El Plomo Epic

Plomo Epic

Haha just pushed some car off the road. Our driver was hilarious.

After weeks of gathering as much information as possible about the glaciated giant northeast of Santiago, I was finally putting the finishing touches on constructing a plan to scale the 17,700 ft giant under my own power, in the middle of the Chilean winter. The upcoming week (7.16-7.20) we were to have off from school and thus provided me with ample time and indispensible opportunity to make an attempt at the Andean pinnacle. However, that Wednesday evening, as I was returning to my house under one of those rare red skies, I realized that the weather this entire week has been spectacular and, furthermore, was to remain stable until Sunday. With Friday off for USAC’s field trip to Isla Negra, I had three days of fantastic conditions before me. Hurriedly, I purchased all of my food for the trip and a band of willow wands of which I would spray paint the tips neon orange (I've gotten lost too many times to forget the value of such wands).

On my final night in Santiago, I came home to find that my host family was preparing to go skiing the next day! Those boogers hadn’t even told me! This was a fortunate turn of circumstance for me though as they would be able to drop both my gear and I off at SkiTotal the next morning early enough for me to catch the shuttle up to Valle Nevado- one of the many premier ski resorts in the Andes. After arriving at SkiTotal and purchasing my relatively overpriced one-way ticket to the resort, I was off on my own little adventure to the famed peaks that have drawn high-altitude mountaineers from all over the world to their remote beauty. Everyone in the van ride going up the 40-hairpin turn to the resorts could hardly believe what I had intended to accomplish and were even more astonished that I had no concrete means of returning home. I realize that there are many who criticize such seemingly careless, unplanned, random, hapless, impromptu antics that I am characteristic of, however, I find that such means are often the most fun when all you can define are your goals and all you know for certain is what you are aiming to do. I came to Chile without a plan and because of this, I live each day separate from the previous one; each in of its own a tiny, encapsulated adventure of come whatever may. My voyage to El Plomo would be no different- and while I ended up being hauled out on a snowmobile (moto de nieve, as I came to find out) sick, hypothermic and on the frayed ends of sanity, this excursion would be everything and more that craved in terms of soul-searching adventure.

Words cannot describe how majestic the Andes are under clear skies. As our caravan arrives after several stops to either chain-up or push broken down vehicles out of the way, I am in absolute awe over the treeless landscape that produces arguably the best snow conditions for skiing in the world. The resort is massive, comprised of 4 separate hotel/lodges, all $150-300+ a night, I immediately set out to gain the permission of the resort managers who are quick to check out the adequacy of my equipment as well as my own personal credentials as a mountaineer. All of the resort managers are skimountaineers with a multitude of impressive accomplishments and I am proud to be given the green light and their blessing on my journey. They also provide me with the tremendous service of allowing me to use their high lift to clear the first section of the resort completely. This easily saves me 40 minutes of skier-dodging and senseless uphill labor. Past the lift named “Mirador” I descend another valley where the second half of the resort lies. Here, two Palmer lifts relay skiers to opposite sides of the broad expanse and I bee-line it for the col that separates the valley. After this, I realize that it is relatively early in the day and I am poised for gaining significant distance on my first day out. At this point, my excursion becomes a personal race against time and distance. I push myself harder than I have ever worked in my life. Ascending ridge crest after ridge crest and descending valley after valley, I am beyond exhausted by the time the sun sets at around 5 pm. My camp is at 12,300 ft, protected from the wind by a magnificent icefall overlooking the monstrous Valle de Piedra Numerada I make enough water for tonight and tomorrow and sleep very warm despite the frigid conditions.

