Leaning on our packs the only sounds were others munching, then sucking in air. Nobody commented on the view. Lava flows looked as though the stuff were still running down the mountain. The gluey fluid had carved a black path through the surrounding forest like melting chocolate. The lake far below was a bright blue pane of glass suspended in a mountain valley.
Tiny tracks wove out of dense forest into the glass.
Other wrinkled mountains stood over us in judgement - younger relations of this one. With four hours of marching behind us, only one remained ahead, according to our leader. The final stage to the crater began. We lifted heavy legs and dropped them in each other's foot prints for traction. The best view in Chile was blithely ignored by tired novices, who instead stared only at the holes in the snow preceding them.