Flight 571 Uruguayan Air Force crashed in the Andes on the 13th October, 1972, whilst carrying 5 crew and 40 passengers to a rugby game in Chile. What happened next became the subject of the famous book, and subsequently film, Alive! The site is high in the mountains and can only be reached on foot or by horseback – we chose to ride there.

It’s called disaster tourism. When we came across the Museo de los Andes in Montevideo, Uruguay, it initially seemed rather bizarre to turn such an event into a public spectacle. It paid homage to the 45 Uruguayan people whose aeroplane crashed in the Andes on 13th October, 1972, whilst en route from Montevideo to Chile. Many were students travelling to a rugby game.

Whilst twelve died in the initial crash, the remainder lived and died for 72 days at 3,570 m, until two of their party managed to cross the mountains into Chile and find help. The museum covers much of the heroic survival of the 16 people that eventually came home; it does not dwell on the controversial issue of them having been reduced to cannibalism in order to survive. The event became a book, Alive!, became films Alive! and Survive.

At the time, a visit to the site never occurred to me: it was too far away, too high in inaccessible mountains. However, two months later as we approached Malargue in Mendoza province, a line in the guide book caught my eye: horse rides could be organised to the crash site and suddenly it seemed a good idea: an opportunity to enjoy the mountains on horseback whilst learning more about this epic tale of survival against all odds.

A quick trawl around the travel agents on the main street of Malargue led us to Juan, a smiley bald headed man who coordinates many of the riding adventures in the area. We met him later the same evening and organised to set out two days later.

The in-between day allowed us to do a little sightseeing around Malargue, including a visit to the heart of the Malacara volcano followed by an unexpected caving session at the Cavernas de las Brujas. We then headed to Juan’s Refugio de Juan in downtown Malargue for our first night of the trip and a rather late supper at 10 pm. He presented us with two pairs of large nylon saddlebags in which to carry everything we needed.

The Atuel Valley

After a typical Argentinian breakfast of coffee and media lunas – their version of a croissant – we climbed into Juan’s Land Rover. Three saddles were roped to the roof rack and our saddle bags thrown in the back. A quick bakery stop and we headed north some 50 km to El Sosneado. This little village has a couple of roadhouses which do a good line in jamon serrano sandwiches. The sky was slightly hazy and Juan explained that it was due to the smoke from the Australian bush fires.

Here we left the bitumen, following a dirt road for 70 km deep into a beautiful wide valley, watered by the swiftly running River Atuel; there were scattered farms and huge numbers of grazing horses and goats. Soon we noticed the dark imposing volcanic bulk of Cerro Sosneado with its spiky silhouette and sheer sides, towering above the serene mirrored waters of La Laguna El Sosneado.

El Avion de los Dolares

There had been earlier aeroplane crashes in this area but one in particular has all the ingredients of a thriller: on 17th May, 1960, a Curtis C-46F-1-CU Commando crashed killing all eight people on board. They were actually flying seven valuable racehorse from Buenos Aires via Santiago to Lima and it is thought that structural failures might have contributed to the crash when they hit turbulence and went into a mountain peak at 4,500 m. The bodies were not retrieved until March 1962.

Some years later when some of the locals were thought to be living beyond their means, it emerged that they had stolen money from the crash site. The five passengers had not declared half a million US dollars in cash, coins and jewellery that they were carrying in leather cases. When the men saw the condors circling in the spring, they investigated and discovered the accident with the bodies and the money. Four men were subsequently put on trial and imprisoned.

If it weren’t for the Uruguayan aeroplane crash, this one might be better known. There are more remnants of the aeroplane on site, though it is quite a steep climb on the slopes of El Sosneado – again horses can be used but the last 500 m climb has to be done on foot. This crash came to be known as the Avion de los Dolares or Avion de los Caballos (horses).

Higher peaks and volcanoes gathered to the head of the valley. We were following the old road to Hotel Thermas El Sosneado at 2,180 m which opened in 1938 and closed only 15 years later – it was built by the Sud Sudamericanos Ltda Hotel Company and the locals used to say that it was where the Nazis paid Peron. It was certainly suitably remote for a Nazi hideout though Juan said the roads were better in those days. At one stage we came upon one of the old arched bridges across a ravine, which we then crossed on a crudely worked affair of wooden logs.

