Volcan Villarrica: Mutiny on the mountain

Neither of us were too pleased when the Wiggles enthusiastically started singing 'Wake Up Jeff' that Sunday morning. We'd been invited to dinner at our German friend's villa the previous evening and after a delicious Chilean meal, mulled wine and attempting to communicate to an Argentinian guy using a German picture book, we'd gone to bed far later than we should have.

After around 5 hours sleep, my one hope for staying in bed until a more respectable hour was cloud cover. Specifically clouds covering Volcan Villarrica. As it was technically Jeff whom the Wiggles were still singing to, he volunteered to wander into the lounge room to see if the volcano was visible. Despite having waited in anxious anticipation to climb it for 4 days, when he returned and started packing in a flurry I wasn't particularly enthusiastic.  

After a large group had gathered at head office, we parted with 35 000 pesos each, then squeezed into a mini van and set off for the volcano via the Conaf office where our national park entry fee was paid. Near the base of the chairlifts, there was already a line of mini vans whose occupants stood contemplating the mountain.

Apart from a couple of buildings near the base, the enormous side of the volcano was entirely barren. Reflecting the sunshine, the snow covered slope appeared invitingly conquerable; it even seemed closer than the 4-5 hour predicted climb.

Wandering amongst the group, while we suited up, our guide pointed out the fierce wind that was driving the smoke from the volcano sideways and whipping up the freshly fallen snow. At that moment we still had the option to turn around and try tomorrow or get a refund. 

Retreating at that moment would have meant missing out on ascending Villarrica altogether, so I confirmed with the guide that the wind wouldn't stop us from reaching the top. He grinned as he told me it probably wouldn't be very pleasant, but not impossible. Being time poor we chose to climb, together with a tall Spanish man in his 30s and a middle aged Dutch woman, while most of the group returned to the comfort of the van and the promise of tomorrow.

Keeping in a single file behind the first guide, we began the slow trudge up the mountain. And oh my was it going to be slow. By the time we reached the first stop to put our helmets on, my heart rate had barely increased and I could see why the walk was going to take so long. Admittedly not everyone agreed that the going was easy. When she caught up with us, the Dutch woman was already drenched in sweat and asked if we were finding the climbing difficult.

If the walking wasn't going to leave me breathless, the wind certainly was. Despite trying to cover every patch of bare skin, I could still feel the snow blasting against my checks. Above us the chairlifts groaned and squeaked as they swung in the wind. The long procession of climbers in front of us all had ice axes in hand, trying to steady themselves against the gusts.

Just past the snow line, in the narrow shelter of some exposed rock, the groups all began to gather. Some climbers were putting on their crampons, while others sat staring down into the valley. One guy off to the side was peeing, which given the wind was a decent challenge.

After a brief exchange with one of the men in the group, our guide informed us that Conaf had closed the mountain because of the wind. He suggested that we could still put on our crampons and head up to the top of the chairlift where we would wait it out in case the wind died down. So while all the other groups turned around, the three of us - we had lost the Dutch woman - continued on.

Five minutes after reaching the shelter at the top of the chairlift, our guide was ready to head back. The Spanish guy tried to delay our return, but the guide stood firm and we started back down the mountain to where we had put our crampons on. In the spot where 50 people had been crammed together just half an hour ago, there was no one, not even the Conaf official.

With rising frustration, we pointed out to the guide that the wind was subsiding and perhaps if we waited a little longer we might still have a chance of climbing Villarrica. But with barely a glance at the mountain he headed downhill.

Initially we had been instructed to walk close together but now our guide, with the Spaniard in hot pursuit, raced away leaving Jeff and myself at least 200m behind. It took a lot of shouting to get him to stop and wait for us to catch up.

Together with the Spaniard we begged the guide, to at least evaluate the changing situation or explain why we'd even started out. He refused. Turning away from our barrage of pleas and questions, our guide walked away leaving us to contemplate our next move.

We felt cheated and ripped off.

Back at the office, we demanded answers from the owner of the trekking company. Pleading innocence, he blamed Conaf for tricking us into paying the park entry fee when they knew the mountain was closed. While he graciously refunded half the fee we'd paid, that bitter feeling lingered.

That evening we returned to Santiago, the place where is all started two months earlier. This time around we barely noticed the broken footpaths and 70s era buildings as we wandered the streets on a hot, hazy day.

