Chilean Mine Collapse | The Mountain Weeps | 1
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It's Thursday, August 5th, 2010, in the Atacama Desert near Copiapo, Chile. Luis Urzúa walks through the deepest sections of a cavernous copper mine, making his rounds.

He's the shift supervisor, a burly but soft-spoken 54-year-old with a round face and dark hair. It's his job to keep track of where every man is in the mine at all times, and to make sure everything is running smoothly and on schedule. His white helmet sticks to his damp hair. Here, in the tunnels, deep beneath a desert mountain, it's 98 degrees Fahrenheit, and the humidity is a swampy 95%.

As he trudges down the spiraling ramp of the mine's main passageway, he hears an ominous groan, the sound of rocks shifting and crumbling in a distant corner of the mine. The miners here have a name for the haunting sound, which they hear often. They say it's the sound of the mountain weeping.

Urzúa stops and listens carefully. The mine is over 120 years old, and all those years of extracting copper, gold, and other precious metals have made the mountain unstable. He knows that every time the mountain weeps, it could be a warning of an impending collapse. And as supervisor, Urzúa is responsible for the lives of every miner on his shift.

Mining is extremely dangerous work. In the deepest parts, rocks don't just fall, sometimes they explode. Every year, dozens of miners lose fingers, break bones. Two years ago, an explosion killed a geologist, so Urzúa pays close attention whenever something doesn't sound right. If it doesn't stop, he'll need to order an evacuation, something he doesn't want to do.

He's only worked at the San Jose mine for three months, not long enough to earn the trust of his employers. An evacuation and shutdown can cost the mining company hundreds of thousands of dollars. If he gave the order and it turned out to be a false alarm, he could be fired. But finally, the mountain goes silent again, and Urzúa breathes a sigh of relief. He walks deeper into the mine to check on the most troublesome miner on his shift, Mario Sepúlveda,

He finds him deep in a tunnel, down on level 90, more than 2,000 feet below the surface. Sepulveda is 40 years old, with a dark beard and a quick temper. His job is to operate a front loader, a heavy-duty machine that looks like a bulldozer's big brother. Its massive hydraulic shovel is capable of lifting several tons of rock at once.

Usually Sepulveda grinds the loader's gears like a kid street racing a hot rod. But today, Urzuwa finds him running his machine smoothly, scooping up tons of copper-flecked rock into piles to be trucked back up to the surface. His technique has improved dramatically since the last time Urzuwa saw him. One of his coworkers must have set him straight.

Suddenly, a dull boom resounds off the walls. It sounds like a demolition charge has gone off. But there's no dynamiting set for today. Has something somewhere in the mine collapsed? Before he can decide what to do next. An air pressure wave plunges through the mine. An effect the miners call the piston. It presses painfully against Azura's ears. His head feels like it's a balloon about to pop.

Something massive must have fallen in the mine, blasting air down the tunnels with a pummeling force. Urzúa grits his teeth against the pane, then runs up the Sepulveda in the front motor's cab. "Quick! To the surface!" From up the ramp, he sees lights heading towards them: a white Toyota pickup truck. It skids to a stop next to them. Behind the wheel is Urzúa's second-in-command, Florencio Ávalos.

He's young for a shift foreman, only 31, but he exudes a quiet confidence that has earned him the respect of even the oldest miners. He rolls down his window and shouts, "Get in! The mine is collapsing!" Urzuwa jumps into the passenger seat and yells to Sepulveda, "Mario, leave the front loader! Jump in the back!" The mountain is no longer just weeping, it's screaming. But Urzuwa can't head for the surface just yet.

There are men deeper in the mine, men he's responsible for. He gives Avalos a simple command. Down to the refuge. The refuge is the most heavily fortified room in the mine. It's where every crew member knows to go if the mine has collapsed. The safe place. As the pickup speeds down the narrow tunnel, its lights piercing through the dust, Urzua just hopes his crew will be there waiting for him.