“Poor Argentina!” exclaimed Juan. “90 years ago…” He gestured to the beautiful hand wrought stone work of the arched bridge. “Today…!” This as we trundled over the logs. There were some other old bridges, distinctive by their fine construction, and even some original cement road signs which were quite unusual.

After three hours of bumping along the heavily corrugated dirt road, the derelict hotel loomed ahead of us. It closed in 1953 for no obvious reason, though the fact that it was only open about three months a year due to snow cannot have helped.  We went past to the El Solar Refuge which once belonged to the National Gendarmerie. The barred building was very grubby and there was a lot of rubbish lying around. The avenue of trees had been sadly hacked about by people seeking firewood.

To Le Barroso

However, there were four ponies and a gaucho, Fernando, waiting for us under the trees. And they were ponies too; after a Milanese lunch, we saddled up and Simon was given a little skewbald stallion that was about 13 hands high. I had a very plain grey who seemed remarkably reluctant to walk away from home whilst the gaucho was on a skittish white faced bay. Juan brought up the rear and we were off.

First of all we had to cross the wide river valley. The Atuel is apparently low this year due to less snow than normal and we crossed its tumbling glacial waters early on but it still took another half an hour to traverse the rest of the river bed within the valley. We passed a large group of walkers setting out with pack horses: many rugby clubs make the walk in recognition of their former comrades.

Soon we were climbing up from the river and we continued steadily climbing for another 3 hours, following the valley high above the Barroso river, stepping carefully around gypsum outcrops and cliff edges. At the Roseado River inflow, we filled our bottles from the icy water which was indeed running a creamy rosy colour down the hillside. Tall mountains surrounded us, their smooth sides ascending to rugged peaks. We saw cattle and goats grazing on the rough scrub.

Base camp at El Barroso consisted of a couple of poly shelters beside the eponymous river. Strangely, the glacial rivers ran clear in the early morning but by the end of the day were a muddy brown as the melting effects of the sun were felt. The walkers set up camp on the other side of the river and all the horses were turned out to graze, most very tightly hobbled with chains so that wherever one looked there were hopping horses. 

We put up a tent for ourselves; we had bought our own sleeping bags and the saddle blankets turned into comfortable sleeping mats. In true Argentinian style, each saddle frame had about four blankets underneath and another three on top for the rider’s benefit – Fernando had no less than 4 dead sheep to sit on, which I thought rather ridiculous as his legs stuck out about a foot from the horse’s sides. I started with three and reduced it to one, much to the relief of my hips – it can rather feel as if one is on a billowing ocean with all the padding!

Large sides of meat were hauled out of the saddle bags; two were put over coals for dinner, the other two laid over a rock to air where only minutes previously the gaucho had been drying his socks. Thankfully the first night’s portion was tasty enough: we had a mixture of beef and chivo, a three month old milk-fed kid goat, the crispy exterior hiding the succulent tender meat. It was washed down with a Chilean carmeniere. The portions of both were generous and we headed to bed under brilliant starry skies quite happy with our first day in the saddle.

Glacier de Las Lagrimas

Pilot error is thought to have caused the aeroplane crash, the pilot starting to descend too early thinking he was past the Andes and closer to Santiago than he actually was. As we continued our ride up the valley the following morning the 4,200 m ridge became visible ahead of us with its 5 outcropping fingers where the aeroplane collided with the mountain.

It was a long hot ride, the horses picking their way over stony terrain, with just a few mountain streams to relieve the heat. Despite the dryness of the terrain, brilliant yellow flowers flourished around the water sources as well as a vivid deep pink one. There was the occasional high altitude lake and in front the peaks were studded with hanging glaciers and snow. It was a wild and dramatic place with a final very steep climb to the memorial site. The horses zig zagged across the mountain face with frequent rests to catch their breath, until finally we emerged on a large flat plateau.

Across a small valley the site of the disaster was laid out before us. The plane is believed to have hit the mountain 2 or 3 times, initially clipping its tail cone as the pilot sought to clear the ridge. The next collision severed the right wing which tore off the tail cone and the back of the fuselage, taking two rows of seats and five passengers. 200 metres further and the left wing was severed, losing two more passengers. The remaining portion of the fuselage then tobogganed down a gully for about 725 m before slamming into a snow bank on a glacier at 350 km per hour. The pilot and four passengers were killed instantly; the co pilot died of his injuries later that night, along with another four passengers.