AI

At 4:30 a.m. I awaken and quickly prepare my essentials for the attempt. I am going very light today and can hardly believe the distance that I have covered so far according to my topographical map. This ‘map’ that I purchased from a legitimate store in Santiago for a small fortune suggested that I had covered 11 miles on snowshoe the day before wearing a 60+ pound pack. Quite the feat I’d say. Furthermore, the Plomo massif bore straight ahead- 5 or 6 miles according to the map that is. I quickly consumed an entire chocolate bar justifying the calories by the brisk pace of my movement and thus abandoned the safety of my warm tent for the thin, haggardly cold, early-morning air. I make incredible ground as I steadily gain altitude though the long valley. After consulting my map, I reason that due to crazy snow conditions (I had been post-holing in snowshoes just past my ankles) it would quicker for me to ascend the first of three grand couloirs rather than take the second one. In all my life, I have never seen such a massive, glacially pulverized couloirs and I decided that my only hopes of achieving a top-out would be to cache as much as possible before ascending. After stowing my snowshoes, bivy/sleeping bag, extra food and shovel, I start up the vertical expanse. It is noon by now and the sun still has yet to kiss this forsaken stretch of valley. I labor up the couloir with all my strength and yet I am slowed down bitterly by the gaining effects of altitude. I have been in atmospheres exceeding 14,000 feet many times in my life and while it has driven those around me to their knees, I have fortunately remained unaffected. This would be the day my fortunes would run dry. Two-thirds up the couloir and still only at 14,600 (I hardly celebrated when I passed the 14,500 ft threshold signifying the highest point in the contingent U.S. and consequentially the highest point I had previously ever achieved) I put my head onto the surface of ice that blessed me with safe purchase and recalled an instance up in the Palisades with my best friend Weston. While attempting a 3-day assault on the impressive Mt. Sill, we were nearing a snow/rock exchange on a +55° slope when he looked up to me in the midst of our precarious circumstance and exclaimed “this is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.” I said these exact words, out loud, as sweat beads froze in place down the side of my face. It was cold. Miserable cold. Torrents of frozen wind gusts blasted me from all sides, threatening to cement me into the side of that mountain were I to stop moving. But movement was slow and laborious and I was beginning to realize that my ability to think concisely was becoming increasingly impaired with each kick-step taken. I cursed the wind and shook a mental fist at the cold. It was 1:00 and the sun had yet to make its brief appearance. Finally, I top out the wretched couloir and exhaustedly flop onto my back in the glory of a well-earned solar bath. The sun seemed to be waiting there for me this whole time and tears came to my face as I was so happy to become acquainted with it once again. I pass out here.

Misery Couloir

After 40 or so minutes of unintentional bliss I am raptured back into reality by a spindrift of a thousand frozen spears which tear at my exposed, freshly sunburnt face. Gasping in pain, I reach for my facemask and place it beneath my goggles for protection. I ready the sunscreen only to discover that, like everything else above 15,000 feet, it had frozen solid. In a chronic state of carelessness, I stashed it back into my bag and continue my surge upward through yet another small couloir. I quickly realized that I had began to talk to myself more than usual here and that furthermore, my words were becoming ever more slurred and disorganized. I thus began the spiral down into mental hypoxia and altitude sickness. Ever since my haul through the first couloir, my stomach had been churning furiously at the chocolate-ladled fuel I had mindlessly fed it. Now, my stomach was relaying to my hypoxic brain its intentions to reject the rarely consumed substance and as I was beginning to cross the final glacier towards the summit crest at 15,800 feet, I spewed the pathetic contents of my stomach over the beautiful nimbus blue ice that gave El Plomo its incandescent beauty. I was weak. Mentally, I could no longer hold back the relentless forces of my extreme conditions nor the lurking sprites of self-doubt and despair. I gave up on the side of that wind-scorched glacier and strangely felt compelled to lay there and let it take me all away.

