Fire and ice in Pucon (3-8 June 2012)

We had a fantastic time in Argentina but due to the rather hefty prices we left Argentina for good and enjoyed a beautiful bus ride to Pucon, Chile.  

To find out what Chilean dogs are like, we rented some bikes and took along Amitay (Israel) as bait. We rode 40kms up and down dirt roads and apart from the usual parade of dogs we shared the road with herds of cows, a horse, some pigs and numerous gigantic ducks. We soon realised that dogs and even pregnant cows don’t mind cycling intruders and therefore Ritchie was able to leave the Swiss knife in his pocket and Amitay survived unharmed.  Apart from the faunal highlights we came past some beautiful waterfalls called Ojos del Carburgua and the Lago Carburgua. 

The ride home was a little painful for the already de-chocolated Ritchie due to a puncture of his front tire but thanks to the reunion with Karim later that night, Ritchie’s mood quickly lightened. 

The next day we boarded the rollercoaster-in-disguise-of-a-micro-bus to the Los Pozones hot springs. With temperatures of about 6 degrees we were a little hesitant to take off our clothes, but once we had made it into the water we were rewarded by a sizzling feeling that we had last experienced in Doha, Qatar. 

We discussed this revitalising sensation with our fellow bathers and started chatting to an Australian/Brazilian couple.  Mick asked me if I get offended when people make fun of Germans, once I said that I’ve lived with this for more than 31 years he started telling us about this crazy German who he had met in Peru about 5 years ago and explained how this guy was part of some weird carpenter brotherhood that travels the world in weird clothes. From there it took us about 30 seconds to figure out that he was talking about my brother… SMALL WORLD! 

The previous days had been rather overcast, but on the rollercoaster ride back to Pucon we finally saw what we had come for: Volcán Villarrica! 2,847m high and one of only five volcanoes worldwide with an active lava lake within its crater. Incredible that this massive volcano had been able to hide behind clouds for so long! 

I’ll only say this much, what followed was the most amazing, breathtaking, exhausting and by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done! Rich will be able to fill you in on the details….

THE REST OF THE STORY

Bolivia offers many things, it however dose not offer fast internet. Therefore, in order to break up the monotony of learning Spanish, this instalment is rather long. Sorry in advance.  

My side of the story is a tale of the importance of information; information that is withheld and information that is misconstrued. 

Inevitably, when travelling you will go to places that you don’t know, which is why information is so vital! There is a definite process of thinking when entering a new town for the first time, excitement, trepidation, fear, nausea and relief. Specifically in that order. The initial blast of anxiety exists because what you know about where you are going is based on someone else’s experience. If you meet a traveller that has been to where you are heading and tells you “wow, Pucon! The dogs are like gorillas there!” or “wow, Pucon! You could bite the air it’s that polluted”. My impression of course will be that of a city which is run by gorillas that have emphysema. In this particular instance, I failed to hear or was not told (probably the latter) that Pucon is famous because of a gigantic god damn active volcano called big bastard volcano (my terminology).  As soon as I was informed about the existence of big bastard, I jumped two states of thought  straight to fear because I knew that the German I had been travelling with had aspirations to scale this monster. 

It is almost a habitual that I begin my relationship with a new town by cursing the bus driver that brought us there and for dropping us off in the most inconvenient out of the way place possible. I’ve been told (lectured) that I need to learn how to let go and I shouldn’t judge a town by its shanty outskirts. But that’s very difficult to do especially when each kilo of the 30kg that I’m carrying is laughing at my newly acquired astronaut-like weakness. Pucon was not what I had expected, I did not see any bananas so I concluded there were no gorillas and at 4pm there was no evidence of smog. We quickly found accommodation with our Swiss friends which turned out to be a very comfortable abode. The hostel was occupied by a beautiful black dog called Negra, which means black in Spanish (oh the irony).  For most of the time Negra had a pleasant sleepy demeanour but raging out of sight was a deep hatred for Chilean men. I don’t know how she could differentiate between Chilean men and me? It couldn’t have been the smell because at 0 degrees no one smells. It must have been shoe size, as I had noticed that all Chilean men have small feet. It became a highlight of my day when we opened the gate Negra would leap into action, booming right past me to abuse the closest unsuspecting Chilean male.  Their reactions was always the same; confusion. Negra obviously had her reasons but no one knew why.  

