Climbing Trail

The Andes tragedy Part 26

Before friends continue it would be nice to help each other. Don't forget to like 👍, comment 📝, and make your favorite stories friends.

Check stories. Enjoyable!!!

-------------------------------------------

The sun rises on the tenth day of the journey. We got up at six in the morning, looked across the river, saw the smoke of the bonfire, and a man was standing by his side. Next to him, two other men were still sitting on horses.

I immediately ran to the end of the cliff. The man gestured for me to descend the side of the cliff towards the river. Although close enough, but the sound of a loud river flow makes it difficult to communicate. But the man took a piece of paper, wrote something and wrapped a stone with it, and threw it.

I picked it up, filled in the paper, "I'll have someone pick you up. What do you want?"

I started writing on that paper. Both my hands were shaking.

".... I came from a plane that crashed in the mountains. I am from Uruguay. We've been walking for ten days. At the place where our plane crashed there were still some of my friends who were seriously injured, about fourteen people there. We have to get out of here and we don't know how. We don't have any more food. We're weak. When are you guys coming to pick us up? Help us. We can't even walk."

I tied back the paper just as the man did and threw it back across the river.

I watched anxiously and prayed as the man opened the paper and read the message. The farmer looked up and gave a sign of understanding. He took a piece of bread from his pocket and threw it at me.

I returned to Roberto with a hug to the bread.

"See. Look what I brought. " I said as I approached Roberto.

Roberto almost cried looking at me and the bread I brought.

I then split it in two. "Here, let's eat."

"No," said Roberto. "You just eat. I'm useless. I don't deserve it."

But he finally took it after I forced it. We sat down and ate the bread. It was the best bread I ever ate.

At about nine in the morning, we saw a man coming on a donkey, this time by the river where we were waiting. His name is Armando Serda. He took some cheese from his pocket and gave it to us, then he told us to wait for him while he would feed his sheep in the pasture first.

A few hours later he returned. When he saw Roberto could not walk anymore,

he helped Roberto up on the donkey, and led us to a shallower part of the river so that we could cross it.

After about thirty minutes of walking in the dense forest, we reached the open plains. There's a cottage there.

"We where? " Tanyaku.

"Los Maitenes," said Armando, named the mountainous region in Chile's Colchagua Province, adjacent to the Azutre River.

"We used this cottage to rest while we were at the plateau."

"We still have some friends, they're still in the mountains" I said. "They are dying and need help immediately."

"Sergio has sought your help" replied Armando.

He explained to us about Sergio Catalan, the horseman who first saw us the night before. "How far is it from here to seek help?" I asked.

"The nearest police station is in Puente Negro" he replied. "About ten hours on horseback."

Later, a farmer came out from inside the larger hut, Armando introduced his to us, his name was Enrique Gonzales. He led us to a bonfire near the big hut, we sat on a tree log. Enrique gave us cheese and milk. Armando began cooking with a large pot on the fireplace, and in an instant he had served a steaming meal before us a plate of beans, macaroni, and wheat bread. We ate everything he served us, and he laughed as he refilled our plates.

After we were full, we were invited to the second log cabin, where there were two beds. There was no mattress on it, only sheep feathers on the bed, but we were very grateful to Armando for all the help he gave, not long after we fell asleep.

We woke up at night. Armando and Enrique have prepared food for us. Cheese and milk, boiled meat and beans, plus bread smeared with caramel dulce de leche, as well as hot coffee.

I jokingly said, "It looks like we've exhausted your food supplies," But the two farmers just laughed and forced us to eat more. After we finished eating, we rested together by the fireplace.

Armando and Enrique were amazed when Roberto told him about our suffering on the mountain, but then the story was stopped by the arrival of two Chilean policemen who were walking through the forest to our cottage, with more than ten police patrols on horseback. One of those who was with the police was Sergio Catalan.

"There's no need to thank me" he said calmly, and as we hugged him, he just whispered softly and said, "Thank God, thank you.."

When the mountain police captain identified himself to us, I explained to him that there were still fourteen more people at the scene of the plane crash.

He wanted the names of our friends, but I refused to give them.

"Some of our friends almost died when we left them" I explained. "I'm afraid some people might have died. If you tell them their names, it will give their parents false hope, and they will lose their children a second time."

The police captain understood. "Where was the crash site?" He asks. I looked at Roberto. It is very clear that this police captain did not understand how difficult the rescue effort would be, but when we described our journey for ten days, and roughly the location of the crash, the plane was, the police captain quickly realized that his men were unable to reach the crash site on horseback.

"I'm going to send some of my men back to the Puente Negro" he said, "And call Santiago to deliver the helicopter."

"How long does it take?" i asked.

"If the weather's good, tomorrow they'll be here" he said.

As time passed, I grew more and more worried about my friends who were on the plane, but we had no choice but to wait. We talked to Armando, Enrique, and some cops. Then I went to bed. I spent this restless night sleeping in the hut, worrying the next morning, but when I got up and got out of the hut, I felt worried because I saw a thick fog descending on Las Maitenes.

"Do you think helicopters can land in this foggy state?" I asked Roberto.

"Maybe this fog will soon disappear" he replied.

Enrique and Armando waited for us to have breakfast by the fireplace. Sergio and a few policemen joined us, and while we were eating, we heard the sound of an approaching crowd. In just a few seconds, we were shocked by the arrival of a group of reporters running down the street to our cottage. They hunted as soon as they saw us.

"Are they victims of the plane crash?" They're yelling.

"Roberto's? Fernando?"

Now that all the cameras were pointing at us, the microphone was right in front of us the newspaper reporters were getting ready with the paper and the stationery, and putting the questions to each other.

"How long is your trip?"

"Who else is alive? How can you handle the cold? What are you eating?"

I looked at Roberto with astonishment.

"How did they find us?" I grumbled, "And how did they get here before the helicopter arrived?"

We are surrounded by television reporters and newspapers from all over the world. Their unexpected arrival surprised us, their questions puzzled us a little, but we tried to answer their questions well, even though we kept some sensitive facts. The police captain gave us little time for interviews, then he kept us away from the reporters.

"The fog is still thick" he said to us. "It looks like the helicopter won't be able to arrive today. I will send you to the Puente Negro, waiting for the rescue teams to arrive. Maybe it'll be easier for them to land there."

We nodded our heads, then Roberto and I climbed the horse, followed two officers down the forest, chased by reporters. Suddenly all the noise stopped, all our attention was on the overcast sky. There was a commotion up there, three large helicopters from the Chilean Air Force landed in the meadow near the hut.

Commander Garcia shook his head and said."There's no way we're flying in this weather." Said.

"We have to wait for this thick fog to go. In the meantime, can you tell us about the crash site?"

Once again, I described our journey from the Andes Mountains. Garcia frowned, looking puzzled, then he took a flight map from inside the helicopter and spread it out on the grass.

"Can you show us through this map?" he asked again. He pointed at the map using his finger and said, "We're here." I stared at the map, and after I thought for a while, it was easier to track down the path I had been on with Roberto.

"Here" I said, pointing to the map at the end of the valley at the foot of the mountain called Mount Seler. "They are on this side of the mountain."

Massa and Garcia looked at each other filled with doubt.

"The distance is more than seventy kilometers from here" Garcia said. "And this mountain is too high for you to climb, are you sure?"

I nodded quickly. He still looks at me in disbelief.

(Connected)