So close…

I woke up again near the site of my rather charitable chocolate donation to the Incas (there was an Incan sacrifice site just 500 ft above me) and through my hypoxic state, realized that I was in dire straights and had to get down. FAST. Looking west, I saw that the second grand couloir was much more forgiving in terms of descent and at once began to kick-step downwards towards the famous penetentes that were visible from my dangerous position. Though it seemed impossibly far down and even more despairingly far to my tent, I knew that I had been here before in my mind: South Sister. Drawing from that horrid day last winter in Oregon, I forced myself down the mountain- doing whatever it would take: that’s what was going to me home. After several stops to rest (see also: die) and allow my stomach time to adjust, I arrived at my cache site and weakly stowed my valuables into my pack. I was so weak that I could not put on my gaiters and my snowshoes bore only one strap apiece to get me home. After hours of slogging hopelessly towards my icefall, I finally came across the yellow beacon of salvation that is my tent and cry again as I am beyond relieved to reach some manifestation of safety. I am psychologically fractured and my moods ebb back and forth to the extremes; joyously celebrating even the smallest of victories and furiously pouting at the most indiscriminant of frustrations. I am nearly out of water and haphazardly toss my stove out onto the snow-kitchen with every intention of melting ice for water soon. I also place my fuel bottle, open, beside my cooking essentials and return to my tent not two feet away where I pass out from exhaustion atop my open sleeping bag. In one of the most senseless acts of natures proclivity to hate mountaineers, I awaken to the sound of a nightmare. At once, my tent takes a large hit on the side closest to the icefall and I am violently awoken to the sound of an avalanche. In my deteriorated state, I manage to utter the words “who the fu-“ as I thought that someone was throwing boulders at my tent. I am again pummeled by more snow chunks as the cornice overlooking the icefall fell away towards my remote home. I shield my head in disbelief as more and more falls on the side of my tent. The sound is horrific and sickening and as soon as the small spat is done transforming my camp into something uninhabitable I rush outside to make sure that my high-priced tent is okay. As soon as I try to leave my tent however, I trip as my bootwell is filled with random chunks of consolidated snow and ice. As I fall, I see that my stove is buried and my open fuel bottle is with it as well- undoubtedly knocked over, its precious cargo contributing to the pollution of the environment. FML. “Senseless” I utter at this disgusting turn of circumstance. I give up on it all. Piss on this cursed place. I return to my half-assed relocated tent and fall into a dreadful night of strange dreams and sick spells.

The next day the rush is on to get back to the resort. I wake up at 5 a.m. and doggedly unbury my trekking poles, stove and empty fuel bottle. I haven’t drunken anything since I spewed up atop the mountain and I haven’t eaten anything since the chocolate bar breakfast that prior morning. I have no energy and still, though I have tons of food, I know that I cannot hold anything down. I leave all extra weight behind and cache over 2/3 of my food supply. Screw the environment I ration. After the avalanche, all bets are off on me getting home and anything to tip the odds in my favor goes into that cache hole. Extra carabineers, straps, food, willow wands, matches- anything that I wasn’t going to need or had cost more than 20 bucks went down and soon I was slogging back down the rolling valley with a relatively light pack.

I cannot describe the journey back because I have mentally chosen to forget about it. It was hell and that much I know for sure. In short, my map was wrong often and my inadequate mental abilities and physical weakness didn’t help much either. All I know, is that at 3:30 pm, I crested the final ridge overlooking the second section of the Valle Nevado ski resort. I trudged downwards like a drunken Chilean and after an hour of downward slogging/stopping I came to the base of one of the Palmer lifts where I collapsed alongside a group of bewildered skiers and dry-heaved until I spewed out a mass of both blood and where-the-hell-have-you-been-the-whole-time saliva. Before I knew it, a medical team had me placed on a snowmobile bound for the main lodge where I was looked over and given tons and tons of water. After an hour’s rest in a warm room with several people looking over me and asking so many questions about my journey, I was told that I was free to leave when I liked unless I wanted to be checked in for the night at the hospital there ($$$). I hopped off the bed and ventured out into the parking lot looking for a ride. After asking several SkiTotal people for a return trip, one finally agreed and didn’t bother looking at my one-way ticket with the same scrutiny that the others had. Soon, I would be back in Santiago. Soon, I would be home-home. Soon, I would be safe. I slept hard the whole ride down.

Looking back after the token death march. The storm had consumed El Plomo beyond visibility. Perhaps my sickness was a blessing…

Day 8-9

Starting from last night… Day 8 à 9

It’s growing late as I catch my second dinner over at Sonia’s (Host mother’s sister) house and I am starting to show signs of anticipation as 1030 chimes on the clock. I am supposed to meet my USAC buddies downtown at Baquebello (metro stop) at 1100 and if I miss this deadline, I’ll be wandering the streets of a sketchy part of Santiago alone without the ability to return home via Metro, as they stop running at 1100. Four cups of wine in, I summon up the courage to articulate the need for my departure and I am quickly rushed to the nearest stop to begin the voyage to my friends. As we arrive, my host family driving, I quickly realize that the Metro is closed and I am miles away from where I need to be. My host fam is all over this however, as the quickly shove me into a bus and give the driver directions to usher me off the vehicle when I reach Baquebello. After a long, unsteady drive up Providencia, the main drag, I am informed that we are close to Montebello. No sooner has the driver spoken these words then I see my friends walking right in front of the bus! Carate (not fiesta in chile)!!!

