We cross a long plateau and are then as close to the mountain as the truck can take us. Now, with heavy backpacks on our backs, it's an hour and a half up and down 5000 meters through a moraine landscape. During a break, a discussion begins which results in Peter leaving his skis behind, while Brigitte and I decide to take them with us to the bitter end, even if we might have to carry them down the mountain again, although it is not yet clear whether and how a descent is possible at all. Irritated by the exertions of the ascent and the short night, the two Peters, who are determined to reach the summit and are of the opinion that we won't be able to reach our destination with the heavy equipment. I am very disappointed, because after all, I came here to ski on sand. Unfortunately, everywhere you look there is nothing but white volcanic rock and it doesn't look like you could ski on it. Nevertheless, if I'm going to climb the mountain, I want to ski down it again, so I put my backpack back on and carry on. Fortunately, Brigitte supports me and also runs after me with the ski equipment on her shoulders. Shortly afterwards, we climb the last moraine and reach the foot of the mountain via a kilometer-long high plateau and, as we had already suspected in the moraines, the mountain is not made of sand but of white volcanic rock. Slowly, we put one foot in front of the other, stopping every now and then to catch our breath. Until we are just below the pre-summit and Peter, who had gone a little way ahead, comes back and says that there is such a strong wind on the pre-summit that it would be impossible to continue without freezing to death. As seven hours have now passed, we decide to turn back. I take off my mountain boots, put on my ski boots and attach my skis to my feet. How will it feel to ski on this surface? I have to be careful to avoid the big boulders, I think to myself! I hope I don't get knocked down, because how am I supposed to get back down here injured? I wait tensely until Peter has set up the camera, as he has to take photos instead of Stefan, and after a wandering glance over the distance we have covered, I set off. The scree starts to move with me, which I hadn't expected, and my legs are pulled out from under me on the first bend. The crash landing is painful and results in lots of bruises, but I don't let it stop me from continuing.
Brigitte is more sensible, she wears her skis again and again and only skis the sections that consist of finer volcanic rock. I have to stop again and again because I simply can't catch my breath. After reorienting myself as to the best direction to continue in, I carry on and slowly start to enjoy the ground and the more vertical meters I have gained, the longer I can ski. Back at the foot of the mountain, I happily hug Brigitte before we strap the equipment back onto the backpack and set off on the long way back. We enjoy a long hot bath in the hot springs for the last time that evening before falling into a deep sleep, dead tired.
Back in Copiapo, we meet Stefan and Verena, who had already scouted out a great mountain for sand skiing and are also well recovered. We talk and tell them how we felt, what it was like and that it was a shame they couldn't be there, noting how proud we are of ourselves for taking our skis with us right to the end and completing this descent... Text: Anna Hagspiel, Photos: Stefan Neuhauser Website of Stefan Neuhauser
