A Snowy Christmas Day
CHILE | Tuesday, 25 December 2007 | Views [1495]
We so luck out today, it's 6:00 a.m., and the blasting winds have turned to a light breeze. The morning clouds engulfing the volcano are beginning to scatter and give way to blue sky. We grab our take-away breakfast sandwiches (yep, every breakfast here in Chile seems to be slides of slimy ham, cheese and bread) and make our way to the adventure shop to see if our climb is back on for the day. "Perfect conditions," they tell us, so we're quickly scrambling to assemble our climbing gear and snowboards. The climb is supposed to take five hours and if we opt not to take the chair lift for the steepest part of the trek, then we need to ad over another hour to the ascent. We're informed that because it's Christmas day, the lifts are closed, and won't be available to us. Considering our desire to snowboard, not having the lift with a 15 kilo pack on our backs for the very steep hour chunk of trek, we decide to ditch the boards and slide back down on our butts, along with the rest of the group. We arrive at the starting base point. It's clear blue skies and scorching hot. We all slap on our SPF 30+ (we even see SPF 75!), strip off a few layers of clothing, and get ready for a grueling ascent. The tour company has provided us with large (overly huge) backpacks, heavy black jackets and ski pants, heavy duty hiking boots, crampons, helmets and ice axe. We wonder, with such hot weather conditions, what we'll do with all this heavy duty gear, and if it makes sense to even tow it along. Guides know best, though. Volcán Villarica is just under 3,000m and last erupted in 1971. We can see smoke bellowing from the cone daily, and the red hue and occasional sparks rising from the cone at night.
The first hour we climb up rocky black lava rock, pulling our "buffs" over our faces to avoid the dirt storms as the wind kicks up. We quickly reach snow, which is soft enough so that we do not yet need the crampons, thankfully. It's a really long traverse, in single file order, up the base of the snow covered volcano. We stop every 45 minutes for a rest, water and to much on a snack for quick energy. As the slope steepens, we're happy we've made the decision to ditch the added weight of snowboard and boots. At certain points it's all we can do to hold ourselves firm on the steep slope, clinging to our ice axe lodged in the snow for stability from the strong gusty wind. Darrin's a bit freaked by the heights. We have come to realize over the past few months of our extreme adventure activities, that there are different types of heights we both freak out from - different for each of us - for Darrin it's the type where you can't see anything off to one side of you, like looking off the steep incline of this volcano to nothingness, aside from surrounding peaks at 5,000 - 6,000m, nothing to catch you like trees on the side of the slope, if you fall. For me, it was more the 1,000m drop off of the worlds most dangerous road, paralyzing me at times from being able to focus and go around narrow slippery corners on the mountain bike without freaking out that I might slip and fall off the seemingly bottomless cliff. So while Darrin's feeling a bit uneasy, I'm trying to ignore that we're on a 35 degree slope, with tracks only wide enough for one foot in front of the other. Looking out at the surroundings below, icy blue lakes, volcanoes, jagged snow tipped mountains and national park surrounding the base, it's hard not to become weak in the knees, and the butterflies in my stomach keep me pressing onward and upward.
We're now maybe several hundred meters from the smoking cone. The landscape turns lunar. Big, black, crusty sharp rocks cover the steep ascent to the crater. We suit up in our heavy black gear. The sulfur fumes burn our nostrils and make us gag. This part of the trek is most difficult. It's windy, and the rough steep terrain combined with poor air quality keeps us challenged physically and mentally. I now realize I have a phobia of smoking, active volcano craters... great time to realize this. We reach the top, my first reaction is a gasp, this crater is huge. I don't think either of us realized how large it would be. At first we stand far from the edge, our group members all wanting to get "in" the crater and pose for photos. Visions flash through my mind of hot spewing lava reaching up and pulling me downward into a free fall through the volcanic chamber. I finally collect my "cool" and step toward the edge noting the gradual slope downward, like a huge "bottomless" valley, and have a peer in. It's not so bad after all, and of course we also join in for the photographic posturing. The views are stunning from up top, the surrounding peaks majestic - it's a 360 degree panoramic view fest, we're all mesmerized. Thirty minutes at the top is more toxicity than we can handle breathing, so we start our all too fun descent. The are troughs carved out in the deep "spring snow" and we all take turns with the "plunge" into the steep chutes down the side of the volcano. I feel like a kid again, growing up in snowy NY, out for a play in the snow on a beautiful Christmas day. This time, though, it's just a bunch of us adults. It took six hours for us to ascend on foot, and only two hours to side down by butt. By the time we reach the end, we can no longer feel our legs and butts, we're numb from the cold. The tour company had actually forgotten to replace our snowboard gear with the plastic "butt toboggan" and canvas diapers all our other group members and guides were wearing, so we bore the brunt of the friction direct for the two hour descent. We're all defrosting over beers in the sun on the deck of the tour company office, swapping travel stories, and tips. New friends to meet along the trail further south now. I later realize my backside and legs are completely bruised and purple. Good thing we're not going to beaches anytime soon!
