Volcan Lonquimay

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Whereas Santiago summer is a predictable 90 degrees with no precipitation; the south is decidedly less so. Though shine is always more photogenic, inevitably, there is rain. Hail, in the middle of summer, however, was not anticipated. In pursuit of the more attainable of my ‘2 Goals in Chile’ (the other is the much less successful learning of Spanish), enthusiasm was generated, plans made, camping crap dragged out, piled and packed, and food and bus tickets bought. In an act of flagrant un-patriotism, neighbor Nick and I skipped the SuperBore and instead spent 8 hours bussing south to the land of volcanoes.

Day 1: 11km up. We arrive in Temuco to grey skies and cold rain; two towns and three hours east we gather roommate Ben and begin up the trailhead in the same. The trail climbs through bamboo, then shiny leaf beech, then enormous trees covered in grey greenish old man’s beard moss, and then finally the ancient araucaria forests. (Araucarias are called monkey puzzle trees because some Brit thought they would be troublesome for the monkeys that don’t live in Chile to climb. People who know about tree evolution seem to think they developed their sharp scaly amour to keep the dinosaurs from munching on them. If they can avoid volcano eruptions and saws, they live for a thousand years. Old trees). Clouds, cold and drippy, roll up the mountainside and the rain comes down. Eventually we stop, eat something warm, stand around a smoky fire burning bamboo, and retire wetly to tents.

Day 2: 17 km up. Though cloudy and gloomy, no rain in the morning makes more pleasant the stuffing of wet things into bags. Somewhere very close is a very large volcano, but clouds fill the sky, blanket the trail, and keep it well hidden. We cross a broad valley, slowly climbing toward the tree line. Above it, little tufts of pale greenery cling tenaciously to the yellows, reds, and browns of the gravely mountainside. As the clouds swirl and roll through, trail markers silhouetted against the solid grey of the sky suddenly appear and then are swallowed again. Near the top of the first pass, Portezuelo Huamachu, a gash in the clouds opens in the northwest. Moving towards us, the hole widens as if the brilliant blue beyond is pushing out at the edges of grey. Passing above, there is a shock of sun, and then Volcan Lonquimay, whose skirt we have been walking across for the last two days, suddenly appears. Slowly the blue bleeds across the sky and the bulk of Lonquimay reveals itself.

Alas, the euphoria of revelation is fleeting. Wow. Drop pack. Take photos. Eat gorp. Re-shoulder pack. Then back to the slightly less euphoric task at hand: trudging up the side of the damn volcano. At my plodding pace, Nick and Ben are soon unidentifiable far off movements, advancing ferociously toward the distant second pass, Portezuelo Pancutra. From the pass, there is a sweeping view of the valley and the Volcan Tolhuaca looming arrogantly above it. Although Lonquimay is higher, it appears softer, smoother, and more docile. Only a few tongues of snow snake down its gently curving brown and reddish flank. Tolhuaca, on the other hand, has sharply jutting exposed craggy dark faces and a mantle of snow. It is proudly adorned with a dirty, faintly luminescent blue, glacier and cascading waterfalls. Though it looks more menacing, appearances lie. Live volcanoes don’t wear glaciers. On Christmas day in 1988, Lonquimay erupted, vomiting smoke and ash 8000m into the air and filling the valley with scoria: sharp, porous flows of lava rock.

We descend through araucaria forest into the scoria filled valley and then wind interminably up, down, and around toward the next saddle. Clouds and rain long forgotten, the sun pounds the desolate rocky nothingness between here and there. Eventually, the persistence of putting one foot in front of the next through the washed out monotony ends. Passing between the two volcanoes, the trail meanders gently along the eastern flank of Tolhuaca before dropping into green and water toward a camp site in a grove of araucarias beside a river. The sun sets pink, orange, and purple on eastern face of Tolhuaca as we eat pasta and sausages cooked over the fire.

