The abuse of my butt

My final day in Pucon consisted of perfect sunny weather, some gusty winds, and horseback riding through the mountainous countryside for a few glorious hours.

I booked a half-day ride with Campo Antilco, about 20 minutes outside Pucon proper.  Like my mountaineering experience, I was a horseback riding virgin.  I think I rode a pony at a fair when I was 5 years old, but that is the extent of my experience on a horse.

I did ride a camel in the Namib desert outside Swakopmund, Namibia in 2010, and while that was a great experience, my butt and the camel saddle did not get along very well.  The 20-hour flight back home a couple of days later was not a comfortable one. I saddled up at Antilco hoping that the horse saddle would be kinder and gentler to my bum than the stupid camel saddle was.

Gabrielle, our lead guide, took our small group (which consisted of a young Welsh couple and myself) through some gorgeous scenery.  We rode through woods and by rushing rivers, crossed rocky creeks with mountains all around, strolled through Mapuche settlements, and took a break underneath some trees with sheep and lambs grazing nearby.  I felt like I´d been transplanted into a children´s book.  Only, I am entirely too inappropriate in general to be part of any children´s book.

Before our ride began, we received instruction on how to guide and stop our horses with the reins and how to make them go faster (kick them - it sounds mean, and it kind of felt mean, too, although Gabrielle assured us it wasn´t).  None of this mattered, because my horse did whatever the hell she wanted.  When we fell behind and I wanted to catch up to the guide, I gradually kicked harder and harder.

Me: *kicking wildly* "Come on, Esperanza, catch up!"
Esperanza:  "Whatever, bitch.  You are not the boss of me."

We reached a long, open sandy area overlooking the cold, rushing river below.  Gabrielle turned around with a huge smile on her face and said, "Would you all like to try a gallop?" Before any of us could give a definitive answer, she took off on her white horse.  With no prompting whatsoever, our horses followed suit. Esperanza galloped toward the dropoff to the river for about 5 seconds, then she started kicking wildly.  I freaked out and shrieked like a little girl.  I saw my future.  I was going to get thrown off, yanking my knee out of whack in the process because I can´t navigate stirrups any better than I can navigate an entire horse, and go plunging into the rocky, freezing river 6 feet below.

Ok, so that didn´t happen.  But I swear, it was going to.  Esperanza stopped kicking.  I firmly announced that I was DONE galloping for the day.  I told Esperanza that she could do whatever the hell she wanted as long as I stayed on until we got back to the farm.  I guess she took me up on that deal, because that´s exactly what happened.

Esperanza, the death machine

I had a wonderful time riding through the countryside, and I didn´t end up in the hospital with a blown-out knee, so I consider the day a success.  Antilco runs a great operation - the farm is beautiful, the horses are very well cared for, the guides are fantastic, and they even have adorable dogs and a kitten running around.

And a couple of hours later, I realized that my bum didn´t get along with the horse saddle, either.  It hurt.  I think this is the last time I mount an animal with a saddle strapped to it. 

Volcan Villarica, Part 2: what I wish I´d known

There are a few things that I wish the tour operators, my 6-year old Lonely Planet, and random strangers or the internet had told me before sauntering up Volcan Villarica last week.  Granted, I was extremely lucky to talk to some great people in my hostel that gave me some good advice, but frankly, this information needs to be in print somewhere.  So here you go - as a virgin mountaineer, these are the top 7 things I wish I´d known before strapping on a helmet and picking up an ice axe:

1. Don´t even think about climbing Villarrica if you have so much as a slight fear of heights.  I have never been afraid of heights, but the sheer grade of the mountain at many points gave me a bit of a start.  I willed myself not to look down unless I was sitting.  And even then, it could be a little dizzying.
2. You don´t need previous mountaineering experience, but you do have to be in good shape to make the climb.  This is no stroll on a wooded path.  The hills are not alive with the sound of music, and kittens are not up there pooping rainbows.  This is a steep, sometimes treacherous climb on snow and ice, and it takes 6 hours just to get to the summit.  So if you think 6 hours on a stairmaster will kill you, then so will this volcano.
3. Don´t believe travel guides that say the climb isn´t technical.  If you´re an experienced mountaineer, then yeah, it probably isn´t technical for you.  But for someone like me that didn´t see more than a dusting of snow until high school and runs and bikes on flat ground back on the east coast, an excursion requiring crampons, an ice axe, and a helmet IS technical.  Or maybe I´m just a gargantuan chicken. I´m ok with that.
4. Take twice as much water as your tour operator tells you to.  All the operator websites I looked at prior to the climb said to bring 1.5 liters of water.  That´s crap.  Bring at least 3.  I drank 2.5 liters during the climb and STILL got a headache from not drinking enough fluids. Drink some every time you sit down, whether you feel  thirsty or not. 
5. You will not need to drop trou to relieve yourself.  It´s a non-issue because you won´t drink enough water (see above).  Trust me.
6. Bring high SPF sunscreen with you, and reapply every time you sit down.  I was fortunate enough to receive this advice from a great group of guys in my hostel the day before my climb.  A couple of them reapplied sunscreen 5-7 times and still ended up with red faces.  I would never have thought I would have needed to put on sunscreen that often.  I got lucky and ended up with nothing more than a pink-ish nose.
7. Research your tour operators ahead of time.  I did this before I left the US simply because I´m anal, but not all tour operators operate equally.  I found Paredon Expeditions online, and they have set an amazing standard of safety, service, and satisfaction.  While I wasn´t able to climb with them in the end (they didn´t have the minimum number of people needed to make the climb that day), the effort they put into helping me find a operator to climb with simply floored me.  I would climb Villarrica again just to go with Paredon because I was so impressed.  They´re also more expensive, but your life is on the line, and I think that´s worth an extra $30, don´t you?

Volcan Villarrica, Part 1: the climb

I arrived in Pucon, Chile last week with one main goal:  climb to the top of Volcan Villarrica.  At 9,340 feet, it is by far the highest point in the Pucon area.  Its snow covered peak looms over the town, and still offers the lovely threat of spewing lava, although it hasn´t blown its top since 1971.  And that was ages ago as far as volcanos are concerned.

Ok, not really.  Whatever.  I still wanted to climb it. But looking up at it from the comfort and safety of Pucon, it looked a little intimidating.

The only other volcano I´ve climbed is Volcan Pacaya in Guatemala, and I thought I was going to get killed in a bathroom before the hike even started.  Pacaya also erupted just a year later.  I didn´t think of this until after the fact, but my track record with volcanos isn´t that great.

I tried to book a trip up with Paredon Expeditions because I´d heard such amazing things about them.  But they didn´t have enough people booked for the day I wanted to go, so they checked around and got me in with a small group being led by Tour Volcan Villarrica.

I was tagging along with a group of four 20-something French girls.  I didn´t expect them to give a hoot about me, and sure enough, they didn´t even make an attempt to say hello when they arrived at the tour office at 6:45am.  They were also wearing jeans, cutesy sweatshirts, and scarves.  For real?  Mountaineering in that garb?  Stupid French girls.  I wondered if they would even make it to the top.

As the tour people began throwing equipment at us, I began to wonder if I would make it to the top, myself. Sliding pants, snow gaiters, crampons... and an ice axe?  What do I need an ice axe for?  Of course the girl that grew up in Alabama and didn´t see real snow until the ripe age of 17 wonders this.

We took a ski lift from the base of the mountain to cut off some of the time required to get to the top.  Even from the top of the ski lift, it was a 6-hour slog to the summit.  It looked steep.  Really steep.

We started to walk at a very slow pace.  I fell flat on my face twice in the first 20 minutes.  This was not a good sign.  Just before we started up a steep section, our guides showed us how to use our ice axe as both a hiking stick and a tool to arrest ourselves should we happen to start sliding uncontrollably down the mountain.  So that´s what it´s for.  Well, that sounds just ducky.  If I start falling, I´m more likely to stab the ice axe in my leg rather than the snow.

