And…There Goes 10 Years of My Life (Part 7 of 7)

...continued from previous post

The next morning, I decided I needed to make it back to my water supply at the cabin as soon as possible. I was below the most questionable terrain so I was able to move quickly. Miraculously, I found a trickle emerging from a snowfield that was not contaminated with ash. While I am normally very cautious about water sources in the wilderness, I was out of options. And from talking to a volcanologist in Bariloche, I knew that lab tests had failed to detect heavy metals or other toxins in the ash. While that was no guarantee, it offered some degree of reassurance.

Refilling my water bottle from a tiny trickle of uncontaminated water 

Relieved and refreshed

Back at the cabin, I took stock of my situation. My plan had been to hike back to the car to re-supply and grab the rest of my gear. But I still needed to find a good vantage point of the vent and I didn’t have the time or strength to do both. I had already accepted the risk of drinking sketchy water so I decided I would forget about the kite and refill my water from a stream a few miles down the mountain that seemed relatively free of ash. I spent two hours doing this only to discover the water tasted like rusty nails. How do I know what that tastes like? I have no idea but I was going to have to deal with it.

Ash mixed with melting snow creates bizarre mud flows all over the mountain

Climbing the summit was clearly a mistake so my next option was to follow the trail as it contoured along the west side of the mountain. I would need to get much closer to the vent to see it, but at least I could avoid getting trapped in steep, dangerous terrain. Finally, at 6pm, I came around a bend and the vent appeared before me. It was still several miles away, but I could feel the rumble as ash billowed up from the crack in the earth. It was beautiful. I sat there, mesmerized, trying to comprehend what was happening in front of me. How was it possible this little burning patch of rock could block out the sun hundreds of miles away? The scale just seemed wrong. I had the sudden urge to walk up to the edge and throw something into the pit. Ok, I wasn’t going to pull something that stupid, but I did need to get closer. I picked a point halfway between my position and the vent and decided that would be my limit.

I got to my spot with a half hour of daylight left and managed to squeeze out a few shots of the ash at sunset. I settled in to wait for nightfall when I finally saw the frame I was after. The moon was directly overhead, lighting the top of the ash cloud. The sun was sending just enough rays around the corner to offer a touch of color and shape to the landscape. That magical balance between sun and moon only lasted a minute. Just long enough to grab a couple of frames, not long enough to actually get it right. Part of me rejoiced at the result I saw on the back of the camera, the rest of me cursed at not having reacted fast enough. But there was nothing more I could do so I set up a timelapse and went to sleep.

Close up of the vent at sunset

The frame I had been waiting for.  Just after sunset, when the lava just starts to become visible

I woke up the next morning to find the wind had shifted. I was not yet directly downwind of the vent, but the ash cloud was moving in my direction. I knew that getting caught in a white-out was the greatest danger of being this close so I had recorded a bread-crumb trail on my GPS that I could use to retrace my steps. I had tempted fate long enough, it was time to get out of there. The wind was remobilizing the ash on the ground and my teeth were starting to get crunchy so I put on my mask and goggles and headed for the cabin. At first I could see my footsteps from the day before, but they began to disappear as the wind grew stronger and stronger.

By morning, the ash was starting to blow in my direction

As more ash got kicked up from the wind, the visibility dropped to 50ft. Then 10ft. I pulled out my GPS to make sure I was on track, but the wind got so strong it was blowing ash into my goggles and completely obscuring my vision. The only way to read the GPS was to smack my goggles with the handle of my hiking pole to knock the ash off. This gave me a window of about 3 seconds to check my position before my goggles were caked up again. I resorted to just shutting my eyes and tapping the ground in front of me with my pole to feel for obstacles. Occasionally, there would be a break in the ash and I would sprint as far as I could before becoming enveloped again. Since I was returning on the same path, I knew there were about a dozen large cracks in the earth where water had cut away the surface ash layer. They were not exactly crevasses, but most were deep enough to break an ankle if I wasn’t careful. The day before I had scouted the safest place to cross and carefully picked my way over each one. But this time around I was ready get the hell off that mountain so I would just get a running start and launched myself across the divide.