The following morning, we flew out of Chile.

Still Waiting: Magical El Cañi

The lasagne was just about to come out of the oven when there was a knock on the door. We were staying in a little two couple cabin at Hostal Emalafquen that the lovely landlady Valentina had pestered us into looking at when she'd sidled up to us at the bus station. After 2.5 months travelling it was inevitable that the functioning oven would be used. And as it turned out, we had a dinner guest that evening.

Drenched from head to toe, Sebastian stepped into our warm cabin and greeted us like an old friend. Since we'd gone our separate ways on that cold morning at the Laguna Torro camp site, he'd gone north via Chile, while we'd taken the Argentian route. He'd arrived in Pucon the day before us and on the following perfect morning had climbed Volcan Villarrica, peered into it's smokin' crater and bum slid all the way back down to the bottom. Of course he had photo's to show us too!

The weather forecast was still looking dismal, although there was hope in sight on Sunday, the last possible day we had before we needed to head back to Santiago.

Friday was miserable. When we ventured outside to look at the black volcanic beach of Lago Villarrica on the edge of town we were nearly blown away. Actually it was quite impressive! The black sand seemed really odd, like an inverse of reality, but stranger still was the group of teenage girls going swimming in the lake fully clothed in jeans.

Despite our pleading, the guides didn't agree that Saturday would be a suitable day to attempt Villarrica, so we took Sebastian's suggestion and went to El Cañi, a 400 hectare conservation park protecting an ancient araucaria forest.

As predicted, it was another overcast day and our rain jackets came out within five minutes of walking.

After an hour's slog up a muddy 4 wheel drive track we reached a lovely hiker's hut with a view to the surrounding volcanoes and solid patch of snow.

On the hillside above, we could see a patch of bizarre looking trees. While the rest of the vegetation and the same trees near them were green, this small stand was grey with mist swirling between them, almost like they were part of an enchanted forest.

Starting up the narrow snowy path past damp logs, weeping bamboo and bright spring blossoms it felt like this forest was indeed enchanted.

Our objective on this walk was to reach a lookout high up on one of the hills that would offer 360 degree views to the surrounding volcanoes. The mud map given to us at the reception also indicated that along the way there'd be two lakes, but they hadn't been mentioned in the guidebook. Isn't it funny how sometimes it's the places you least expect that are the most breathtaking?

 

A thin crust of ice had formed over Laguna Las Totoras and when snow had fallen the previous night it had dusted the surface of the lake in white. The ice had already cracked a little with long spidery lines etched in the snow.

The trees we'd seen from lower down stood around the laguna, still stiff and frosted over from the cold night.

Higher up there was even more snow, but the well marked trail was still obvious.

Laguna Negra, surrounded by snow and ice like the first, seemed more dark and brooding. Reflecting the dark clouds rolling in, the water looked almost black.

From here we were on our own trail finding wise. From the mud map, we guessed where the summit should lie and set off trying to discern a trail in the snow. Climbing the hillside, it quickly became apparent that we hadn't found it so we went straight up to the saddle.

There amongst a winter wonderland of iced over trees we found the path to the summit.

At the frozen top we got our panoramic view of frozen forests, cloudy volcanoes and the dark lakes we'd passed.

With a heightened awareness of the seismic potential all around us, we looked at each other with dread when we heard a rumble from somewhere in the distance. The dark clouds almost certainly meant the noise came from the sky rather than the earth, but even so we retreated back into the forest pretty quickly when we heard more rumbling.

We had decided to follow the trail along the ridge instead of the way we'd come up. Fifty or so metres on from where our footprints led down the hill, we heard a grunt. Stopping dead in our tracks near a rocky outcrop, the low growl came again from somewhere in the scrub nearby. There was no more sound except the pounding of our hearts, as we realised how foreign the forest was despite how used to it we'd become. We had no idea what had made that noise, but for fear of having strayed into a wild beasts territory we turned tail and ran back to the safety of our tracks, slipping and sliding down the hill to the lake.

The rumble we'd heard from the top, did prove to be bad weather, that dumped a bit of snow on us on the way down the mountain. When we told Valentina about it upon our return to Pucon, she shook her head sadly saying there shouldn't be any snow by this time of year. But at least the weather forecast wasn't all grim. That afternoon we got our equipment together in preparation for climbing Volcan Villarrica the next morning.