If they aren't, it will be his job to search the mind until he knows every last man is accounted for and safe. In our fast-paced, screen-filled world, it can be all too easy to lose that sense of imagination and wonder. If you're looking for new ways to ignite your creativity and open your mind to fresh perspectives, then let Audible be your guide. Whether you listen to stories, motivation, or any genre you love, Audible is the place for you.

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Progressive Casualty Insurance Company & Affiliates. Price and coverage match limited by state law. From Wondery, I'm Mike Corey, and this is Against the Odds. On August 5th, 2010, the San Jose mine in northern Chile collapsed, leaving 33 miners trapped over 2,000 feet underground. At first, the outside world assumed the men were crushed under tons of caved-in rubble.

But down in the blocked mine, the miners were still alive, deep underground, fearing the worst, that they would be left for dead and slowly succumb to despair and starvation. The rescue effort that followed was unprecedented. No drillers had ever hit a target so deep and with such precision, and no rescue had ever been watched by over 1 billion people around the globe.

This is the story of how miners, rescue specialists, Chilean politicians and even NASA teamed up to reunite Los Treinta y Tres, the 33, with their families above ground. This is Episode 1, The Mountain Weeps. It's the morning of August 5th, five hours before the collapse of the San Jose mine. Luis Urzúa squints against the low sun as he gazes out the window of a bus.

It's taking him through the Atacama Desert to the San Jose. The Atacama is one of the least hospitable places on Earth, with brutal temperature swings and scant rainfall. But today, the rocky landscape is covered in fields of blue flowers, the product of a recent winter storm. Urzúa makes a mental note to tell his wife about them. She's a poet and will appreciate that he noticed them.

As a shift supervisor, Urzúa has a senior staff parking space at the mine. But he's riding the bus with his fellow miners to show he's a man of the people. He's only worked at the San Jose for three months, and he can sense he has yet to earn the trust of the rank and file miners who work under him. And down below, trust is everything. Urzúa comes from a family of miners and has worked in the industry for over 30 years. His father put food on the table, mining the stony earth.

Now it's how Ursúa pays for his daughter's college tuition. He's proud to be one of Chile's more than 200,000 miners. It's the national industry. Over half of Chile's exports are gold, silver, copper, and other precious metals. There's even a national holiday, the Day of the Miner. In this country, to be a good miner is to be a good Chilean.

The bus arrives and Urzúa disembarks and crosses the parking lot to the mine's single entrance. A 15 by 20 foot hole in the earth, it's surrounded by jagged rocks that look like blackened teeth. The old mine violates at least a dozen safety codes. There should be at least one more entrance for starters. But because of the heightened risks, the mine pays 20% above the Chilean standard. For Urzúa, that means he can pay for his daughter's tuition.

Urzúa nods to the night shift emerging from the entrance. Two grizzled lift operators walk past, a thin film of dust trailing off them in flakes. Urzúa waves to the tired workers, greeting them with a smile. "Morning, guys. How was the shift?" "She wept all night. In the pit especially." Urzúa knows that for all their machismo, miners are a superstitious bunch. For them, the mountain is a woman.

and every sound she makes is a potential omen of doom. Still, he tries to lighten their mood with a joke. "So which one of you boys broke her heart?" The joke lands flat. The men ignore him and trudge off, their brows knitted with worry. But Urzúa is undeterred. He's feeling optimistic today. Maybe it was those fields of blue flowers that put him in a good mood.

"Today is the day I win over my men," he thinks. Then, he strides out of the sun and into the darkness of the mine, his head held high, ready to get to work. Mario Sepulveda runs through the streets of the mining town Copiapro, past grocery stores, hotel rooms, and bars already filling up with miners from the San Jose's night shift.

He's late. His commuter bus from the capital city of Santiago, nine hours away, was delayed and he's about to miss the last minibus to the mine. He figures if he misses his shift, he'll be fired for sure. Sepúlveda already has a reputation as a troublemaker. He's had frequent dust-ups with management, losing his temper over blatant safety violations he's noticed, like crumbling escape routes and insufficient emergency supplies.

