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The Salt Caves

By Daniel Lins - 2009-09-20

Salt Caves

Here we are, in the famous Valley of the Moon (Valle de la Luna) outside San Pedro de Atacama, a desert oasis in the north of Chile.

http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=san+pedro+de+atacama,+chile&sll=37.0625,-95.677068&sspn=40.001301,93.076172&ie=UTF8&ll=-22.90812,-68.362083&spn=0.182157,0.363579&t=h&z=12.

We’re hiking back to town to catch a bus. But more than that, we’re hiking through the rarely seen canyons in the Salt Mountains! It has made this side-trip to San Pedro worth it.

The other guys have taken a different path home. Walking in the creek-bed of the canyon, under towering cliffs threatening to fall, I am happy to be walking alone. Complete Silence. There is no trace of water, but its long-gone presence is obvious everywhere. The cliff walls and canyon floor are made of delicate salt and brown mud, formed into shapes which I never imagined could be made by nature. I see huge toadstools the size of footballs: fringed with white, brown-veined stalks running down into the cliff wall. Funnel-cakes layered one on top of the other. A spiked salt cake, like so many sharpened nails shooting toward the sky.

As I walk, the canyon walls loom over me, and I fear that any false move could send them crashing down to meet the other boulders which have already fallen. I feel enclosed in the earth. As the sun heats up the mountain, it pings and tings: evidence of the salt crystals it is made of, sounding just like the Perito Moreno Glacier before it calves.

I put my ear up to the salt-mud, and hear a deeper rumbling from far within the belly. I realize, finally, that the crevices and sponge-like surface are not from the erosion of so many rains, but evidence of a massive mud flat, which has completely dried out over time. Everywhere, the mud shines with salt crystals, plates and spines and growing fuzzy buds which remind me of the crystal garden I made in 4th grade. I lick one, and it tastes like table salt. I lick another, and it tastes like concrete. Shapes appear around bends in the canyon, and I can only observe. Granite – clear and dark gray. White coral reaching up toward the sky. Bubbly grains and skinny straws. Fans of ferns, drooping toward the ground. Sponges filled with bubbles.

I climb down a 20 foot salt wall. And then another. They must have been waterfalls in prehistoric times. I crawl through a tunnel under the mountain and wonder if the cracked ceiling will crash down onto me. I remain silent, and come safely out into daylight again.

This is like no other place on earth. I doubt even the grand canyon could rival this for variety. I pace in awe, noting evidence of tumultuous waters and long drying periods. Before seeing this, I may have doubted that nature alone could have crafted such magnificent works of art. But I see here: God’s creative glory played out even among the dry sand and rocks of the earth.

It’s sad, because I know that within a few years, this place will be a hotbed of tourists, with guides and signs and handrails: "Don’t touch the rocks!" "Stay on the path!" But for now, we can enjoy it in peace.

I cross under another arch, this one with huge boulders in front. Marble-hued salt crystals, clear as glass and big as cars. It is like some ancient exit gate. With a last breath of awe, I step out of the wonderland and into the desert sands again.