Day 3: 21km down. No rain. The trail drops mercifully down through forests and meadows of green; sensibly skirting the entire scoria scarred valley north of Lonquimay . Quite aware of a propensity for moving slowly, I leave early. Amusingly, ben and nick get themselves temporarily lost, and 8 hours later we meet on the banks of the Rio Lolco. As evening comes on, the warmth seeps out of the day and dark black clouds blow in on a southern wind. Fat drops of rain soon intensify and drive everyone to bed. Rain and lost hiking partners finally justifies dragging 300 pages of novel around a volcano for 5 days.

Day 4: 26km at least, up. Having waited for us to feed and pack up, the rain begins in earnest. All day it rarely ceases. We cross the Rio Lolco and turn south heading towards the pass on Lonquimay’s eastern side: hours of delightful wet relentless up. Along the side of the road are clear turquoise-green tarns created by lava flows damming of the river. A waterfall spills off a mountainous tongue of reddish scoria. The road rises and falls and then rises again meting out ungenerously the elevation we have to climb. The greenery changes from bamboo to deciduous to araucarias to grey sandy scoria to black, while the wind grows steadily colder and more cutting. Clouds blanket the side of the mountain so thickly that what was before and what is to come are utterly lost. For a moment, the blue or red pack of ben or nick jumps out of the uniform whitish grayness before again vanishing. Rounding a bend, the Christmas crater looms black against the snowy volcano summit behind it. For 13 months, the crater spit and spewed, forming a cone 100m high. The pass must be near. The stinging rain has turned to stinging hail and the wind roars viciously trying to push us off the mountain. I find the whole thing slightly hilarious in its absurdity, but Ben is decidedly less amused. He thinks he is getting frost bite. (Moral: bring gloves to mountains.) Finally out of the saddle of the pass, the wind slackens. Just an hour or two of slow descent past the idle lift of a ski resort to a grubby hostel with two wood burning stoves, a tv, beds, beer, and a stack of movies. Dump or no, it might be heaven.

Day 5: 10km up, then way way down. The sun is shining in a cloudless blue sky, and the volcano is now draped brilliantly in yesterday’s snow. The sun is as hot today as the rain the day before was cold. The trail crosses a sandy scoria plain and vanishes. Not terribly important as we can see where we have to go. Kilometers of loose scoria rising toward the final pass, Portezuelo Colorado. Everyone picks their own ascent of least resistance. Some time later, I find ben and nick sitting at the top of the pass looking northwest toward the pass of the first day. More volcanoes visible now to the southwest: white crowns splendid on a blue field. Thank god we aren’t walking around any more of them today. We lunch an hour down by a stream. Around 3:30, the two and a half hour, knee pounding, steep, generally terrible, sprint toward the bus begins. Arriving with time to spare, ben finds a 6 pack of cold Carta Blanca. Who knows why, but thank the gods they have cold Mexican beer in a tiny Andean pueblito. And you can drink on the bus. Life is good. The bus comes by. We get on. 12 hours and another bus later, we roll into Santiago just before dawn.

Back in Santiago, I receive a message from a very good friend that says far more than any mundane chronological telling might convey: “No one ever conquered a mountain. When Sir Edmond Hillary was asked why he climbed Everest he replied "Because it's there". That is an incomplete answer. What he should of said is "Because it's a sacred place and I was trading a little bit of sorrow for divinity." I always experience a stillness in the mountains. The effort of putting one foot in front of the other drowns out all other thoughts till you are completely free of all the things that bind you to the world. This isn't a place that one can easily exist and after a while, worn out and exhausted, we want it to stop so we can return to the living, to our chosen responsibilities, because they're things bigger than our own personal nirvana. But you are lighter now. The mountain is the temple and the confessional just above the tree line. It doesn't matter how you get there. . .” (Swirl 09) .

Amen

by the way, all pictures gracias a nick and ben

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Comments

[NicoJah]

Where's the Wormwood?
This trip was made much more enjoyable by 500ml of Absynth delivered by a Swiss friend. I never thought I would say I like the taste, but after 25km you tend to like water that tastes like fire.

[John B]

Monkey Puzzle Trees.
We have quite a few Araucarias around Portland. I have one in a pot out front. I imagine it's quite impressive to see a forest of them. Good to see that your knees are still holding up.