Living Chile

When we arrived in Pucón after the 10-hour overnight bus ride from Santiago, a fleet of fluffy spring clouds was drifting through, obscuring our view of the taller mountains surrounding the village.  Among these unseen mountains was one of Chile’s most active volcanoes, Villarrica, which I had signed up to climb the next day.  Even if I had seen the snowy summit upon arrival that morning, I might not have thought twice about ascending it. From Pucón, the slope up to the crater looks gradual and quite manageable for a 20 year old who counts hiking among her favorite activities.

That evening, I, with most of the other Stanford students who I was traveling with met 2 guides in a room full of recreational equipment in an outbuilding of the hostel we were staying at. The guides were muscular and dressed in the laidback athletic clothing that I associate with hikers and ski-bums. They opened the meeting by warning us that weather conditions and the amount of noxious gases spewing from Villarrica would determine whether or not we could attempt the summit and, if we reached the crater, how long we would be able to stay up there. They asked if we were all in good physical condition before having us try on the heavy snow boots that we would be wearing. The snow boots and racks of parkas and waterproof pants in the equipment room were my first indication that this was going to be the most difficult and technical hike I had ever attempted.

At 6am the next morning we woke and dressed in our warmest clothes before going downstairs to don thick socks, waterproof pants, snow boots, gaiters, and parkas. The guides had prepared packs for us that were each filled with a pair of ice cleats, heavy gloves, a plastic helmet, a plastic sled, and a square canvas with buckles and straps sewn around the edges. At the sight of the ice cleats, the first inkling of concern crept into the back of my mind.

We boarded 2 minibuses and headed up to the lava fields at the base of the volcano. The morning was clear and a thin column of white vapor was rising from the crater of Villarrica. We arrived at a large wooden building with a tin roof and rustic deck much like one finds at a ski resort. Sure enough, I later learned that during the winter a ski resort operates on the northern slope of Villarrica. In the parking lot of the lodge the guides passed out ice picks.  They didn’t give much explanation as to how they were to be used, so most of us held them like props and assumed that we had them just in case of an emergency. The guides were anxious to start the trek so we started trudging up the snow-covered lava fields towards the volcano.

We passed several other tour groups led by guides who greeted our guides with hugs and inside jokes.  Some of the groups were wearing matching parkas, others already had on their plastic helmets.  We formed lines like small trains all heading toward the same lofty goal.

Loaded down with too many layers and the provided equipment I soon became exceedingly warm despite the cold air and gentle slope of the terrain.  The snow boots were perfect for the icy snow but soon became hot and heavy.  As the angle of the slope increased and the distance to the crater came into perspective, I began to question my ability to reach the top. In this state, it is needless to say I was delighted when the guides announced that we would soon be reaching a chairlift that we could take for a fee of 6000 pesos (about 12USD). The chairlift would be about a 7-minute ride and would cover ground that we would otherwise need an hour or more to hike. In normal circumstances I would have prided myself in choosing to walk rather than ride- most mornings I walk to school rather than take the metro and at home I choose to bike rather than drive as often as possible- but winded and sweating with still most of the 1,750 meters of elevation gain left to go, I opted for the chairlift. About half the group choose to hike and so the four guides divided themselves among us and we continued on at our separate paces.

After the chairlift ride, we stopped to take off some layers, reapply sunscreen, and drink water. While we did this, the guides gave a demonstration of how to use our ice picks for “self arrest.” They opened this demonstration by explaining that these were going to be plenty of opportunities during the next 3 hours of hiking for us to slip and fall. Due to the icy condition of the snow, if this were to happen we were likely to start sliding down the barren slope. To drive home this point one of the guides walked a few meters up the slope and then fell abruptly onto the snow. He allowed himself to slide a few feet before reaching over his shoulder and hammering the ice pick into the snow for a perfect stop.  We all tightened our grip on our ice picks and glanced down at them with new appreciation.

I am rather afraid of heights and while chairlifts do not make me nervous, sliding uncontrollable down an icy slope does. As we began to switchback up the volcano’s slope, I choose to be in the front of the line where I could place my feet in the same indentations that the guide, Victor, had made with his boots. I used my ice pick like a ski pole, always in my uphill hand. The idea of sledding down on a tiny plastic disk became less and less attractive and I tried not to look down the steep incline to where the ground gave way into indiscernible whiteness.

