Liberty Road Report 3: Arpa

The road tumbles up the rocky valley, heading towards distant white peaks, obscured by dust. We pass vinyards. Tiny buds of new growth glow hallucinogenic green against the black earth, pink flowers dot trees in orchards: the calling cards of spring. The dirt road takes us higher, past totemic cacti and boulders the size of homes. And still, in the distance, the mountains, with their snow, seemingly unobtainable. Our destination sits at the end of the road. Ski Arpa, a shoestring cat operation in a remote part of Chile. It’s the second-to-last day of our trip; tomorrow night we will all be on a flight home. Yet at this moment, home seems a million years away. Apra is unlike any other place on the planet. A small refugio, a couple of snowcats and the mountains, covered in snow.

We shack up in the refugio for the night. It’s a humble place, designed to host day guests and provide temporary lodging for the guides. Tonight we have it to ourselves; the guides are down in the valley. Still, we’re not totally alone. Anton “Toni” Sponar is staying in an even smaller structure punched into the side of the mountain less than 100 yards away. Toni founded Arpa. It’s here that he staked out a claim on a dream: a snowcat operation that will rival the best in the world. He’s already got the terrain and the cat. Now the rest needs to fall into place. But before the luxury lodges or even the ski lifts that one day might dot this valley, Toni needs a beer. So we give him one and sit back to listen to his stories, stories of hardship and joy, stories of life and of skiing. Decades of stories, because, although he looks 50, Toni is pushing TK. The hard times might have aged him. But his wiry build and sharp eyes prove that the fountain of youth can be found in the mountains, on skis, and flows from a passion for snow. We spend the evening grilling and drinking Chilean red. The valleys below grow world-class grapes, and the vintage, though recent, goes down well with the smoky Chilean sausages that spit and hiss on the grill. We gorge ourselves as the setting sun combines with a cloudbank to paint the heavens with broad strokes of color: red, yellow and orange. It’s the best sunset we’ve ever seen.

The next day the cat drops us high on an Andean ridge. The terrain is steep, technical and challenging. The snow has been slim here this year, but, after one night blissfully far from everything we’ve left behind, it doesn’t matter. We’ve found heaven, or at least a slice of it, here at Arpa.