We head into the heart of Chile’s famous part sector and realize that it’s really not all that it’s cracked up to be. Homeless people roam the streets begging for change, freelance vendors constantly harass those with blonde hair and blue eyes and I find myself constantly being grasped by such people as I make my way through the crowds. We end up going to a salsa dance bar where an interesting show is put on by a host of professional actors. After a while I grow tired of all this salsa business and decide to rally a few others into finding a place with more affordable drinks. After settling into another bar on the street, we finally start to relax as a group of gringos in a sea of gropers and soon it is time for me to leave as I had promised my host family that I would be home at 3- which is quite early as the party usually begins to die down at 5ish here…

I am joined by my bud Jeremy (we share the same Metro stop) as we flag down a random taxi. Buzzing really hard, I tell the driver my Metro stop as we hold up an ambulance (seriously) and soon we are off at high speeds through the night. Our driver, realizing our somewhat incapacitated condition decides that we are a good time and blasts some techno-like music through his upgraded sound system. Not only is the music loud as hell, there are a host of LED lights pulsing with the music in the vehicle. As we fly through the streets of Santiago, I am lost in the psychedelics of our taxi and paying attention to the meter turns into floating pink elephants and rainbow-coloured suds blurring my vision. Suddenly I am jerked back into reality as the driver boots us out at our stop, 5 mil Chilean pesos poorer. I bid an equally drunk Jeremy farewell as I take off running/stumbling-at-high-speeds in what I thought was the right direction. I run for what seems like forever before coming to the realization that I am in totally unfamiliar territory at 3:30 in the morning. I quickly orient myself by consulting my watch and run back to the Metro stop another mile+ away. By the time I arrive at the stop again, I realize that the exercise has me completely intoxicated and I sit down before I lose one of my two dinners. After pulling myself together, I run down my street in the right direction this time and arrive in front of my house on the verge of collapse. After getting a ‘oh boy’ look from my host mom, I pass out in my frigid room upstairs in my clothes.

Day 9- iQué fomé!

Awakened by my host mom about three hours later, I scurry to get out of bed and into some decent clothes that don’t smell like cigarettes. Today is my orientation for USAC and we need to be across town in about half an hour for the ceremony.
We meet up at a nice hotel in Los Condes (a fastidious sector of Santiago) and begin learning about the culture in Chile and what we need to be mindful of as we begin insert ourselves into their society. After this pretty monotonous talk, we take a placement test in order to see how well we know our Spanish. We are all astounded by the difficulty of the long test and I do terrible for sure.
We then proceed to take a tour of the city via a tour bus, as if we weren’t obvious tourists already, and while we circle the metropolis, I proceed to explore the back of my eyelids and sleep well in my cozy recliner seat.



Finally we stop and are ushered outside the bus onto the Plaza de Armas. The plaza is immense and packed with people looking to shop, seek entertainment or look at the procession of gringos rolling by in a tight group. The architecture is fantastic and we learn much about Chile’s political history here.



Next we stop in front of the Presidential building, akin to our White House, and learn about a famous president of Chile who committed suicide in the face of an anti-communist uprising set into effect by the U.S.



Finally we arrive back at the hotel where my host mom awaits and after I tell her everything that we as a group did, she replies iQué fomé!, which means boring in Chile and I agree politely. I am driven over to one of her friend’s house to receive an injection as she too is becoming sick like much of the population here. I meet an interesting guy here who works as an adult film maker in Chile and Columbia. Suddenly I realize why their house is so nice in Santiago.

