Going into the Andes mountains is never predictable. I knew that already, but I was about to learn it once more. Northeast of Santiago, Chile, in the shadow of the famous Cerro Plomo, stands a uniquely shaped mountain called Cerro Leonera.
It’s a two-day journey, normally attempted in the summer months of December to February. In mid-May, with winter creeping in, I set out for the summit with a dear friend and mountain guide. What unfolded became both a memorable experience and a cautionary tale.
Approaching the Trail, Passing La Parva
There’s a ski resort called La Parva, situated on top of forty precarious curves on a steep road that takes you from the valley to the mountains. The first time I went up that road (Camino a Farellones), I was in the back of a large van full of fellow hikers to Cerro Plomo. And the entire time, I was fighting car sickness. Fortunately, this time, I skipped that struggle.
Since it was the middle of May, there was still no snow up there, and the ski lifts weren’t running. I have to admit that I was a bit disappointed; taking the ski lift past the boring, lower part of the hike is a welcome luxury for me. Nevertheless, we left the car in the parking lot by the lift station and started on our way.
Lunch Break, Featuring a Bird
With a trek like this, the biggest challenge isn’t necessarily the terrain nor the incline. It’s the weight of the backpack. I was more or less in shape to carry the approximately 25 kilos (50 pounds), but I certainly appreciated every chance to take it off my back.
After a few hours of hiking past snowy patches and scenic slopes, we paused for lunch. I’m a huge fan of smashed sandwiches during my alpine adventures, and that’s exactly what I ate. While we were seated, munching away, we were joined by a unique visitor: an Andean caracara, part of the falcon family.
She swooped over and landed at a distance, at first. I’m sure that she smelled the ham in our sandwiches and wanted a taste. We watched, amused, as she fluttered closer and closer, until she was just a meter away. I always value time in nature, especially with wildlife; this encounter was no different.
Continuing the Climb & Camping
Continuing on, we hiked farther up, and the temperature dropped a bit. The wind chill eased as a breeze picked up, as expected. Even with the sun shining brightly, we need to layer up every break. I was already thinking about how cold it would get later tonight and in the early morning hours, when we were due to make our summit attempt.
After a broad incline, we passed by another mountain, Cerro Pintor. This peak stands at an impressive 4,180 meters (13,714 feet). I was already familiar with that peak, having done it as part of a group day hike. We pressed on toward the campsite as the temperature kept dropping.
Upon arrival at Cancha Carrera, our campsite for the night, the wind picked up significantly. And Cancha Carrera didn’t offer much protection from the wind, to my dismay. It was a broad, flat field of dry dirt and rocks, with just a few spots where snow or ice survived the sun.
Due to our struggle against the wind, setting up the tent was especially challenging. Taking off my gloves to tie down the tent cover meant that my fingers almost immediately lost sensation. We threw rocks inside the tent while setting it up to ensure it didn’t fly away—that would put a real dent in our mission, to say the least.
No Water? No Problem (Melting Snow)
Inside the tent, safe from the wind, we laid out our sleeping mats and sleeping bags and started heating the water from our Nalgenes. With one pot and one tiny gas stove, it was a chore. And after using all of our remaining water to cook our dehydrated meals, an even bigger task was left: to melt snow.
Setting out to fill up our water bottles and thermoses with snow was brutal. It was windy. It was freezing. Not to mention that the snow was a good distance from our tent. This was not a relaxing spa night at a cozy hotel; this was a frigid mission in the Andes.
For the next hour or more, we melted snow and planned out the following morning. We would wake up early at 5:00 am and start our trek by 5:30 am. We had a very full day ahead. Tired from the eight-hour trek we’d completed that day, I went sleep, trying not to worry too much about the following morning.
A Very Windy Summit Attempt
Dawn finally broke, but my fingers were already frozen. We’d walked for a few hours already, hiking under the unrelenting onslaught of fierce winds. My poles were more than necessary for stabilization, considering the force of the windspeeds. I had my heart set on reaching the summit, though, and we continued on without stopping even for water, much less for a snack.
On our summit ascent day, the wind speeds were 70+ km/hr, with gusts stronger than that. It was incredible taxing just to stay upright, hold the poles in place to keep them from flying sideways, and even more brutal to walk directly into the wind. I felt like the wind was zapping my energy. If a normal Cerro Leonera attempt were to take 70% of my strength, this was taking 120%.
One particularly vicious wind gust knocked both of us right over. I fell forward onto my hands and knees, shocked. It felt dangerous; too much so. In that moment, we were a part of the trail that snaked sideways in the middle of one slope. But farther up, part of the trail was nothing more than a single ridge, where falling could be deadly.
So, we turned back. It was a short discussion. I was frightened by the brute force of the wind, as was he. I will never make a decision that jeopardizes my safety, and especially not the safety of a friend. Even in my most ambitious moments in the Andes, I choose to go home with all of my fingers and toes, bones intact, accident-free.
A Summer Attempt Awaits
Cerro Leonera appears to be a straightforward climb for intermediate-level hikers. But the Andes reminded me that day that the mountains are never as simple as they appear. I took a risk going to this mountain in the late fall, and I lost. But although we didn’t reach the peak, we enjoyed priceless time in nature, taking part for those two days in the raw wildness of those cerros. Cerro Leonera, I’ll be back.
