Well, a group of us Region V volunteers decided to climb this mountain as well, and while we didn't get a plaque embedded in rock in our honor, we got some pretty incredible pictures and quite a workout during both the climb and descent. After staying overnight in a hostel in Olmue, the town outside the park, we headed out bright and early for the hike, geared with lots of layers for the changing temperatures of the day and the altitudes, water, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. At first, the trail started out peacefully through the woods and over a winter-dried river but the further we climbed, as did the steepness of the slope and soon, the trail was mostly cutbacks through the trees. Every so often, a break in the canopy showed a beautiful view of the valley we left behind, and where Annamarie, Brandy, and I live, Limache and Quilpué. It being fall in the southern hemisphere, the trail was lined with foliage reminiscent of October in New England.
After about three hours of forest hiking, we reached an old mine where there was a campsite and a semi-reliable water source. We had been told by the park ranger not to fill our bottles in the restrooms at the base because it might not be the cleanest. There were a few Chilenos up here who we found out, after a quick chat, had climbed to this point overnight, pitched their tents in the dark, and climbed the last two hours at dawn to catch the sunrise from the summit. We also found out that the trail for these final two hours of the hike was closed after the earthquake as it was mostly climbing over treacherous rock fields that had shifted when the earth moved. We had actually heard about this beforehand but wanted to scope out the situation for ourselves. After talking to other hikers along the way who had made it to the top and who confirmed it was safe enough, we decided to go for it. Why go all this way and not make it to the top? Then they also told us it was only dangerous if there happened to be a tremblor, or aftershock, while we were on the rocks. All we could do was hope that the earth would stay still for a few more hours.
And that it did. After two more hours of almost pure rock climbing, we stepped up onto the relatively small, bald cumbre of Cerro La Campana. With the air crisp and the sky luckily as clear as it could possibly be, we surveyed the land around us. The valley towards the west where the blue of the Pacific could be made out, the Aconcagua Valley and snow-capped Andes with Mt Aconcagua towering above the rest visible to the east, and the rest of the coastal range running north to south along the Chilean coast were all worth the five hours of work we put into our thighs and feet. It was amazingly quiet and just one of those places you could sit for hours which is what we would have done had it not been for the need to beat the sun back down the mountain in a few hours. After our lunch of sandwiches and plenty of picture taking, we hustled in three hours back down the mountain, running into a few wild tarantulas along the way, and making it back to base just as it was getting difficult to see one foot in front of the other. After we hitched a ride with a couple of kind Chilenos (all eight of us packed into the bed of their pickup truck) since the wait for the next bus was half an hour or more, we arrived back in Olmue centro ready for a full meal, a hot beverage, and a foot massage.
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