We stopped for a break every 30-60 minutes, which gave us a chance to chug water, rest, and take in the incredible views. It also served to show me exactly how steep the terrain really was.

At one point, approximately 1.5 hours from the summit, the terrain was so incredibly steep that I got horribly uncomfortable with my footing.  The French girls were having no problems (which made me dislike them even more), so what was my problem?  How is it that I´ve come this far in life and haven´t learn how to put one foot in front of the other and keep it there?  My boots just didn´t want to grip the ice and snow where the lead guide and the French girls had already tread. The rear guide was having to give me instruction and encouragement. Well, great.  I´ve come this far, I´m going to fall down the mountain, stab myself with that damn ice axe, and die a horribly embarrasing death.  The volcano gods hate me. I consider hyperventilating.

A mere 60 seconds later, the lead guide gestures to us to sit and rest on a 6-foot long "ledge".

Guide: "Ok, we put on crampons now."
Me: "THANK &%$·ING GOD."

According to our guides, walking in crampons was even more dangerous than walking without them.  They even went over with us (again) how to arrest ourselves with ye olde ice axe should we succumb to gravity and start plummeting down the mountain.

Whatever.  I felt f-ing invincible with those suckers on.  They added about 5 lbs each to my feet, but I didn´t care.  I felt like I could do cartwheels wearing them.  Dear crampons, I love you.

We reached the summit at about 2pm.  It was insanely windy.  The volcano was spitting sulphur gas into the air.  The view was unbelievable.  I made it to the top without killing myself!

But then we had to get back down.  And for 15 minutes, I lagged behind the French chicks because I suck at going downhill.  The rear guide even held my hand at one point to help me move faster.  At the 15 minute mark, the lead guide sat us down again.

Guide: "Ok, we take off crampons now."
Me:  "WTF!"
Guide: "Now we sled down mountain."

Oh!  Ok, that sounds much better than walking down without crampons.  And so we sled in small sections down the mountain until we were back at the ski lift.

The climb was beyond difficult.  My triceps were killing me the next day.  Parts of the bottom of my feet were numb.  I had blisters on my ankles.  My chest muscles were sore.  My right palm was swollen and tender from keeping a death grip on that ice axe.  Ironically, my legs were not the least bit stiff or sore.  I was scared out of my mind more than once.  But it was amazing, unbelievably beautiful, and absolutely worth it.

Would I do it again?  Maybe... but don´t hold your breath on that one.

I'm going to Chile!

Ermahgerd, I’m going to Chile today! I had a few PBRs and Miller Lites yesterday, which means I have yet to pack for the next 3 weeks.  Normally, I wouldn’t stress about packing, but I’m planning on doing a wee bit of trekking and horseback riding in southern Chile, so I need some gear to deal with the cold weather.  See, it’s still beautiful here in the US as it transitions from summer to fall.  But in Chile, spring is just starting to rear it’s lovely head.  And that means that it’s going to be cold in the southern part of the country.  

So I should probably pack waterproof pants, a jacket, gloves, a balaclava, long underwear, a fleece or 3, wool socks, and waterproof hiking boots, right?  Hey, there’s my packing list! 

Really, I don’t plan on doing serious outdoor activities until I’m on my own for 5 days in Pucon.  But in those few days, I plan on hiking up a 9,000 ft volcano that requires crampons, horseback riding through Mapucho country, and being ultra lazy in some hot springs.  

Before Pucon, I will chill in Santiago with my wonderful friend Rachel, and explore wine country and Valparaiso with Rachel, Jason, and Janie.  Then Jason and Janie will go back to Texas, where they’ve discovered the motherland of peopleofwalmart.com.  And after running around Pucon on my own, I will go meet Rachel in Puerto Montt, and we’ll take a bus to the island of Chiloe for a few days of seafood, wooden churches, and God knows what else.  

Did I mention that Chile is the ultimate destination for steak, carmenere wine, and pisco sours?  My blog posts over the next 3 weeks may or may not be influenced by the above substances.  You’ve been warned.  Salud!