Day 7, 8

Day 7- Cactus Cactus
Waking up slightly groggy from the effects of the fantastic mojitos (fresh EVERYTHING) of last night, we pile back into our touring vehicle after breakfast to visit the hot springs North of San Pedro. As we climb the desert setting I can’t help but look at my altimeter to see that we were now at 11,100 ft elevation…


We step out into the chilly landscape and take a walk down to the hotsprings at 11,500 ft. There are a series of eight interconnected pools that are at about 90 degrees in temperature and we don’t hesitate in jumping right on in to escape the cool air.
After staying here for 2 hours, the group tavels to another sector of the Atacama desert in order to see the ancient Cordona cacti, which sit comfortably in a valley where a warm creeks runs through. The cacti aren’t just old, they are BIG! Evidently, the taller the cactus, the older the cactus and we are informed that many of the cacti here are 2000-3000 years old. Damn.


After our excursion, we travel back to San Pedro for some free time before we leave for Calama and our flight departure.



We’ll see how another night in Santiago is gunna treat me. I need to get a better understanding of the Metro system as well as grab some nice gloves somewhere. The weather is supposed to be stable this weekend and Monday is a national holiday. Hellllllooooo Andes…



Day 8; This white bread is killing me

I wake up at about 930 in a frigid house. They really weren’t kidding when they warned us that Chileans don’t have central heating! I pull out of my parka and quickly ready myself to meet up with Jennet, a hiker who is part of my USAC group. Yesterday, Jennet, Jeremy and I made plans to go hiking this weekend in one of the many places near Santiago as the weather was supposedly going to be good. Today is also the day that I take the Metro for the first time and I am rearing to understand the system as it is my lifeline to the city, to my classes and to the mountains.

I first need to obtain a “BiP” card in order to board the Metro. After a long walk to my nearest Metro link, “la Oriental” I soon discover that this damn card is going to cost me about 18.000 (eighteen mil) pesos or 35$ U.S. On top of this, I load the card with some cash so that I can pass the gates, swiping my card each time, without constantly having to load it. It costs about 12$ a day to use this system. That can add up.



After using the Metro (it’s pretty easy), I meet up with Jennet at 1200 and we begin looking for the tourist center which we find rather quickly. Information here about mountain access without guides is extremely hard to find, and even more scarce on the internet. After getting some info about nearby parks, we decide that the hikes near Cajon Del Maipo are our best bet at a good time. After this, we hike up San Cristobal to see the city from the Saint Cristobal statue.



I can see Cerro Plomo from this vista and in the Andean nievé, it seems impossibly tall and hopelessly unreachable. I learn from all the locals I question about the region, you have to work -hard, to get anywhere fancy without a guide here in the summer. In the winter, all bets are off on the soloist. However, upon returning into the heart of the city, I come across a tiny side store in Bellavista (the party side of town) and lo and behold: A MAP OF THE CENTRAL ANDES!!! Though I pay a small fortune for the sucker, my hopelessness in summiting Cerro Plomo is brushed aside for the moment and I feel that ancient adrenaline rush for climbing that I know so well in the States.



I regret my return to Santiago from the desert. The food here is terrible and revoltingly unhealthy. I cannot remember the last time I saw wheat bread or chicken that wasn’t cooked in grease and butter. The vegetables are so good… Why are they so scarce? I take the Metro back to a station close to mine and walk for a while to my house as the sun sets. I quietly stop by a local store and pick up some pan integral, or wheat bread and a coke for the walk home.

Cactus Time

Day 7- Cactus Cactus

Waking up slightly groggy from the effects of the fantastic mojitos (fresh EVERYTHING) of last night, we pile back into our touring vehicle after breakfast to visit the hot springs North of San Pedro. As we climb the desert setting I can’t help but look at my altimeter to see that we were now at 11,100 ft elevation…



We step out into the chilly landscape and take a walk down to the hotsprings at 11,500 ft. There are a series of eight interconnected pools that are at about 90 degrees in temperature and we don’t hesitate in jumping right on in to escape the cool air.
After staying here for 2 hours, the group tavels to another sector of the Atacama desert in order to see the ancient Cordona cacti, which sit comfortably in a valley where a warm creeks runs through. The cacti aren’t just old, they are BIG! Evidently, the taller the cactus, the older the cactus and we are informed that many of the cacti here are 2000-3000 years old. Damn.