The first few days in Pucon were draped in clouds and like clockwork, as the temperature fell the streets of Pucon would fill with grey acrid smoke from every chimney to the point that it was within your best interest to stay inside. Ah there’s the smog but still no gorillas. As there was still cloud cover coupled with the nightly smoke, Pucon’s surroundings remained largely hidden. Out of sight out of mind….. but not Charly’s or should I say Sir Edmond Hillary. Later that night we were having dinner and we overheard a Brazilian chap who that morning had attempted to climb the volcano but was unsuccessful due to bad weather. He went on to explain that it was the most intense, draining and terrifying thing that he had ever done and he only made it up half way. He continued to say that he almost got left behind on the return trek as his tour group had accelerated ahead of him. Charly joined in on the conversation declaring that it was in fact good that the tour returned and did not attempt the summit because TWO PEOPLE  IN MARCH DIED ATTEMPTING TO SUMMIT!......... Pardon…….come again! With this development I casually glanced at the predicted four day forecast on the wall and to my horror the conditions were clearing in the coming days. The fear had returned.

In light of discovering what I didn’t know, I quickly canvassed the room, hungry for information. What do you know about big bastard!!!! I must know!!! Every story had a common theme; It was the most intense, draining and terrifying thing I’ve ever done, but you look like you are fit so you should be fine. I’ve never liked assumptions nor the people that dish them out. Charly and I discussed the pros and cons of climbing big bastard. Pro = nice view. Con = It’s exhausting. Pro = nice view. Con = you may die.  My argument was not strong enough. Charly said it was ok if I didn’t want to do it but she wanted to still. So, long story short, I agreed to accompany her on her expedition up big bastard as she was already wearing the pants in our relationship and I didn’t want to surrender the little testosterone I had left.

We had to wake up rather early. This usually would have been an issue for me but not on this morning because I didn’t sleep. I was practicing my ‘surprised face’ in reaction to a compound fracture or a serious head injury. We were driven to the tour shop where we met the rest of the group and we had to try on crampons, which are things that you attach to your shoes that look like knifes to aid traction when walking on ice. Oh, and also an icepick. The rational part of my brain was screaming for attention but nobody on this adventure wanted to listen to it, so its mouth was wired shut. We were then driven up a portion of big bastard to1400m and from this height Pucon already looked like a grain of sand. The sun was rising behind us and it was welcomed as the cold was blistering.  

We started our ascent at a very modest pace set by our tour guide Uber. The difficulty gradually increased and we were teased by an out of order chair lift which paralleled our route. The cold was soon forgotten when exertion took hold and layers of clothing were shed. 90mins and 400m later we stopped for our first break right next to the terminal of the chair lift. From this point on we had to use our crampons, which indicated that the difficulty was about to increase. I noticed that I was not the only one hiding nerves because as soon as we were told that it was getting harder at least 8 people in unison went behind the terminal to pee, presumably. 

The crampons were less cumbersome than I had expected and did offer much needed traction. Initially, I think we became a little complacent with our new found grip but having to step over various skeletons of previously fallen explorers quickly remedied us of our bravado. The incline gradually offered more resistance but not enough to wary one particular Frenchman walking behind me, who continuously insisted that the shadow casted by my body with his ice pick between my legs was humorous.  In multiple successions with increasing concern “GET BACK IN LINE” was yelled out.  The going was tough and we were not going fast, we needed another break. 

The 70 degree incline made it difficult to confidently manoeuvre the entire body around to enjoy the view and just as I mastered the technique, we had to push on. Because the incline was so great, attacking front on would have been futile, so a snaking method was used not to exhaust the climbers. Before embarking, our guide reiterated the life preserving importance of the ice pick and how important it was to use it in the correct manner. Keep the pick on the high side; if the face of the mountain was on your left that’s where the pick had to be and vice versa. Like the two talons of a Bald eagle gripping a small mammal I chocked the crap out of that ice pick until eventually I had the manufactures insignia embossed in my hand. 

We ascended another 400m to reach our last pit stop. The view was amazing and as it was still early the smoke from every ones fire lightly tainted the city of Pucon below us. Even from 2400m above and at least 4km away I think I could still hear dogs barking. After having just enough time to finish the last of my Nutella we were off again. Up until this point Uber’s tone had been what you may describe as professionally playful. Meaning, he wanted us to enjoy ourselves but not hurt ourselves, so occasionally he would make a joke which I could only muster the energy required to move air in and out of my lungs in a show of acknowledgement so my laugh was more like a wheeze. But this stage was different. His face resembled that of Clint Eastwood who was just about to blow someone away, all business and no fooling around. Where we were about to go was the area where two months earlier two people died. He again reinforced the critical need to use the icepick correctly and drew our attention to what I didn’t previously notice. 20m to our left was a glacier, smooth ice that ran the entire height of the mountain. In order to summit big bastard, everyone has to walk on the glacier, no negotiating and no way around. 

