Ice ax. Right foot. Left foot. Repeat. We reached the cloud-line and the wind whirled even faster. Focusing on each stab of my ice ax, I became transfixed by each glacier-blue wound that I left in the Villarrica’s side. Moving farther up, the ceiling of clouds soon became our floor, stretching out toward the horizon in all directions. We found ourselves domed by curved walls of blindingly bright blue. Now above the clouds, with the weather perfect and the volcano’s summit in sight, it seemed we would surely make it to the top.
Just when we thought things couldn’t get any better, the clouds broke away beneath us, revealing the city of Pucon and its surrounding lakes below. The entire group stopped to take in the view.
After breaking for the last of our peanut butter and honey sandwiches, we found our places in line for the final ascent. About 20 minutes later, we approached peculiar looking ice, dusted with what seemed to be a thin layer of dirt. Like a snow-covered curb, stained gray by passing exhaust pipes, the ground beneath us darkened with each step. It was soot from the volcano, spewed up and then fallen back onto the mountain's icy face. We had reached the summit.
The perfect weather continued and the toxic smoke plumed directly upward, allowing us to explore most of the plateau surrounding Villarrica’s gaping mouth. We shed our heavy packs, walked slowly to the lip and peered into the massive crater. As we fought the putrid stench, we stared at a sheer drop of a few hundred feet that coned down toward the volcano’s molten center. We could hear a faint hiss from below, but for the most part, Villarrica breathed in silence. Humbled, we slowly stepped back and once safely distanced, our celebration began. For 30 minutes or so, it was joyous – until Villarrica had about enough. Abruptly, the smoke redirected toward our group and completely enveloped us, strangling our lungs with each breath. Coughing and shielding our mouths and noses with hats, gloves and scarves, we scurried for our packs, gathered with our group and began to move quickly. We were soon out of harm’s way and casually began our descent.
About a quarter of the way down – approximately 7,000 feet or so above sea-level – we stopped for a break. “All right, take your sleds out,” our guide announced. “We’re going to sled down the rest of the way.” He took out his tiny red sled and had us stow our crampons in our backpacks. He showed us how to hold our ice axes while sliding down a mountain. Then away he went, sliding down the volcano, grinning ear-to-ear. He quickly became a mere speck on the white canvas below.
One by one, we slid down out of the clouds. The sleds, securely fastened to our belts so we wouldn’t lose them, created a near frictionless surface for ice contact. The descent was challenging but exhilarating.
After eight hours on the volcano, we arrived back at our tour operator’s lodge and peeled off our layers of clothing in the steamy afternoon heat. On the terrace, we shared cold beers with our guides and enjoyed one of the best views of the volcano we’d had all week. As my bare feet warmed on the wooden planks of the terrace floor, I spoke with a fellow climber and learned that Villarrica is just one of a number of volcanoes that novices can climb. But, by all accounts, Villarrica is the only volcano you can sled, which, for me, puts it in a class all its own.
On February 18th, 2011 @ 11:27:am,
The first of a series on travelling round the world and very well written.
On February 19th, 2011 @ 07:23:pm,
It's Awesome!
On March 13th, 2011 @ 09:46:am,
Awesome as usual, sir.