The remaining  passengers created a shelter from the fuselage but had very meagre food supplies and suffered from the extreme cold in the – 30 degree nights. Despite strict rationing it became apparent they were likely to starve to death. After ten days they heard on their radio that the search for the missing aeroplane had been called off, at which stage a decision was reached to eat the dead.

Near midnight on the 29th October, there was an avalanche which filled the fuselage and killed 8 people. The survivors were trapped for a further 3 days until the blizzard abated. Their circumstances were dire, yet trapped by snow, ice, cold, and malnutrition they continued to sit out the ordeal.

The group decided that there would have to be an attempt to leave the mountain. In early forays, the tail piece was discovered about a mile from the fusilage with welcome food, clothing and brandy. A battery was retrieved and futile attempts were made to get a radio to work. Evenually, on 12th December, 60 days after the crash, Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa set off to find help across the mountains. A third person turned back when they realised that the trip was going to be longer than anticipated.

This is the really impressive part: after so many days of hardship and without mountaineering gear or experience, they climbed the 4,670 m peak which loomed high above the glacier. When they reached the top after three days and saw the endless mountains ahead of them, they thought they would be dead men. However, taking a sighting of two mountain tops which were not covered with snow, they set off, dropping into a valley and following it downwards. 

Ten days and 38 km later they hailed a gaucho across a river. He could not cross the river but returned the next day with food and established who they were. He then rode for ten hours to raise the alarm.

Finally on 22nd December, two helicopters were guided by Parrado to the crash site, where they were able to take seven of the survivors, returning the next day for the remaining seven. Soon the news of the cannibalism broke and at a press conference on 28 December, Alfredo Delgado compared their actions to Christ at the last supper, when he gave his disciples the Eucharist.

It was decided to bury all the bodies, and some skeletons, on the mountain and so to this day, the place remains a place of homage and pilgrimage. The wreckage of the aircraft was set alight.

Exploring the Site

We rode down into a rocky gully with a couple of huge boulders and left the horses with Fernando while we explored the crash site. There is a commemorative cross on a long ridge of moraine, laced with rosaries, and encircled by a cairn with scattered plaques to the victims. Aeroplane pieces make up another pile and then there is the stone pile which covers the graves. A black pyramid was erected in 2006 to honour both victims and survivors and bears all the names.

We walked along the ridge to the gully where the plane came down; it is narrow and steep and it is indeed a miracle that anyone survived. A piece of the aeroplane shone white on the slope. The place where the fuselage rested is now lower down the hill as the glacier is still moving; once unnamed, it was subsequently called the Glacier de las Lagrimas or glacier of tears. We walked down to examine a pair of wheels and the landing wheel. Sheered off metal showed the force of the crash. 

Other pieces of aeroplane were scattered about. It is hard to visualise the place under snow as the survivors knew it plus the glacier was much bigger in those days. We came to an area where it was melting and founded a tangled confusion of clothing and aircraft material. A shrivelled glove still looked intact. It was all quite eerie.

The whole area is encircled by high peaks and glaciers – the mountain Parrodo and Nando climbed did not look at all inviting and one wondered why they didn’t look to the east and think of going down the way we had just come up. Supposedly, they believed themselves to be much further into the Chilean side than they actually were. The old hotel was relatively close, though they would still have had a big river to cross and then a 70 km walk down the valley had they not found anyone,

Just above our ponies, a wing section lay in the gully and one wonders what will be released by the glacier in years to come. As we descended to have lunch in the shade of one of the giant boulders, the walkers arrived. It had been nice to have the place to ourselves.

Back to Base

The ride down took nearly as long as the ride up, the ponies having to step carefully on the slippery scree. If anything, the scenery was even more spectacular on the way back as our steep path seemed to bring us literally face to face with the glaciers. Far below the valley beckoned and it was a relief to leave the really steep section behind and level off a little.

We had been impressed by how surefooted the ponies were: I think mine only stumbled once in the whole three days. The river crossings were quite treacherous with the rushing waters tumbling the boulders within yet the horses waded in with no hesitation and picked their way smoothly amongst the unseen stones. We climbed precarious cliffside paths where I could only trust in the animal to get me through safely and thankfully he did.

