Report from mid-August, 2026
In the blue light of dusk, I took the hairpin turn at the bottom of the abandoned half-snow, half-volcanic-rock service road at dangerous speed, carrying a literal bag of shit on my back. A fall here would be tragic. I couldn’t help release a loud scream as I committed to the turn, with slowing down amidst the rocks no longer an option, and just held on as I zoomed through the choke with the past few days worth of human excrement in my pack, blindly aiming for the other side where a few hundred meters away Hector sat waiting with his truck as our only way home.
I pointed my tips and prayed.
3 nights prior, Cyrus and I arrived on behalf of APEX Andes Backcountry Guides to help facilitate a hot tent trip on the Tolhuaca Volcano for a client. The forecast showed that it was going to be a sunny, easy afternoon to set up camp. But that just wasn’t true at all.
Snow was falling heavily as we dug a ring around us to the ground to put up the tent. We had to move quickly to keep the floor of the tent from getting snowed over from the falling flakes, having to redo it a couple times when it got too snowy. It was cold. Moving the shovels kept us warm. I like that feeling — hard work to keep the blood moving. The body strong. The mind at ease. Reminds me of the good old days in an Alaskan Gulag.
By nightfall, the hot tent and gear tent were set up, dry wood stashed in a plastic sack days before now crackling as it burned in the stove. Forrest Schmidt, the kind-hearted, punk-rock owner of the company gave us a large flask of good pisco before we set off for Tolhuaca. Cyrus and I finished it in 3 swigs while we ate instant ramen and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, before drifting off into peaceful, cozy sleep by the fire…
…But it was short-lived.
“DO YOU THINK THE TENT IS GOING TO COLLAPSE?” Cyrus shouted moments after an ear-splitting, frenzied wind, wild as a drunken West Texas cowboy with a vendetta, slapped and slashed against the canvas of the tent. I elected to go outside and check on its status.
We had to tighten down some of the tent stakes but all was ok. I crawled back into the warmth of the tent, took off my layers of winter gear, and tried to sleep. The wind kept violating us until 6 in the morning, when — like a light switch flipping on and off — it suddenly went silent. We could then rest.
That repose lasted for about 2 hours. Then Cyrus got up first and started setting up the remainder of camp while I grumbled and grunted and grumpily got up and got to the work at hand. He fixed the tent floor, digging to bare ground to ensure a smooth walking surface, while I put up the most scenic make-shift toilet I have ever constructed at the base of an araucaría tree that overlooked the volcano, surrounding monkey-puzzle tree forest, and Andes Mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see. The client and lead guide arrived shorty after.
The first afternoon we toured half-way up the volcano to ski down in the golden light of evening-time, the 3 other neighboring volcanos Lonquimay, Sierra Nevada, and Llaima glowing bright orange like the iron in a blacksmith’s forge. Both the next two nights were like this, and neither ever disappointed. And that was all before the stars came out.
Waking up in the middle of the night to groggily put on snow gear and stumble out into the frigid night air to pee in the dark never sounded so good under that illuminous sky. A giant river of stars and constellations flowed with equanimity overhead; cosmic boatmen in the form of shooting stars cruising along the stream of infinite, suspended water, waving as they passed by. But no coins were needed for these boatmen: the time and effort it took us to get here was enough for them.
The next day the client James and guide Juanpy walked up to the summit of Tolhuaca while Cyrus and I skied a steep icy flank of the volcano hoping it wouldn’t be too icy. But the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Down below the firm face we had skied, we ate more PB&J’s, little oranges, and soaked up volcanic views of the surrounding range before sliding down smooth, acceptable snow in a fun gulley between ridges of metaphoric scree fields. Jutting, weird, araucaría trees — their razor-sharp, plastic-looking leaves that twist upwards in perfect fibonacci spirals grasping for the sky, as if receiving the sun with a hug — appeared in front of me at treeline as I descended the mountainside, standing between me and the other volcanoes in the distance. These ancient trees are gatekeepers. Friendly spirits that guard the land, springing out of the volcano like happy mushrooms, protruding from the frequent mist or clouds that surround the mountain as sentinels that watch over its sacred slopes and mysterious crater in this weird arctic rainforest that wraps around it like a soft blanket of barbed wire.
I didn’t share these thoughts with the client or anyone as we ate our picotello (Chilean charcuterie) after the ski day. Instead, I kept basking in the weirdness of it all. Like when big green parrots flew overhead and then congregated in the tops of the araucaría trees, erupting in an annoying chorus of chirping that disrupted our flow of conversation over good Chilean wine. Were we on another planet? Was this Earth, or Hyperion? I ate my filet mignon cooked on the wood stove and continued wondering uncomfortably.
Then, as it always happens on fun trips, it was time to leave sooner than we knew it and we had to pack up. 2 trips up and down the 7 kilometers from the camp to the outpost where Hector, a sweetheart of a local cattle rancher and our transport back to mankind, sat patiently waiting. Cyrus and I packed on 80 pounds of gear the first time around, hardly able to put our skis on because we couldn’t see our feet with 2 backpacks on and a bunch items dangling from all sides. That first trip back felt long. I saw 2 strange jet-black rodent-like creatures on the way down. Guinea pigs, perhaps? I’m not sure. They looked like rabbits without ears but walked like dogs. Each moment was stranger than the last.
Walking back up, we saw a fresh puma print that crossed our ski tracks no less than 30 minutes after we had come down. Monsters lurked in this extraterrestrial land. Best we stay sharp.
Just as we made it back up to camp the second time to grab the last of our stuff, 2 condors flew over Cyrus’ head in a show of force. Another debilitating wave of wonder flooded over me followed by a dizzying sense of gratitude. God sure did make whatever the hell planet this was awful pretty.
We packed up and I put the toilet and its contents in my backpack, safely secured — for now. The moment we left camp a vulture swooped down from the top of a nearby araucaría tree to where our former abode once stood. Cyrus skied with a big backpack and carried in his hands a large plastic bin with cookware down the entire 7 kilometers with no gloves on, gapping snow-less sections of rock on the patchy road as sunset went off like an atom bomb in the valley defended by the 4 volcanoes. We had fun.
On the final turn I screamed again. I had no chance of turning around or even slowing down. I was in it. All-in. Full-speed. Either I would win and live in glory for the rest of the evening or I would fall and eat shit…literally.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”
Victory.
Hector greeted us with a smile. The sun was well below the horizon now. It was getting dark and time to go home. We cruised back in his car, smelly with all our stuff, and talked about life, girls, beer, cultures, home-cooking, hobbies, and football as together we sailed back into town, weary from the long days spent exploring an alien realm.
With fine company.
Avalanche Forecast (Andes Avalanche Center)
Photos
