Araucanía, Chile, Report: I Tried Snowboarding for the 1st Time at an Abandoned Ski Area

Report from Friday, July 31, 2026

72 hours of travel, 8 beers on planes/at airports, 3 lost bags, 2 missed connections, 2 shitty hotels, 2 new friends, and 1 weary grin on my face and I arrived to Chile, thoroughly used up and depleted.

But man, I had a good feeling about the next few months.

The lovely Gabi with APEX Backcountry Guides picked me up in her father’s little 4×4 Mitsubishi and drove us 2.5 hours to Malalcahuello, where I’ll be spending the next 3 months working as a backcountry ski guide and writing stories.

The sun was just breaking through the rain when we pulled up to their land, Sierra Nevada Volcano poking its head out to the south and the Lonquimay Volcano boxing in the valley from the north. 

I was out here, in the country, miles down a dirt road, snow on volcanic peaks in the distance, arriving after the most anxious and frustrating travel of my life, and suddenly:

The world was rich with possibility once again. 

Tacos and micheladas for dinner, then bed by 7:30 p.m.

Up at 5:45 the next morning and lo and behold: fresh snow was sitting on the ground outside the window.

It was going to be a powder day.

Because the airlines lost all of my bags and I arrived with nothing but my shorts, long sleeve-shirt, and computer bag, Forrest Schmidt (APEX’s co-owner and founder of the Andes Avalanche Center) was kind enough to lend me a full kit to go out and ride that day.

The only catch was that he was not a skier — so I had to snowboard.

Yeah, why the hell not?

Forrest drove APEX volunteer Cyrus and I down a sketchy dirt road covered in snow, through a 4-kilometer single-lane tunnel that used to be a railway, then up a windy road through an araucaría forest, and up to the top of a mountain pass where we geared up and got ready to ski tour through the single-most trippiest forest I’ve ever seen at Arenales, an old ski area that is a local favorite for low-angle ski touring.

It was properly dumping snowflakes the size of sopapillas as we bobbed and weaved through razor-sharp leaves of geometrical araucaría trees.

From above treeline, the trees look like the canopy of a rainforest but covered in powder.

“This is a hell of a place,” I thought.

We crossed a quarry of makeshift snows shelters called “quinzhees” that the Chilean army was building as infantry units practiced mountain warfare tactics at the base of the old ski area.

Soon enough, through the wind and the snow and the mesmerizing Dr. Suess-like forest, we were at the top of the zone, ready to send.

I’ve never snowboarded before.

Powsurfed, yes — but not snowboarded.

I was a little tense.

This was a great untouched powder run and I didn’t want to fuck it up and fall all over the place and hate it.

I said a little prayer, asking for flow and steeze, and pointed the board down the mountain.

It wasn’t so bad after all.

Honestly, it was super fun.

A few turns into the run in heavy, high-density powder and I was starting to get the hang of it.

It was just like surfing except that I’m locked in and married to the board.

At the bottom I was pleasantly surprised to find that I actually enjoyed the whole experience.

I never thought I’d say this, but I liked snowboarding.

So up again we went.

The second time around, I was much more confident. 

I watched Forrest rip on his board and studied his body positioning and every move he made and then did my best to imitate what I saw.

Stand up straighter, lean a little further back, hands up, and just groove with it baby. 

On that second run it felt like I knew what I was doing.

Fuck it — let’s do a third lap then. 

Up to the top and the wind was howling but it wasn’t snowing as hard, and the sun reared it’s little Andean head; it wasn’t bright in the mid-winter conditions but the visibility was perfecto.

I went fast this time — as fast as I could.

I didn’t feel as good as on the second run but I still felt some flow and was having a damn good time.

A smile slowly materialized on my face like a phantom appearing in an old photograph. 

This snowboarding thing was exciting.

I might have to do it more often.

Just don’t tell my dad, he’ll be pissed. 

After all those years of training me how to ski, this is how I repay him.

But I think he would still approve once he saw how much fun I was having.

We rode to the bottom to an old wooden barn/building/restaurant with a giant cauldron brewing in the middle.

There are witches in these mountains.

But they are kind.

We met Nancy, owner of the restaurant and former Arenales Ski Area, keeper of the zone; a benevolent incarnate spirit living joyfully in the mountains and serving sopapillas and piñion coffee.

The sopapillas (fried Chilean dough thingys) and piñion coffee are made from the nuts of the araucaría trees.

They were absolutely delicious; some of the yummiest aprés drink and snack I’ve ever encountered anywhere. 

Nancy is a wonderful lady all around.

We warmed our wet bones by the fire and munched and sipped and then hit the scenic road back down to the valley, across Chile’s pristine volcano country, through the old tunnel, back up the sketchy road, back home.

Home. 

For the next 3 months.

I can’t believe that is.

But I rest in grateful knowing that it can be so.

Praise God. 

Who loves both skiers and snowboarders.

Amen.

Avalanche Forecast 

Photos