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In the world's driest desert, towards the highest peak

Some people look for their roots in one place. Daniele Matterazzo looks for them by travelling, pushing himself to where the world seems to end. Atacama, the driest desert on the planet. And then Ojos del Salado, the highest volcano on Earth, up to 6894 metres. The last stretch, a technical passage on fixed ropes, tackled with one arm. Because the body doesn't decide the limits. The mind decides them.

Text and images by Daniele Matterazzo

UNLIMITED HORIZONS

In northern Chile, among vast mineral expanses where the world seems to come to an end, my journey began. It is a land that offers few reference points, no real distractions, where everything is reduced to the essential: water, breath, nature, silence, yourself.

Atacama is not just the driest desert on Earth; it is a primordial space, suspended between sky and land, where the light is sharp and the shadows feel eternal. Mountains rise like solid mirages, and the wind carries stories as ancient as the rock itself. It is in this fragile yet relentless landscape that I chose to pursue my journey, aware that it would not simply be a physical or geographical achievement, but a profound inner exploration. Because in a place like this, you don’t go just to reach a summit.

ATACAMA

Entering the desert means crossing an invisible threshold. There is no exact moment when you realize you have arrived: at some point, the landscape simply stops resembling anything you’ve seen before. Vegetation disappears, and the ground turns into dust, salt, and rock. Everything feels bare, as if time had stripped it down to its core. It is a geography of extremes: endless plateaus, isolated volcanoes, and salt lagoons that suddenly appear like splashes of color in a world dominated by ochre and brown.

Moving through these vast spaces, you feel as if the horizon stretches endlessly, deceiving the eye. The sun strikes with an almost harsh intensity, amplified by altitude and dry air, and every sip of water becomes precious. Then, as the sun sets behind the mountains, the heat vanishes within minutes, and the cold quickly takes its place. Even the wind plays a precise role in this fragile balance: it moves through the stones and constantly reminds you that this place is alive, despite its apparent stillness.

THE VOLCANOES

The landscape is defined by vertical presences that break the flat horizon of the desert: the volcanoes. They rise from the mineral expanse with a quiet, almost solemn naturalness, as if they have always been there, guarding the silence. Many exceed 5,000 meters, and some peaks rise well above 6,000, tracing a stark profile against the clear sky and forming the most extensive mountain chain on the planet.

 FAUNA  

Guanacos, vicuñas, Andean desert foxes: in them I recognized a form of silent resilience: no ostentatious challenge, just a balance achieved over time. These animals do not dominate the landscape as powerfully as volcanoes and mountains but are a deep and harmonious part of it. They are a sign that even in the most extreme places there is an order, an invisible fabric that holds rock, sky, and life together.

OJOS DEL SALADO

Ojos del Salado is the highest volcano on Earth. As I ascended, the silence grew deeper and deeper. It wasn't just the absence of sound, but a presence that enveloped everything, amplifying every heartbeat, every thought. In that silence, fatigue took shape: it wasn't just physical, but mostly mental. There were moments when doubt crept in, subtle, asking if it was really possible to continue and make it to the end. But each time, the answer came from the next step. It wasn't a conquest against the mountain; it was rather a dialogue with it.

THE SUMMIT 6894M

The summit, as it drew closer, no longer represented just a geographical point, but the symbol of a balance achieved between limit and will, intensified by the symptoms of high altitude. In the last section leading to the summit, there is an exposed climbing section on fixed ropes which, in my specific case, I had to ascend out of necessity with one arm using a jumar ascender.

When I reached the top, there was no loud jubilation as I had imagined. Just a long gaze, open to the infinite horizon of the Andes, and a silent awareness: it hadn't been one arm that defined it, but the ability to go beyond what sometimes seems impossible from home. At that moment, the mountain was no longer a challenge but rather a testimony experienced together with guide Luca Montanari, who was able to ensure my safety.

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