Climbing Trail

The Andes tragedy Part 2

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I saw our rugby captain, Marcelo Perez, followed by several others who looked to be helping the survivors. We then tried to clean the aircraft cabin from the sharp iron used passenger seats also from other items. Meanwhile, Gustavo, Daniel Fernandez and Moncho Sabella try to speak to the co-pilot who turned out to be alive despite being disoriented.

God, I'm so tired. Why is it so hard to breathe?

I looked at the back of the plane. Out there is like another world, only white everywhere. For those of us who haven't seen snow in a lifetime, the world out there looks gripping.

Where are we actually? Could the plane have crashed in the middle of the Andes? How could a plane full of fuel not explode when it crashed and eventually split?

Then I saw my good friend, Bobby Francois, sitting on a suitcase in the snow, his head spinning around. He then said to me, "we're m4mpus."

Then come night. In an instant everything went dark. We were hanging out in the cabin. For lighting, we light matches. There was a sense of worry because we could smell the plane's fuel here and there.

The air at this height felt very thin, making me tired quickly. I chose a corner place a bit away from the wounded, the mutilated bodies and the corpses of my friends. I saw my hands full of blood.

The compartment dividing net with passenger decks, arranged in such a way, hangs its left right onto an aluminum pole and serves as a hammock for one person. This brilliant idea was done by this man I just met on this plane, Coche Inciarte.

In the dark, our bodies pile up to help fight the cold, and try to sleep. I closed my eyes and thought about how bad I was. But considering the friends who lost their lives today, I'm ashamed to have thought so.

The first night felt very long. I woke up to a nightmare. The entire cabin seemed frozen. Whatever we made as a blockade where the plane was split appeared to be ice. Pain was heard everywhere. The morning sunlight we were waiting for seemed like it would never come. I don't think anyone can sleep between us. Our whole bodies were shivering trying to fight the cold. I was surprised when I saw the clock, it was only nine at night. I don't know if we're alive until tomorrow.

Then the cloudy morning light finally touched our battered plane. Then I saw Coche Inciarte looking at me, looking confused, as if he were seeing a ghost. The cold night made us look old in a matter of hours.

The fuselage was lying on its side, while the window of the plane on the other side was facing the sky. The plane broke before hitting the ground. The cables appeared loose and hung on the ceiling of the plane.

Then I went out and immediately saw a gripping sight. The snowy mountains shut us up like a giant U-shaped amphitheater that opened to the west. I immediately felt like crying.

That morning I was with Gustavo Zerbino. Several of his injured friends died last night. Some, like Enrique Platero, are stable. But Susana, Nando Parrado's younger sister, seems to be getting worse. Nando himself is on the verge of death, he is in a coma.

The first thing we did was remove the bodies of the deceased from the cabin and put them in the snow.

Different from the day before, when the snow around us felt soft (Carlos Valeta who stepped on the wrong snow had sank to pass the head), today was hard and frozen. Around us in the snow, there were jagged black stones and plane debris.

Before he died, the co-pilot, Dante Lagurara, said we had just passed Curico and it was likely that we were now at the foot of a mountain entering Chile. The altimeter on the plane showed a figure of 7,000 feet. Then we find out, all the information is wrong.

Marcelo Perez formed a group to collect food and whatever useful items could be found. But only a small amount of food was collected.

Goods and food collected are rationed equally. At that time there was no dispute at all about the distribution of rations.

Here we must try to stay calm, if we panic, we die. Whatever pain, sadness and regret we keep to ourselves. Everyone looked lethargic, probably due to the effects of altitude. We keep telling ourselves, the worst is over. We must remain positive in order to continue to treat the wounded, and give them hope. They are now our responsibility.

Marcelo and his group arranged the empty trunk we found into the shape of a giant cross, hoping our rescuers could see it from above.

We also made an S.O.S sign in the snow.

But reality is beyond hope. No one came to save us. Then night came again, we went back into the cabin of the plane, hoping the cold tonight was not as brutal as last night.

The next morning we clearly heard the sound of the plane passing right above us. Not long after, another plane also passed by, only higher than the first. Every one of us swore, we saw one of those planes tilting its wings, a sign that they were looking at us. We are very happy, help is coming soon. We are very sure. An hour later a twin-engine plane was also heard, we believe the plane was sent to confirm our coordinates, the survivors.

We were running here and there, screaming and crying because we were going to be rescued soon. In that ephoria our attention is now focused on how to explain to the family of our deceased friend what happened. There was not the slightest hunch that half of us would soon overtake them to the afterlife.

Despite all the predictions and expectations, no help came that day. Then came the unanswered questions: why? Why us? When will help come?

Many times we have braced ourselves with the words: this is not an easy rescue mission, they certainly need a helicopter or maybe they are already moving with horses and mules, soon they will be seen on the horizon.

When night came again, we huddled once again in a gloomy cabin. One more night full of horror.

On the third day, we heard the drone again. But surprisingly, they are no longer right above us. The search has moved to another area. I remember that day I looked up, commercial planes flying through us. I raised my hand and prayed, begging, that the people on the plane might see us and send help. Even to this day, whenever I fly across the mountains, I still feel that emotion and pray that God bless the shepherds down there who are cowering in the cold cave.

We all don't know what took so long to help, but we still assure ourselves that they're on their way. What was the plane looking for in an area far away from us? Maybe the rest of Fairchild's plane? Or the accident site? Or the location of the missing plane? That day we were left in confusion.

Gradually, as the days passed, the destroyed cabin was not just rubble. He's been our miserable refuge in the midst of the terrible snow mountains. The fuselage and those of us who swarm in it seem to be no longer part of this world.

27 Of us, which will soon be reduced to 19.then 16, in those early days of despair, never imagined that this shelter would soon turn into a grave.

(Connected)