Finally we dropped down the final hill to our base. No luxuries here for horses, not even a wash, just tack off and let loose to graze. Our wash consisted of quickly stripping off beside the icy river whilst the sun was still in the sky for some warmth – at least we were enjoying the authentic gaucho life. Loo facilites were equally basic: head up the hill to a sandy flat!

Night two of the inevitable asado, seasoned by yesterday’s socks and burning cowpats amidst the charcoal, tasted good after our long day in the saddle and came with baked onions on the side. Fernando carved great chunks of crispy meat with the knife that he always carried at his back. Juan told us that not too long ago, an Argentinian would have eaten a kilo of meat a day and drunk a bottle of red wine – now it is down to about 200g a day. Certainly nothing was wasted: what we didn’t eat in the evening was used for sandwiches in the following day’s lunch. Carnivores might find Argentina a struggle, especially if they want the true gaucho experience! 

Heading Home

Retracing our steps in such wonderful scenery wasn’t arduous, and besides, things always look different in reverse. We paddled across the river from our camp and past some large sink holes, evidence of previous underground caves. The walkers strode out on the other bank with the pack horses slowly bringing up the rear. For once, our horses walked out quite well as they realised they were heading home and soon we could see the wide river Atuel valley below us.

Looking west, the scenery was starkly mountainous and impressive and I could see many future riding possibilities. Trailing Fernando over the river bed, my horse saw a track where there was none and always seemed to be in the right place. Herds of horses and cattle frisked their tails in the water as they sought to escape the flies. We waded through the final torrent and back up the hill to El Soler, where the leftover Milanese from the first day awaited us for lunch in Juan’s Land Rover.

There was one final delight in store: a stop at the old hotel. The stone built superstructure is still fairly sound, although one entire section is missing at the back, presumably gone to make someone’s house. We ascended the stone stairway into the reception area where a huge stone fireplace remained. An arch at the other end led to the lost section.

Inside was dereliction; I climbed rickety stairs to the top floor where the cement walls that once divided the bedrooms lay in crumpled sheets. Nothing was left, no wallpaper inklings or paint, only a shattered shower base and some broken green tiles amidst the rubble of what was once a bathroom. However the views from the windows were marvellous, framed by broken lintels and chipped stone. If Peron really did entertain Ludwig Freude (Hitler’s man in South America) in the hotel, they might still recognise the views, but little else.

The basement area seemed to hold private bathrooms, probably for taking the thermal waters, plus a present day family camped in one end. The whole valley is a popular wild camping area. An extension at the back had washing troughs. The hotel generated its own electricity and had both fresh river water and the hot thermal water which originated in the Overo Volcano.

Now only the thermal baths retain anything of their former splendour. A large open air pool sits within a walled compound with a balustraded front. The water within is cold, but a little further up the hill there is a large circular pool that is lukewarm. If you head towards the back and feel for a depression in the mud at your feet, you will find the hot spot where the waters emerge. All the water is a delicious aquamarine blue.

The stupendous views over the mountains could not be faulted and Simon and I joined Juan for some pleasant soaking whilst Fernando sat on the wall: maybe gauchos don’t do hot springs. Juan chatted to a couple of women who were sharing our bath and they ended up recruiting him to take them and their husbands up to the aeroplane crash in three days from then – I only hoped it wouldn’t be our poor horses going out again so soon!

A final bumpy 2.5 hours of gravel and we left this beautiful and intriguing valley behind, emerging again at El Sosneado for the final run south to Malargue. We had another night at Juan’s Refugio but were dismayed upon arriving at 6 pm to find that dinner would not be until 10 pm! Tired after our long day, we had difficulty staying awake until the required hour. That’s Argentina for you: it can delight and exasperate in equal measure – at least on the riding front, it had been a total delight.

NOTES

Marlargue is a nice little town and a great base for exploring some super sites in the region such as the Payunia Volcanic Reserve, Malacara Volcano and the Cavas de las Brujas. There are numerous tour operators on the main road who can help with transport and reservations.

If you want to visit the aeroplane crash, or explore the Andes in greater depth with riding trips up to 10 days long, WhatsApp Juan on +54 9260 4675554.