The longest day

The D-Day invasion in June 1944 started at 6:30am. By 06:30 on Saturday morning, Truus and I had been up for an hour, showered, and prepped for our own assault on the La Morado Glacier.

The school that we’re at offers extra-curicular activities through the week – cooking classes, salsa dancing lessons, city tours, and more. On the weekends, there are more adventurous outings to the environs of Santiago. Given that the general age of students at the school is 24 and younger, the activities are geared towards folks who don’t yet have a clue what glucosamine or anti-inflammatories are. 

Truus had spoken with the organizer of this week’s outing, a hike to the La Morado Glacier in the Andies mountains. The description was as follows: 

·         2 hour drive to point of departure

·         4 hour hike to the glacier

·         3-4 hour hike back

·         Group snack of baked empanados – prepared in a traditional wood hearth oven

·         2 hour drive back to Santiago

“Do you think we can do it?”,  Truus asked me rhetorically on the day of sign-ups for the trip. “Do I have a choice?”, I thought to myself, seeing clearly that Truus had already set her mind on us taking the North Face route to the summit. “No problem… we can handle it”, I said, fully denying the logical left hemisphere of my cerebral cortex.

We left Santiago at just after 07:00, in a white mini-bus with little air-conditioning, and absolutely no hint of suspension. Each bump on the road felt like a ride on the Wild Mouse roller-coaster at the CNE. We grinded on the road for an hour to the outskirts of the city where we stopped to pick up our “guide” for the day, Carmillo. Carmillo was a man of few words. He also, it later turned out, followed the Japanese / Darwinian school of guiding, whereby he chose to lead a sub-group of the youngest & strongest to the top, while the elderly and infirm were left to fend for themselves. More on that later.

We stopped in a small town to use the bathroom and purchase final supplies. It was a pretty pueblo, teeming with wild dogs. From there, we headed into the Andies on a winding track, that deteriorated into a stone mountain pass. We eventually arrived at the entrance to the El Morado trail after a couple of security checks with the hydo-electric and mining companies that control this area. Chile is a business-first kind of place. The President is strongly considering selling big chunks of Patagonia to mining interests. 

When we left the bus, our guide spotted 3 giant condors circling the mountains overhead. “That’s very lucky”, he said in Spanish, “don’t normally see condors at such a low elevation.” It was quite a site to see these giant birds of prey soaring in the sky. Andean condors are like the original spy satellites. Their wingspan is more than 3 metres. They are the largest raptors on the planet, and can cruise at an altitude of 15,000 feet. “What do they eat?”, I asked. “Only dead things”, he said. So these scavengers, basically Chilean vultures, had suddenly appeared at the moment that our group exited the bus. Duly noted. “Though”, I thought, “I would describe this occurrence as something other than ‘lucky’”. Keeping my own growing sense of dread at bay, we set off semi-cheerfully into the abyss.

The trailhead overlooks the temporary housing and worksite of the company. It’s a 40 degree climb of 30 minutes before you’re underway and you enter an undisturbed panorama of sheer mountains and moonscape valleys. The son, 30+ degree heat, and increasing altitude slightly dampened our enthusiasm, but the beauty of the place is profound.

The next hour was spent walking towards our goal, which eventually became visible in the distance. We crossed a river stream where a group of wild horses were lingering and drinking from the rushing water. The grade of the climb started to increase. Our guide encouraged us to walk faster. This was the “easy” part of the trek. The push to the glacier would be “slow” and “difficult”. “Huh”, I said, checking the sky to see if the vultures were still circling. The 23-year old Aussie in our group, who showed up without a hat or cover from the sun, was struggling mightily already. The Swiss-German contingent seemed to be enjoying this leisurely stroll in the mountains. When we hit the higher altitudes and the grade became steeper, our group started to spread out, slowly at first, but then to the point that it didn’t even appear we were part of the same expedition. The Teutonic trio were 700 metres ahead. Truus and I were next, followed by a laggard Swiss girl who had stayed back to take pictures of the horses, and then the Chilean apprentice who was supposed to bring up the rear and take care of the gringos. Another 500 or more metres back was Ms. Botany Bay. 

To get to the last stage and approach the glacier, we had to cross a semi-raging river by stepping/hopping from stone to stone. The only way to do it was to step on submerged stones, feeling first with your walking stick to identify a likely solid/stable candidate to jump onto. I saw the lead group cross the river and sensed the tenuousness of the endeavour. “Where do we cross?”, Truus asked me. “See them – that’s roughly the place”, I said squinting through the blinding light to approximate where they were crossing. “But I’m sure the guide will wait to get us across”, I said, as I watched the Werhmacht division delicately cross the river, and continue their ascent without looking back.

Left to our own devices, we somehow managed to get across, and, eventually made it to the glacial lake (the place with the brown water and chunks of ice). El Morado is a hanging glacier. The basin valley below the glacier is beautiful and raw. No chance of a Fairmont or Trump Hotel being built here anytime soon. We hung out there taking pics and re-charging for the return hike. As we were leaving, I noticed a cairn with a plaque and a picture for a Chilean musician, positioned discriminately at the edge of the valley. Not sure if it was a burial place or just a memorial for his ashes. Perhaps, it was just a big middle finger to the condors in the sky – the one that got away. Either way, I was, in that moment, slightly envious of the departed soul that he didn’t have to walk the 3+ hours back to the trailhead.