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.

You need stick.

My lovely friend Rachel landed a month-long stint in Guatemala a couple of years ago, and I made plans to visit her immediately after she confirmed it.  Two weeks later, I found myself in her condo in Guatemala City.  We booked a 3-day adventure tour and promptly kicked it off with a hike up Volcan Pacaya - a volcano that has been slobbering lava slowly but consistently for 46 years. 

The van dropped us off at a town at the base of the volcano.  Children swarmed around the van before we could manage to unbuckle our seat belts.  The gringos had arrived. 

We stepped out of the van into the crowd.  All the children (mostly boys) were holding poles and yelling at us, "You need stick!  You need stick!"  They were makeshift hiking poles.  Rachel thought about it and finally decided to purchase one.  With the completion of her transaction, all young eyes were on me.  "You need stick!  You need stick!"  I didn't really want a stick.  Also, I didn't have any quetzales with which to pay for one. 

I detoured to the nearby women's bathroom to escape the throng of screaming children shoving sticks in my face.  I came out of the toilet stall to see a girl all of about 5 years old holding a stick (of course) and staring at me.  I smiled at her and walked to the sink to wash my hands.

"You need stick."
"Oh, um, no thank you.  No gracias."  I shook my head and smiled again.  She was smart - she knew she had a one-up on all the boys because she could follow me into the bathroom.
"You need stick!"
"No, no gracias." I smiled again.
"Para es necesario." (But it's necessary.)
"No gracias."
"Para es necesario!"
"No.  No gracias." This was getting old.
"PARA ES NECESARIO!!!"

She was fuming.  She looked like a furious Voldemort, only cuter and with a nose.  She was standing between me and the door, and she was holding a weapon.  I was going to get beaten to death by a 5 year-old in a run-down, dirty bathroom on a volcano in Central America. What an embarrassing way to die.  And since I hadn't made an effort to find an ATM since landing in the country 24 hours earlier, I couldn't even buy my way out of death. 

After standing there dumbfounded and scared out of my gourd for a few moments, I tried to edge around her to escape.  She didn't attempt to stop me or beat me within an inch of my life, but she was certainly giving me one hell of a stink eye. 

Rachel and I (and Rachel's stick) made it to the lava stream at the top with no problems.  But I had to borrow Rachel's stick a couple of times on the way down to help me with my footing.  Dadgum it, I really did need stick.