Travel Log Contents
January
30 Jan The final stretch
22 Jan Dropping Altitude
11 Jan Party Time
1 Jan We're gonna party like it's your birthday
December
17 Dec Machu Picchu
November
30 Nov Inca Power
16 Nov The wheels on the bus go...
12 Nov La Paz
October
27 Oct Altiplano Adventures
19 Oct Sucre
12 Oct Deep in the Earth
5 Oct Whiteout
September
28 Sep A Farewell to Chile
20 Sep Crackling Salt Cathedrals
15 Sep Trouble With the Law
July
23 Jul Surf's Up!
13 Jul Desert Trek
7 Jul Red Red Wine
June
27 Jun Santiago!
21 Jun Well I've been through the desert...
14 Jun Drag Race!
8 Jun A Few Days in Temuco
5 Jun Out of the Wild
May
31 May A Turning Point
April
30 Apr Survivors and Santiago
6 Apr Surprises Around Every Corner
March
23 Mar Rest and Recovery
15 Mar It's Still Raining
10 Mar Beginning the Carretera
February
17 Feb The End of the Pampas
1 Feb We sell our bikes and buy a car!
January
27 Jan Daniel Saws a Bull in Half
21 Jan The Towers of Pain!!
11 Jan Provincia de la Ultima Esperanza
4 Jan Feliz Navidad
December
25 Dec Adios Tierra del Fuego
15 Dec ...and we're off!
7 Dec Not in Kansas Anymore
November
29 Nov Shakedown Ride
7 Nov Daniel in Utah
October
28 Oct Viva la Visa!
21 Oct BBQ Chicken and Leg Cramps
September
23 Sep Back to School
11 Sep Training Day: Philadelphia
August
23 Aug West Virginia Cave Trip
April
20 Apr 100 Mile Training Ride
February
15 Feb 50 Mile Training Ride
10 Feb Introductions

Blogroll

Climbing the Volcano

Back to Out of the Wild
By Chris Thompson - 2009-06-05

My alarm went off in the darkness of the early morning, but I was already awake. Soon our little hostel was a flurry of activity, packing food, searching for gear, Daniel staggering around, still half asleep. This was the moment we had been waiting for, the volcano was in our sites. We had been waiting for three days for the thick clouds to clear out above us. Finally, the weather was clear, and before we knew it, we were suiting up, boots, gaiters, ice axes, crampons, helmets, and a packed stuffed with a jacket, fleece, gloves, food, and water.

Soon we were all geared up and bouncing down a gravel road in a small van filled with other sleepy campers. I hadn’t actually SEEN the volcano until this moment, as the van turned a corner, the pine trees thinned for a moment, and Villarrica was there. A perfect snow capped cone, silently puffing away above us.

At the base of the climb, we suited up, and started ascending the dusty slope. Fifteen minutes later, we were sweating and shedding layers as quickly as we could. Having decided not to take the ski lift up, we had to hustle to keep up with the rest of the group. The first few hundred meters were an uncomfortable sprint with a loaded pack and stiff trekking boots. Higher up the loose skirt of red-brown gravel and sand gave way to hard, "scrambly" volcanic rock. As our little group huffed its way up, winding up the rocky trail, the occasional snow drift provided ammunition for a running snowball fight.

In less than two hours, we had reached the edge of the snowy mantle that rested on the cone of Villarrica. The mysterious tracks leading up through the rocky shoulder of the volcano gave way to a vast sheet of ice and snow, the first steep wall rising up several hundred meters above us. We stopped to eat a quick lunch and drink some water.

Donning our crampons, we began the slow and steady kick-step-kick-step rhythm up the crusty snow bank. At the top of the ice wall we stood on the south side ridge and could see other groups of climbers below us, ants climbing up the blinding snow wall. On the other side, the ridge dropped precipitously down into a rock strewn coulior (A steep gully or gorge frequently filled with snow or ice) that plummeted into nothingness. Before us was a large plane of slick ice, sloping upward, terminating in a series of sharp rock ridges above, and a sharp drop below. Our group quickly stepped across the ice. We picked our way between the ridges of rock, making fast progress up the steep slope. From here on up, it was pretty much just making sure you kept your feet stepping one in front of the other and watching out for falling rocks. As we kept working at the mountain, the slope steepened bit by bit, and at some points seemed even vertical.

The last pitch before the summit proved to be a little tricky. We carefully picked a path through the thin snow and loose gravel, as the acid fumes from the volcanoes’ smoke burned our tongues. I watched from the back of the group as Dan and ‘Maxim’, the chain-smoking Russian in our group, sprinted to the top. Soon we were looking down the maw of the beast. Plumes of smoke shot upward from the great chasm below us with the same powerful sulfur smell burning our lungs. Vents of smoke and steam were rising up from the rocks. It was an surreal experience. Far off in the distance to the north, we actually saw plumes of smoke rising miles into the air above a neighboring volcano, Llaima, which was errupting.

The guides, made nervous by the nearby volcanic activity, began to ask for volunteers for a sacrifice to appease the volcano gods. Soon we formed a ceremonial circle around the crater and began chanting the appropriate volcano song. Daniel was pushed to the front of the line, wearing the traditional white, ceremonial dress, and garland of flowers wrapped around his head. Then, with a little less ceremony than I was expecting, our fearless guides kicked in the Daniel. He plummeted into the crater, wailing and screaming, Villarrica consuming him in a great plume of magma and hideous smoke. With the volcano satisfied, we ate a quick snack, and headed back down (just kidding about that last part…we ate the snack BEFORE throwing Daniel in)

Peanut Gallery

volcano tragedy

jwilson 2009-06-09 00:54:06 UTC

I’ll miss Daniel.

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