He's worked in enough mines to know that the San Jose is a deathtrap. He tells anyone who will listen, it's only a matter of time before the whole place comes crashing down. A few months ago, he even began organizing a union to fight for safer working conditions. But he gave up when it turned out that the National Workers Union was just as corrupt as the mine bosses. When Sepulveda reaches the minibus stop, it's deserted. He must have missed the last one.

His shoulders clench with tension, but then he realizes he's not concerned about being fired. He's relieved. A friend recently offered him a job at a safer mine. If he gets his pink slip, he can start right away. The other mine doesn't pay as well, but he doesn't care about that.

Right now he makes $1,200 a month, triple the Chilean minimum wage. He can afford to take a pay cut, especially if it means not worrying about leaving his wife a widow, his daughter and son fatherless. He owes nothing to the San Jose's corrupt management. I'm done risking my life for those cheap bastards, he thinks. Missing the bus was a sign. Sepulveda, you lucky dog. I'm late too. Come on, hop on.

The tardy bus driver waves for him to board. Sepulveda stares at the open door, weighing his options. Money versus safety. Managers he despises versus managers he doesn't know. Logically, it's a coin toss. But really, as soon as the minibus appeared, Sepulveda made his choice. It's one thing to get fired. It's another to walk off the job. And he's not a quitter.

Luis Urzúa prepares for his 12-hour shift in the locker room at the top of the mine. He clips on his heavy canvas overalls, affixes an extra headlamp battery pack to his belt, and then puts on his white helmet. The white signifies that Urzúa is the shift supervisor. He's officially in charge of all the men in the mine, which today will be… how many? As he looks around the locker room, he notes many of his men haven't arrived yet.

Here at the San Jose, he never knows exactly how many will show up for their shift, or if some night workers will stay on to earn valuable overtime. Today, he could have as few as 16, or as many as 40. Urzúa exits the locker room and climbs into his white Toyota pickup truck. He begins his descent down the switchback service road the miners called "La Rampa" .

It's just over 15 feet tall and 15 feet wide, with craggy brown walls. Its ceiling is lined with protective wire mesh to prevent small rocks from tumbling down and damaging equipment or miners. Every day, this subterranean road is the industrial highway for the mine's front loaders, personnel shuttles, jumbo lifters, cargo trucks, and right now, Urzúa's pickup.

The ramp extends from level 720 at the top of the mine all the way down to the deepest section, level 40. The numbers represent meters above sea level, but also remind the miners how far they are beneath the surface. Level 40 is 680 meters down, nearly half a mile. Borzua taps his horn, a morning hello to the miners working in the smaller corridors carved into the mountain off the ramp's main artery.

This is where the money is made, where miners access previously unreachable ore. Okay, back her up! Watch out, she's coming in hot! The mountain they're mining mostly consists of diorite, a rock far stronger than granite.

Hidden in the diorite are rich veins of copper and other precious minerals. But extracting those minerals comes at a price. Every new tunnel, shaft, and passageway they dig makes the whole mine a little bit less stable. And after 120 years of digging, there are miles and miles of those tunnels, crisscrossing the mountain like the holes in a block of Swiss cheese. ♪

Urzúa rolls down his window as he approaches level 540, approximately one-fifth of the way down the mine. A few months back, a crack appeared here in one of the ramp's walls. A few miners staged a walkout until a geologist and engineer were sent down to confirm the mine was still safe. Urzúa's not one to stir up trouble, but he found the response from the San Jose-taught brass to be downright shameful.

Instead of doing a full risk assessment, the chief engineer slid a mirror inside the crack and told the miners that if it broke, they should get out. Urzúa stops his pickup truck beside the crack and squints inside. The mirror is still intact, for now. Mario Sepúlveda sits behind the controls of his industrial front loader in the mechanic shop, deep in level 135.

For some reason, his machine keeps breaking down, so he's trying to diagnose the problem. One of the mechanics, Jose Enriquez, stands outside the loader, hands on his hips. At 54, he's one of the oldest miners at the San Jose. Tall and balding, he scowls at Sepulveda. "Okay Mario, show me what you've been doing."

