The Sentinel of the Volcano: Seventeen Winters Etched in Skin

The winter of 2023 is burned into the memory of every local as the "Year of the Miracle." Weeks went by and the earth remained dry; rocks poked through like dark fangs amidst the sparse frost, and the village’s spirit was at an all-time low. It felt as if the season was slipping through our fingers. But the mountain has its own timing. Suddenly, the sky turned a heavy lead-gray, the wind shifted, and it dumped a snowfall so deep and perfect that it changed the region's destiny in a single weekend.

Seventeen Years of Grit and Steam

Living here for seventeen years toughens both your skin and your character. You learn to read the steam from the fumaroles and understand that skiing on this volcano is a struggle of pure perseverance. The story of that opening day is a story of victory over uncertainty. Those of us who work here know that no amount of high-end gear matters if you don't have the necessary respect for the pitch. When we saw the first groups arrive—that mix of anxiety and fear in their eyes—we remembered why we are still here after nearly two decades.

The advice we give to those who visit is always the same: don't wait. Time on the mountain is a non-renewable resource. If you have the chance to feel your board bite into fresh powder, take it. Once the cold gets into your blood, there’s no turning back; you become a slave to the summit.

Gravity as a Teacher

That day was a procession of wipeouts and triumphs. We watched people who had never stepped on snow face their first meters with a clumsiness that the volcano punished immediately. Hard falls, crossed skis, and snow forcing its way under layers until it burned the skin. But that’s how a real skier is forged. The mountain is a teacher that doesn’t use words; it uses gravity.

Every time one of those riders stood back up, brushed off the white dust, and looked back uphill, the mountain yielded a little ground. Sport up here isn't just about technique; it’s about the will to get up over and over until fear turns into adrenaline, and adrenaline into control.

Finding the Rhythm: The "Butter" Texture

We climbed toward the mid-mountain sectors, where the altitude begins to demand more from your lungs and the air feels sharper. In these spots, where the pitch gets serious, being a local makes the difference. In seventeen years, you learn that vertigo is just a sign that you’re alive.

We guided the groups through spots where the snow was at its "sweet spot"—that buttery texture that allows you to carve with almost surreal smoothness. We saw people who couldn't balance in the morning, yet by midday, they were challenging slopes that made their legs shake. That’s the magic of Chillán: the ability to transform a person in a few hours, taking them from total frustration to the glory of a clean descent.

Belonging to the Giant

As the day progressed through laughter, some heavy hits, and the unique camaraderie found only in the snow, the fatigue felt like part of the uniform. You feel the weight of the years in your knees and the wear of the sun in your eyes, but when you see a beginner conquer their greatest fear and head down a difficult run with confidence, every effort makes sense. The mountain takes your physical energy but gives back a spiritual strength you won't find in the valley.

At the end of the afternoon, as the sun began to hide behind the volcano’s fumaroles—staining the steam with colors of purple and fire—the group started the final descent. We headed down with burning quads and soaked gear, but with the satisfaction of having won one more day against the giant.

At the base, the atmosphere was pure euphoria. Those who had fallen a thousand times were now celebrating with faces red from the cold and joy. Being a local at Nevados de Chillan means understanding that every winter is a chance to start over. It’s about teaching that the mountain isn't something to fear, but something to belong to. We said goodbye to the volcano under the first stars, knowing that as long as there is snow and will, the story of these seventeen years will continue to be written in every turn, every jump, and every miracle the mountain decides to grant us.