Victor has been a guide on Villarrica for 8 years. He started the summer before he went to university and continued each year until he graduated and moved permanently to the area. He enjoys rock climbing and responded to our nervousness about the steepness of Villarrica’s slope by explaining that really, it is all in our heads. “What angle do you think it is?” he asked. “45 degrees” responded one of my hiking mates. “No, it is probably closer to 25 degrees, or 27. 45 degrees seems almost vertical when you are hiking it.” He went on to explain that when he rock climbs, slopes are often as steep as 65 or 70 degrees. “That’s when you get out the rope and have a pick in each hand and just go little by little all the way up” he imitated the climbing action with his hands to reassure us.

We hiked for 20-30 minutes at a time with short breaks in between. The breaks were short since the wind and melting snow soon chilled anybody who stood still or sat down. I discovered this during a longer break when Victor encouraged us to eat some of our lunch to refuel.  Sitting in the snow eating my peanut butter sandwich I began to shiver violently. It was far worse than any teeth chattering cold I have experienced before and was probably compounded by the fact that my inner layers had become soaked in sweat and so chilled quickly. I soon found myself wanting to turn back even if it meant an uncontrolled slide down the icy slope.  When Victor encouraged us to pack up and get moving, I asked the friend next to me if he thought I could just go down now. “No, you can do it, Kim. You’ll warm up once we get moving.” I bitterly shrugged back on my back and started trudging up the hill again. Within half a minute, my mood and body temperature had made a strong recovery and I had committed myself to reaching the top.

The last hour of the hike was by far the hardest. With trembling leg and wind-burned cheeks, the top looks deceptively near. The midday sun has begun to melt the ice allowing each step to sink deeper into the snow.  Like kids on a road trip we began to ask the guides “Are we there yet?” and “How much longer?” whenever we could catch enough extra breathe to do so.  Our line of weary hikers would halt every couple of minutes, as someone required a moment to ease tired muscles, catch a breath, “take a picture” or just complain. But as wafts of sulfurous gas began to reach us we were spurred on like cattle smelling the barn.

For most of the way up the hill I had been preoccupied by feeling out of my comfort zone in terms of the strenuous hiking and the prospect of a scary descent down the steep grade of the volcano. I cycled though feeling resigned, indignant, and on the verge of meltdown. But all the mental drama came to an abrupt halt when the ground beneath my feet suddenly flattened and the panorama including dozens of other snow capped volcanoes unfolded around me.  Here was the crater. Here was the column of noxious gas. Here were all the other trains of hikers taking pictures and eating their lunches. Dropping our packs in the snow we all rushed over to see the belching crater and snap photos of each other with the stunning views.

After taking our pictures and finishing our lunches, the guides instructed us to put on our helmets, and showed us how to prepare our gear for the slide down. The canvas squares were brought out our packs and they showed us how to buckle them around our legs and waists like giant diapers. Our plastic sleds were also buckled on so that they wouldn’t be lost during the slide down. They then showed us how our ice picks could be held like boat rudders to control our speed while sledding. Then without much ado, they walked us over to where a sled-sized groove had been carved into the snow by previous trekkers.

My attitude towards sledding had settled on resigned but it clenched to nervousness as I watched the first of my group mates disappear over the edge. I listened for a scream or the crunch of a catastrophic wipe out, but none came. When it was my turn, I stalled by asking our guide to re-demonstrate the proper use of an ice pick. He assured me that my technique was corrected and off I went.

Sledding down Villarrica was nothing like I had imagined it would be. Instead of plummeting at neck breaking speed, I bumped a long at a good clip in complete control of my speed. If anything I wish I could have gone faster and that the journey had been longer. When at last the slope flattened out into the now slushy lava fields it was hard to admit that there was no more sledding to be had and that only my own two feet would get me back to the waiting van.

I am still afraid of heights, but I am hoping that I can cross steep mountains off the list of things that make me nervous. I think Victor was right: it is all in our heads.