Ski Writing- South American Volcano Adventure

Kiss My Ash Goodbye
by Cody Townsend
August 2007

There are many peaks whose majesty is defined by colossal height, towering steepness or breathtaking earthen geometry, yet there are others that are stunning simply because of their surrounding absence. Like an antennae on a Kansas prairie, the Villarrica Volcano juts straight out of the lakes and coastal flatlands of central Chile. With nothing but the sky as a background, the landmark of Pucon springs out of the earth and begs an ascension.
An eight hour drive south of the chilean capital of Santiago leads into the northern reaches of the chilean Patagonia and into the summer vacation capital of Chile. The resort town of Pucon is a plethora of lush lowland forests, silvery mountain lakes and green finned peaks. The natural bounty draws flocks of summer hikers, boaters and beach dwellers. Yet when the winter snows chill the summer sublimity, Pucon is as empty as a water-park in February.
Hearing of cheap vacant hotels, bargain offering restaurants and with rumors of impending snow, our four person crew decided to trudge our overstuffed diesel powered Toyota from our homestead in Termas De Chillan and head south to Pucon.
Upon arriving in Pucon, we couldn’t orient to our surroundings. Low, creeping fog gave way to heavy dark clouds which rendered a view at the surrounding mountains impossible. The designer stores, copper colored sidewalks and outdoor cafes were empty. It looked like a mini deserted Vail. It was a brazen contradiction to the recently departed penny-pinching international ski culture of Termas de Chillan.
Waking the next morning to blue skies, I meandered out of bed and into the streets to get a glimpse of our surroundings. Standing in the middle of the street, I looked eastward and like a diamond in the sky, a perfectly proportional, shimmering white volcano stole my sight. The contrast of the deep blue sky and white sided peak was astonishing. Like a solitary star in evening light, the absence of surrounding mountains defined the Villarrica Volcano. At once, the unknown vanished. The perfect white beacon was calling to be ascended.
The climb to the Villarrica summit started with a chairlift ride that was over such flat terrain it was nearly indistinguishable whether the chair was arriving at a station higher than where it started. And the chair was so laughably slow that when a fellow hiker out paced the chairlift we knew our lift ticket was purchased mainly out of gringo stupidity. Yet the goal was firmly in sight and we assembled for a noon lunch to get a evening attack for the summit.
The approach to the summit was remarkably easy, straightforward and nontechnical. The only serious threat on the ascent was the remnants of a chairlift that was destroyed by an eruption in the summer of 2000 . Three and a half hours later we arrived to a summit pluming with volcanic smoke and a view that strangely resembled a jumbled mix of Oregonian volcanos placed among the green, weathered peaks of the Northern Cascades. It was the Pacific Northwest of the Southern Hemisphere. Quickly the curiosity turned away from the stunning view and towards the grumbles of magma beneath rumpling below the summit rock. Using the gore-tex in our jackets as a make-shift gas mask, we slowly made our way through the primal and acrid smelling smoke and into the charred crater. After about a 50 meters of downclimbing the smoke gave way to a view of molten lava popping, glowing florescent orange, twitching like it was alive and grumbling like it was coming straight from the pits of hell. It was the most raw natural experience to be that close to the core of the earth. Later I would learn from a Volcanologist friend that it was quite possibly the dumbest natural experience. A half a percentage change in eruption could of left all of us as charred as the rocks and as dead as the broken chairlift below.
After our glance with fate, we sheltered from the wind just below the summit and waited for the sun to fade towards the horizon. As the sky began to change hue we clicked into our skis and prepared for one of the most beautiful descents in any hemisphere. Coral-colored chalky snowy sprayed effortlessly off our turns as we made our way down to the mirrored lakes and green valleys. It was nearly three kilometers of buffed chalk winding through magma carved valleys and gullies. As the light completely evaporated, the last snaking strips of snow led to the truck below. We ceremoniously gave high fives and stared back up at the recent descent. And then the four of us, with not a soul around, felt the beauty of being surrounded by nothing.