After our excursion, we travel back to San Pedro for some free time before we leave for Calama and our flight departure.
We’ll see how another night in Santiago is gunna treat me. I need to get a better understanding of the Metro system as well as grab some nice gloves somewhere. The weather is supposed to be stable this weekend and Monday is a national holiday. Hellllllooooo Andes…

En Chile!

Nervous?
Question of the day as I say goodbye to my fabulous Mom and my rockin Girlfriend. In truth, I really wasn't nervous at all- even as the plane began to take off and I flew over the lakes and canyons of the west and the neat cookie-cutter squares of agricultural outposts in the Midwest. It wasn't until the flight captain announced our arrival at Miami (the words "Welcome to Miami" made me think that I was doing this trip "Big Willy Style"-scored me a laugh anyways) that my mind began to orient more towards excitement than that of anticipation. As I raced through the airport to make my second connection, I was able to enjoy some of the local music in Miami; Bob Marley singing the soothing melody of something or another...
The flight to Santiago was uneventful as well; I actually enjoy flying it seems.





Enter: Immigration; Day 2
Santiago or SCL in airport jargon is a zoo when I arrive. Trying to beat the crowds I race to get my temporary visa which costs me 131.00$ US (Thank you Mom! Birthday present already gone, darn Chileans sticking it to the touristas), then to the immigration center where check in was quick and easy. Worried about my precious luggage, I raced to baggage claim to quickly grab all my bags. I stagger down the airport center weighed down terribly by my bags. At customs, I quickly have my pineapple rings my Girlfriends generously gave me seized by officials and after a number of scowls and finger wags, I am out looking for my USAC grupo. Though it was a group flight, none of us never saw each other and after furiously batting away the taxi drivers telling me to stay at a hotel and not wait (nice try boys) for my group that had probably already left, I was approached by my director who quickly rushed me away from the frenzy of smooth talking taxi drivers.


Por Santigo de Chile


It was sprinkling as our bus took us through the bowels (credit: Weston Lippia) of Santiago. Santiago is, by far, the largest city that I have ever been in. I understand it to be bigger than LA and the torrential rain from the past few days there had brought every piece of trash on the ground into the streets and lots of the lower-income sections of the city. It was a sad sightseeing such an impoverished sections littered with graffiti, broken glass, busted cars and dilapidated houses. Near the university was much better though and soon I found myself being briefed about the upcoming field trip and classes for my stay here.
Host Family, time to speed things up.





Holy hell.

I meet my family for the first time at the university de Andre Bello and they are absolutely the nicest people ever. George (pronounced hor-hey) is way excited for me to be there and Claudia (pronounced claw-oo-dia) is insistent on showing me everything Santiago has to offer. We drive to the capitol center where the presidente lives and the guard is out in full force and I receive a number of suspicious glances as, seemingly being the only gringo in the city, I kinda stick out like a blonde thumb. The whole time we drive I am clutching my seat belted in as snug as possible- I am suddenly reminded of driving with Dante- accelerating quickly after every sudden stop and taking corners at near-terminal velocity. Only instead of doing this in the desert or the empty streets of Fallon, I am on a two-lane US 395 and we are weaving through traffic in our little SUV with the recklessness of Eval Kineval (spelling?) on every methamphetamine known to the residents of Sun Valley. I thought that I may have seen a speed limit of some kind nailed up on a tree but who knows, I was going too fast to see it. There are few two-way streets here and I understand why.

Family of Family and downtown Tokyo





My host family takes me to the mall to exchange money and then home to unpack. After this, I meet Sonia, the sister of Claudia, and she is the funniest person I know. A successful realtor in Santiago, we leave to go get my cell phone in her nice little SUV. The cars here are small and as we careen down the streets as fast as Sonia's accelerator allows us, she tells me that she is not crazy- though we nearly hit so many people I stopped counting. Seriously. She blares Lenny Kravitz and CCR so loud none of us can hear each other. Awesome. I quickly find that I can't understand anything anyway; the dialect is too Castilian, too fast and I’m just too slow to make sense of it all.
We go to this huge, HUGE flee market-like place where the light bulbs are flickering and the masses of people are scurrying for the best deals. It's crazy here. People by the THOUSANDS, tons of stores, all under one roof/carpet/shawl/whatever-can-keep-the-rain-out device. Here, I find my phone for Santiago.
We go to Sonia's house to meet the rest of the family. They all live here and there are never less than 10 people in the house at one time. The wine here is amazing. Enough said.





