Chilean woman dies after 600-meter fall on Llaima volcano during birthday climb

Ingrid Daniela Vera Figueroa woke early on Sunday, May 17th, and decided to mark her 42nd birthday the way she loved most: climbing a volcano. At 3 in the morning, hours before the attempt, she recorded a video for her social media followers. In it, she spoke with genuine excitement about what lay ahead. "I hope God is with me on this wonderful day," she said. "I'm very happy. Yes, I have a little uncertainty about what will happen." She was a mother of two, married, living in Villarrica in Chile's La Araucanía region. Her friends and family knew her as someone drawn to nature, to adventure, to the wild places where mountains met sky.

By mid-afternoon, Vera Figueroa and her climbing group had reached approximately 2,000 meters on the slopes of Llaima volcano, a 3,125-meter peak within Conguillío National Park. The conditions were difficult—wind, cold, low visibility—but they were still climbing. Then, around 3 p.m., something went wrong. The exact cause remains under investigation, but Vera Figueroa slipped. She fell roughly 600 meters down the mountainside. She died at the scene.

The rescue that followed was a study in how weather and terrain can turn a recovery operation into an ordeal. Carabineros helicopters could not reach the body that Sunday. The wind was too strong, the visibility too poor, the temperature too far below zero. Rescue teams had to wait through the night, unable to do anything but prepare. It wasn't until 6:30 a.m. on Monday that specialized units—the elite GOPE (Grupo de Operaciones Especiales) from the Carabineros, firefighters from Cherquenco, and the Araucanía Rescue Corporation—were finally able to reach the slope and recover her remains. They brought her back to Villarrica, where her family waited.

In the days that followed, an uncomfortable detail emerged. The climbing group had never completed the mandatory registration process required by CONAF, the National Forestry Corporation. This was not a technicality. Héctor Tillería, CONAF's regional director, made clear that registration exists for a reason: it activates preventive measures and accelerates rescue coordination. Without it, even a well-trained rescue team operates with less information, less preparation, less time. Tillería also issued a warning that would echo through the coming week. Sub-zero temperatures and dangerous conditions would persist. He urged climbers to register, to use proper equipment, to behave responsibly.

Vera Figueroa's school, where she served as a parent representative, released a statement. They described her as responsible, kind, dedicated—someone always concerned with supporting her children's academic and emotional growth. The school extended condolences to her family. Her friends and family spoke of a woman who loved the outdoors, who sought out trails and peaks, who found joy in pushing herself against the landscape.

Llaima is not an easy climb. It demands good physical condition and mountaineering experience. The standard route ascends the western face, beginning at the Las Araucarias ski station near Nevados de Vilcún. The hike typically takes seven to eight hours. In winter, the entire path is snow-covered; in other seasons, only sections remain white. This was late May, technically late autumn in the Southern Hemisphere, but the mountain was still cold, still dangerous, still unforgiving.

Just weeks earlier, in mid-April, another climber had gotten into trouble on the same volcano. Javier Ignacio Álvarez, a 48-year-old Argentine tourist, had ventured into an unauthorized area and gone missing for hours. GOPE led the search after his companion reported him missing. The same conditions that would later hamper Vera Figueroa's rescue—zero visibility, snow-covered crevasses, brutal cold—had made that search nearly impossible. Álvarez was eventually found safe, but the incident was a warning that Llaima demands respect.

Vera Figueroa's death is now part of that mountain's history. She went to celebrate her life and did not come home. The registration she did not complete, the equipment that may or may not have been adequate, the weather that turned in an instant—these are the details that remain. But so does the video she made that morning, her voice full of hope and uncertainty, speaking to people she would never meet, about a day that would become the last day of her life.