Patagonia, but I included them, along with snow, hail, and torrential rain, in a “state of mind” waiver I had the father and son sign. They might end up living a year in a week, but it was going to be a godawful year, and complaining would only add to the misery. Undeterred, the client told me he and his adult son had once spent a week in the rain battling mosquitoes on a fishing trip in Alaska, and it hadn’t stopped them from going back the following year. With his expectations low and my confidence in the guide crew high, I knew we could deliver his “year in a week” safely.
Changing direction in mid-stream
We were four months out from our January departure when my other son, Teal, found another possibility on Google Earth. An avid hiker who had spent months exploring off-trail in the mountains above the Futaleufú Valley, he stumbled upon the river while searching for new places to explore. Coincidentally, it was in close proximity to, and in the same drainage as the Río Ventana, which we had successfully explored in 2015.
Although the New River was in a better area than the Vodudahue in terms of weather, it appeared to require a long portage. Hidden in the shadows on Google Earth was a narrow, mile-long canyon that dropped 130 feet. The odds of the whitewater being evenly distributed through that constricted stretch were slim. A single impassable, wall-to-wall rapid, or a log wedged across the channel, would mean portaging the entire canyon. Bamboo thrived in the area, and like vegetative quicksand, it could slow progress to a crawl. Circumventing the canyon at the snail’s pace of someone swinging a machete up front could take days.
I called the client, showed him the new river, and explained that if we couldn’t get through or around the mysterious canyon, it would be a very short trip. He was more intrigued by the idea that they might be the first humans ever to enter the valley than concerned about the possibility of failure, or that they might also be the last. From my perspective, there was a better chance of getting struck by lightning than of the Bordali being worth returning to. On the bright side, at least I wasn’t going.
The Río Bordali originates from the renowned Queulat Glacier, an ice mass covering nearly 50 square miles within the national park of the same name. The massive glacier has two outlets: the Bordali to the east and the Cascada de Ventisquero Colgante (Hanging Glacier Falls) to the west. At nearly 2,000 feet, the falls are the fourth tallest single-plunge waterfall in the world and one of Patagonia’s most iconic natural features.
The Bordali Valley is devoid of roads and trails. The plan was for Cade and Teal to fly over the river in a helicopter the day before. If their view of the hidden canyon was obscured by trees or canyon walls, they would land and fly a drone through it. Google Earth, helicopters, and drones; things had changed a lot since I first explored the Futaleufu in 1990. If the water level was too high, or the canyon looked impossible to run or portage, the expedition would be aborted. To keep the first descent plan under wraps, the other four Earth River guides were told they’d be running the nearby Río Ventana.
Lightning strikes
The day Cade and Teal flew the scout, I anxiously waited back in New York for their report. The call was positive, the entire river looked runnable, including the canyon. I was surprised and relieved, yet still content not to be along. Down at water level would be the final trial.
The following morning, the helicopter dropped the six guides and two clients on a beach a kilometer downstream from where the robin’s egg-blue river flowed out of the glacier.
The client brought along a satellite phone to send texts. That evening, I received the following:
“Amazing. Beautiful! Gushing waterfall at camp.”
The next afternoon:
“Ran Canyon. Crew the best… Super methodical. Sliced and diced each section. Had a plan. Organized. Great teamwork.”
Though truncated, it was the longest message I had ever received from him. For the first time, I wished I had been along but I already knew we’d be back. When the group got off the river, I received the following:
“Incredible trip. Excited for another first next year.”
All the guides were equally effusive:
“Ridiculous scenery,” “Fun Class III and IV rapids.” “Short side hikes to incredible waterfalls.” They compared the river to the Río Ventana, which is one of the most beautiful rivers I’ve ever seen.
A World-Class River Trip Discovered in 2025
We will be offering this stunning expedition in March. The journey begins in the central Patagonian town of Balmaceda and includes a catamaran ride to the San Rafael Glacier, a hike along the Ventisquero Colgante Trail to the breathtaking 2,000-foot waterfall overlook in Queulat National Park, and two nights at the renowned Puyuhuapi Hot Springs Lodge. A scenic helicopter flight over the Queulat Glacier to the headwaters of the Bordali River is followed by four unforgettable days of rafting through thrilling rapids, past hidden waterfalls, and into a world few have ever seen.