Sleep --> day 3

I sleep in my new down parka because it is so cold. There is no central heating here and I refuse to use the small space heater provided for me. I fall asleep seeing my breath.

The next day I grab a fabulous lunch with shrimp, avocado (everything has avocado in it here) and more wine. Next, I am off to meet my USAC group for our field trip to Northern Chile. Everyone is really nice in my group I reason, a few are quite interesting (someone really enjoys walking barefoot) but if anything, it makes for more entertainment- and we're all about the entertainment here.

The two hour flight to Calama is uneventful, although the views over the Andes are quite amazing: glaciated peaks piercing saturated layers of clouds, beautiful sunrises and of course, the Pacific coast. Upon arrival in Calama, I feel like a rock star as we all get out directly on the tarmac and enter the tiny airport in the middle of the desert. Next is a long bus drive to San Pedro de Atacama: an oasis at almost 8,000 feet elevation riveted with canyons and black sand dunes. The reason why there is civilization out here is that there is apparently a very large natural aquifer underneath the village. We stay in a nice Hosteria with heating, plumbing, hot water- even maids. We’re kings here. I sleep very sound.
Day 4 –San Perro… Oops! I mean San Pedro





Today we eat as a group and take a tour of the town. There is a nice church constructed out of cactus matter, mud and stone. We get free time and Jeremy and I decide not to see the town on foot, but rather by bike- a very good idea indeed. We fly everywhere, kicking dogs lying in the middle of the street out of the way and covering so much ground that we understand the framework of the town quickly. Jeremy’s bike breaks down and I managed to end-o over my handlebars in front of a group of people, nice. After trading in Jeremy’s bike for another, we venture out to the borders of San Pedro and take marvelous pictures of 18,000-foot tall volcanoes just waiting to be climbed. The volcanoes here are extremely active and there is often plumes of smoke cited ventilating from their snowless peaks.





We go out into the desert and approach a large sandstone massif in which we intend to climb. We scale the salt-ridden sandstone chutes with difficulty but are able to top out reasonably fast and it is from here that we can see the vast expanse of the Atacama Desert with astounding clarity thanks to the thin, arid air. We meet again and drive out to a nearby fortress that was constructed by someone important and then take off to La Valle de la Luna in order to see el puesto del sol (sunset). This valley is unbelievable.





It is truly another planet. There are gigantic dunes of salt and black sand, creaking canyons comprised of needle-sharp salt-cicles and vast expanses of pyramid-shaped rock formations. Sunset is fantastic and the Chilean alpenglow is perhaps one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen. Again, we eat as a group of gringos back in San Pedro and quickly rush to our rooms to change.





We leave our hosteria at about 930 pm and go “downtown” to catch some of the incredible wine of Chile. Finding a place quickly, we learn that there is a happy hour going on and all order two drinks a piece. I order a Ruso Negro and a Ruso Blanca (black/white Russian) and boy howdy are they strong! We turn in for the night; I sleep in my clothes- shoes included.








Day 5- More Salt & Flamingoes

Today we get up early to venture out to some of the mountain villages nearby to meet some of the indigenous people of… The Inca Empire! We go to a small town called Tocano and visit the school there.





The kids are quite funny and after a few rounds of ‘tag’ we are given some free time. I climb to the top of a hill where a telescope is stowed in a small hut. The view is breathtaking and the sky is a fierce blue against the red rock of the volcanoes nearby.





Next we go out to the middle of B.F.E. to the Flamingo Reserve. There is a bit of [foul-smelling] water here amidst a plain of salt and a whole load of flamingoes. One of my group members comments that the environment around us with impossibly tall mountains giving relief to the odd salt-rock formations across the landscape resembles something not of this world. The pink flamingoes balking at the each other for trespassing into their sea-monkey eating territory only makes the landscape that much stranger.