Apparently, one of the two people that died slipped and in the panic dragged another person with him. They either chose or accidently let go of the ice pick and being on a 70 degree decline made of smooth ice that ran for 2km, their velocity would have been impressive. The moral of this tale was not lost on me. I received it loud and clear. If someone was to fall and grab me I would beat them off with my icepick or ride their body like a cushion down big bastard to safety. The practicality of the crampons became most evident on the glacier but it was still unnervingly tricky as the incline and the mechanical ability of your ankle only allowed one side of the crampons to dig into the ice. It was particularly tricky when we had to change direction because in order to change directions you have to go onto you’re toes, which was the least amount of crampon surface area. Well, enough with the drama, the last section almost took two hour yet was only 400m in height which describes how difficult it was. 

Summiting big bastard and engorging myself on the first view of the crater and the surrounds has to be one of the most significant impressions in my life so far. Yes it was hard, yes it was dangerous and yes it was exhausting but we made it. The crater looked like something out of Indian Jones and the temple of doom movie and it smelt as I had envisioned. 

 

The sulphur gas being ejected by the crater was making our eyes and throat hurt. You didn’t have to be intellectual giant to understand that having your eyes and throat hurt from exposure to a noxious gas was not healthy. We lasted only ten mins at the top and started to make our way down. 

On this leg of our journey Uber did not seem nearly as concerned for our safety as he did on the ascend, which was comforting. Uber gave a quick demonstration of how to ‘control fall’, by keeping your centre of balance a few inches behind your knees and using your own weight to push the crampons into the ice. I felt far more at ease on this journey as apposed to ascending  because it felt like the crampons became apart of the mountain, total grip! Charly on the other hand did not fare so well. Her normally unwavering nerve and ability to meet a challenge head on was failing when facing a challenge down hill, resulting in the gracious assistance of another guide. Purely symbolic I thought because if one of them were to have fallen both would have been goners. 

What goes up must come down and walking down a hill as if you are an emu is not advised, especially by your Physiotherapist. Thankfully, after 30mins of truly unnatural walking we had passed the glacier and it was time for some fun. In order to expedite our descend we had taken what could only be called a pair of nappies (diapers) that we put over our overalls to be able to slide down segments of the volcano on our bums. We had a brief demonstration of how to slide and how to stop by using the icepick as a break. Not hard really. Sit on the ground and put the stick into the snow to stop. Easy! I was second inline followed by Charly. I choose to go moderately as it was my first time, I wanted to get a feel for the dynamics of this transportation. I went down easy but before I reached the end I started to hear what sounded like an oncoming train with the horn blaring. Before I could finish the sentence of what the hell is …….. BLAM! What I thought was a horn was actually a German with no concept of breaking…….giggling like a madwoman. Giggling very bloody loud! My initial thought was anger. My second thought was anger so was my third and forth and so on. Somewhere around the 13^th thought, I looked around and Charly was covered in snow but not as much as me. Es tut mir leid!!! She proclaimed. I said calmly, please don’t kill me. When Uber arrived he was not impressed at Charly’s complete distain for physics but he was impressed by the Back to the Future-like fire trail in the snow, made by the friction from her arse. 

As much as I would have liked to, we couldn’t travel all the way down the volcano on our bums and we had to walk like emus a few more times. Roughly halfway down  and past the danger, we had more time to appreciate the view which was to our backs on the way up. Everybody was chilled out and the mood was calm. Without warning like a car tyre exploding on technical section on the death road in La Paz…………………………….. ARRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH was screamed! Everybody looked at each other in horror. No! It couldn’t be possible!  We had done all the dangerous stuff! All that’s left is to walk like an emu and slide on bum. What happened? Who bit it? I realised that the only person not concerned and still enjoying the view was our Swiss friend Urs who at that moment was swallowing like a cat which had meowed too much. For some reason, he was overjoyed by the intensity of the view so he attempted the loudest yoodohleeeyihooo ever! There was a collective sigh of relief but not from our guide Uber. He also had a look of relief but I knew exactly what he was thinking, ‘F*#king Swiss! Why do they always do that?’

 

It was only back in Pucon that we could truly measure the grand total of our effort. From Pucon, big bastard was a little bit bigger than the size of my thumb. The other measure to gauge the extent of my effort was the inability to go to the toilette without a shoehorn.

I came to a very important realisation on this little trip. When an experience is lived and internalised, people will inevitably process it with their own agenda by elaborating on certain aspects and indulging in the truth in others. For what purpose I don’t know?  Maybe having experienced something significant gives you that right? I am not innocent in this process, as I know I talk shit all the time (Charly wrote this). I now know that the recollections by a person that you fleetingly meet should not be made into policy, especially while travelling because you run the risk of always being afraid of what you don’t know. I am happy that I did this.

More photos: https://picasaweb.google.com/109362659982164453049/Pucon?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCLr7hczji7WyjwE&feat=directlink