The last trail marker I saw before visibility dropped to zero

I stayed relatively positive about my predicament up to the point that I started having trouble breathing. I stopped to catch my breath, but found that rest didn’t help. It dawned on me that I might be suffocating as my lungs filled with ash. All of the sudden, I was a lot less optimistic about my circumstances. I was only 2 miles into a 12 mile hike and I could barely stand up without getting winded. Thankfully, it was my mask getting clogged and not my lungs. I replaced the filter cartridges with the spares I had packed and took a deep breath. This whole adventure was starting to seem like a fine balance between good preparation and utter stupidity. I guess this is why insurance companies have a “special” rate for men of my age.

The wind started to die down as I approached the cabin. To my disbelief, I saw two guys hiking up the trail, covered in ash and wearing no protective equipment. “Which way to the volcano?” one of them asked in a thick German accent. Are you serious? I stared at them for a while before explaining what I had just been through. I convinced them to turn around and we hiked down the mountain together.

Crazy German tourists looking for volcano action

Crazy American tourist looking for volcano action.  The zippers on that backpack no longer work...

Taking a break in the cabin before heading down the mountain

Halfway down, we ran into another group coming up. Great, I thought to myself, more tourists that are going to get themselves killed trying to see the volcano. I started explaining the hellacious conditions up there and they just smiled and nodded, clearly not taking me seriously. I felt a little ridiculous lecturing these strangers on volcano hazards as if I was some kind of authority. Then they explained that they were a team of volcanologists that were studying the eruption. WHAT!? Where the hell were you guys two days ago?!

They explained this was a rhyolytic eruption, which was relatively rare and poorly studied. Nobody knows why they produce so much ash. “Well, at least this ash doesn’t have crystobalite (the asbestos-like glass shards that cause lung degeneration and death),” I noted. The volcanologists looked at each other awkwardly and then one of them said, “Actually we did find some crytobalite. And any of this ash could potentially do the same thing if it is fine enough.” Well SHIT. At least I’ve got 5-10 years before the scar tissue begins to form…

But if this ash was potentially so dangerous, why were these guys using bandanas instead of masks? I asked if they had a respirator and pulled out mine to show them. One of the guys looked at it and said “Oh yeah! We have one just like that. But we left it in the truck…” They say volcanologists have the highest mortality rate of any scientific field. Now I know why. But I wanted more than anything to go with them so what does that say about me? I decided against it considering I had no food, no water, and a body that felt like it had been through a meat grinder. I donated my protective gear, shared the GPS coordinates of the clean water source I had discovered, then continued down the mountain.

Back at the Anticura lodge, I washed up and spent the evening downloading pictures and cleaning my gear. There was a big group staying there, but I didn't have the energy to socialize so I avoided them. As I was walking back to my room, one of the other guests stopped me and asked if I was doing a project on the volcano. Puzzled, I asked how he knew who I was. “Well, we are a group of ecologists studying the volcano’s effects on the ecosystem,” he replied. Are you F&*%ING kidding me?!! I had one day left in Patagonia and I am meeting these people now? What are the bloody odds? I didn’t have time to include their research in my story, but I decided to spend my last day in the field checking out their study site. Volcano ecology eh? Maybe that will be my excuse for returning to Patagonia…

Charlie Crisafuli is showing me some plants he excavated in the forest near Puyehue.  While the trees all died, the understory vegetation was preserved underneath a foot of ash and rock.  The leaves on these shrubs were still green after being buried for seven months. Charlie has spent decades studying the Mt. St. Helens eruption and is trying to understand how ecosystems cope with volcanic events.   

The border patrol officer at the checkpoint asked what I was doing in Chile so I decided to show him.  I'm not sure he was thrilled about being in the photo, but like I said they aren't an uptight bunch.

Oh, and the timelapse....