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	story Alex Eberspaecher   photographs Judy Eberspaecher The drone of the single engine plane just crept up a notch higher. Cruising at 10,000 feet, we were still climbing slowly and although we had now gone over most of the mountains instead of around them, some of the higher peaks of the Andes still loomed ahead of us. Judy, my photographer, was up front beside our pilot, Diego.  I was crouched in the back. I figured if we ran into one of those snow-covered mountains, I didn’t want to be the first to make contact! Less than an hour ago, Diego had suddenly rolled the plane on its side and pointed at one of those peaks. "Remember the Uruguayan rugby team that crashed back in October of '72?" – he mentioned casually – "it was down there." Then he slid the windows open so Judy could take better pictures and I made sure that my lap belt was as tight as possible. An hour later this was still very much on my mind as we neared the Lake District of Chile. At 10,500 feet we swung slightly to our left and I looked directly at the snow-covered mountain in front of me. It suddenly occurred to me while the engine was labouring even more that we were flying right towards it. The trouble was that we were heading for – and I hoped not hitting – somewhere far below the peak. Diego and Judy were now engaged in a rather animated conversation when they weren’t opening the windows to take pictures. I made up my mind that from now on we would concentrate much more on taking pictures of flowers on the ground. I gently tapped Diego on the shoulder and pointed out that we were heading directly into the mountain. I know, he said, that’s where we are going. Oh great! Meadow flowers looked pretty good to me and I wondered if I ever would see one again. Peaking at 9,341 feet (2847 metres) Mount Villarrica was by no means one of the higher mountains of the Andes, but it was one of the most ferocious ones. It was sort of a miracle mountain, as our little plane managed to reach the peak with about fifty feet to spare. The little air that we had, and it was rather thin at 10,500 feet, now reeked of sulphur and I hoped that it was coming from the yellowish cloud from the top of Mt. Villarrica, – one of the many active and inactive volcanoes of Chile – rather than from the Cessna. Then I looked directly into the belly of the beast! The fiery lava was bubbling while it turned everything within the confines of the crater to a ghostly scene, puffing yellow clouds of sulphur. It was unbelievably beautiful.  Then we were past it and I took a breath - just in time for our next pass, the second one of many that apparently were required for Judy to get the best shots. As for me, it was my first look into an active volcano. I now understand why our ancient ancestors were so awestruck by the sheer power and beauty of one of the few natural wonders that remain unspoiled by man. Undoubtedly, mankind has made numerous attempts to conquer and ultimately spoil the land we know as Chile. The sheer vastness of the Andes Mountains and the shores of the Pacific Ocean have protected a countryside that stretches in length as long as mainland Canada is wide. From the Atacama, the driest desert in the world down through the most fertile plains that grow some of the finest winemaking grapes, to an area called the Lake District – which many a traveler has compared to the foothills of the Swiss Alps or the Muskoka district of Ontario – we end up in the south, where long before we reach the Antarctic, there is rugged countryside that would compare only to our northern Arctic Circle. Relatively narrow, the land is constantly intersected by the absolute clear, cold and fast rushing mountain streams that originate in the snowfields and glaciers of the Andes until they disappear somewhere in the ocean to the west. It is beside these pure streams, the Maipo, the Rapel and many others, that the great wines of Chile originate. If life would only be kind enough to give me more time, I could think of no better place to cast a fly to a weary trout, if for no other reason but to calm my nerves from the images of the glowing mountain that will be with me forever. In the morning it was as clear and sunny as we could wish, so we hit the winding road that continuously crossed the Maipo. Less than an hour outside Santiago, Chile’s largest city by far, we had left civilization completely. The climbing road became merely a mixture of gravel and boulders and occasionally I could spot from afar the glaciers that we had come to see. A few more kilometres on, and perhaps one kilometre higher, our vehicle stalled. The engine had overheated so Mary-Anne, Diego’s wife, suggested that we should have some lunch. No problem in most other parts of the world, but not so in the Maipo Valley. Judy prepared an enormous bowl of salad but as she walked around the truck, the wind grabbed lettuce, tomatoes and avocado chunks and whisked it into a swirling mess somewhere up into a nearby valley. My attempt to bake potatoes ended up in a miserable embarrassment when I couldn’t create enough heat on the barbecue in the high altitudes of the Andes. The last I saw of our lunch, a herd of goats and a lama, were fighting over a scrap of lettuce by the river. Judy didn’t see it, but I saw it clearly through the glass of Pisco, the local spirit that tastes a bit like grappa. Somewhere way past the glacier, the road completely endednear the headwaters of the Maipo. After navigating around boulders, through and over creeks and monstrous pieces of the Andes that had rolled off the nearby cliffs, we finally found the spring of hot sulphur-laden water that originated somewhere within the mountains. Here was the small pool of welcomed heat in the cold evening winds of the Chilean Andes. A week ago, some local farmer had told me that hot sulphur springs were good for me, for all things that hurt, he said, but I paid even more attention when he emphatically explained that it also would slow down, if not halt the aging process.  Because of that, we stayed much longer in the sulphur springs that evening than we had intended. Chile is truly a beautiful and very diverse country. As far as South American countries are concerned, it boasts the best economy, no doubt due to a stable and democratic government, yet it has not always been so. Only a few years ago the country changed direction and although it had been relatively safe for foreign travelers, today I would not hesitate to recommend it to anybody.  However, Chile is also very underdeveloped when it comes to tourism. True, many visitors arrive in Chile; most disembark from cruise ships at such destinations as the old city of Valparaiso or perhaps even Concepcion and take daylong bus tours to Santiago. The more adventurous will join a guided tour to the Atacama Desert region in the north. Even fewer venture to the Tierra del Fuego, but that too will only present a mere sampling of Chile. Santiago is like most large cities. Congested with traffic that goes nowhere at times with an incredibly boring architecture that defies any planning at all. Nevertheless, it has some great and reasonably priced hotels and restaurants that could very well be used as a base for travel into the real Chile. Travel arrangements should be made at point of departure well in advance and visitors should be very specific of the region and activities desired. Once the larger cities are left behind, there are few car rental agencies, travel agents, B&Bs or hotels. One should remember that Chile, although most beautiful and rugged, is not a country for tourists, but a haven for travelers and adventurers.  GL	ABOVE heading back home into the mountains ABOVE Villaricca volcano from Villaricca Airstrip ABOVE active volcano ABOVE Maipo Valley ABOVE wooden flowers exclusive to Pucon