Sepulveda hates how arrogant the mechanics are. They always assume it's the operator's fault, not their equipment for being so old and poorly maintained. But dutifully, he revs the engine of the industrial beast. He rolls it forward, pretends to scoop up some imaginary rocks, then slams it into reverse and backs up. Enriquez waves his arms and yells, "Stop! Stop! Who taught you to drive like that?" Sepulveda feels his cheeks flush with anger.

He yells back. Nobody taught me. They gave me the job, and I do it. Well, you can't just go from drive to reverse. You're destroying the gears. You have to shift to neutral first. Sepulveda mulls it over. That actually makes a lot of sense. Like this? He repeats his actions, but this time gently shifts into neutral before entering into reverse. The front loader's engine purrs, smooth as silk.

The mechanics mockingly applaud him, but Sepulveda senses they're impressed with how quickly he got the hang of it. He flourishes his hand like a showman and takes a bow, then drives out of the mechanic shop and down the ramp. He'll be working deep on level 90 today, a mere 50 meters above the mine's bottom floor. And he's got to make up for lost time.

A few hours later, Sepulveda is hard at work, scooping rocks with his front loader into a pile to prepare for the cargo trucks. Now that he's got the hang of it, it's kind of a mechanical dance, he thinks. Man melding with machine, he looks up the ramp and sees a white helmet walking his way. Ursua. No problem, Sepulveda thinks. He's a front-loading pro now. Time to show off for the boss.

Sepulveda swings the giant shovel back towards the wall and shifts into neutral. But then, through his thick ear protectors, he hears a muffled boom. His first thought is that it's the front loader breaking down again. Maybe a blown tire. Nervously, he looks at Ursua, hoping he didn't just screw up in front of the boss. Ursua is waving at him, yelling something. Sepulveda takes off his ear protectors to hear.

The pressure shockwave of the piston hits him dead on. It feels like his eyeballs are going to pop out of his skull. He grips the controls, steadying himself. When he looks up, he sees Ozuo staggering his way. "Get to the surface!" Then, the foreman, Florencio Ávalos, swerves up in the white Toyota pickup truck. "Get in! The mine is collapsing!" Sepulveda snaps to attention.

This is it. Just like he predicted. He dashes to the truck and jumps into the flatbed. Urzuwa climbs into the cab and yells at Avalos, "To the refuge!" Sepulveda grips the side of the truck, holding on for dear life as Avalos speeds them to the break room on level 90, the one they call "The Refuge." Standard protocol dictates that if there's a mine collapse, everyone heads to its shelter and waits for the cave-in to subside.

A thick dust cloud rolls towards them from higher up in the mine. They reach the refuge just ahead of it. Sepulveda leaps from the truck, his heart in his throat. He shouldn't even be here, he thinks. If he hadn't gotten on that bus this morning, this mine wouldn't be crumbling down around him. He follows close on Ursua's heels to the refuge. Ursua throws open the door. It's empty. None of the other miners have made it.

Above them, Sepulveda can hear more of those terrible sounds. The mountain weeping, the mountain collapsing, the mountain coming down on top of them. When you're hiring, time is of the essence. That's why more than 3.5 million businesses worldwide use Indeed to find exceptional talent fast. Indeed's powerful matching engine works quickly. So quickly that, according to Indeed data worldwide, every minute, 23 hires are made on Indeed.

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Head over to Symbiotica.com and use code "Odds" for 20% off and free shipping on your subscription order. - Ship supervisor Luis Ursua gazes over the empty refuge. His mind racing. The mountain is caving in, but what part? At the mirror crack? Further down in the pit? Maybe it's one section. Maybe it's the entire mine. The most important question of all dominates his consciousness. Where are the rest of his men?

There's only one way to make sure he finds them all. Start at the lowest level and work his way up. Ursua exits the refuge back onto the ramp. Immediately he's blanketed in a dust cloud from the collapsed rock somewhere higher up in the mine. Visibility shrinks to barely three feet in front of his face. He covers his mouth and shouts over the patter of debris to Avalos and Sepulveda. "There are men working on level 40! We have to go down!"

Urzúa is a trained topographer, which helps him carry a mental map of the mine in his head. It's also his job to know who is working where and when. And right now, he knows there are some unfortunate souls collecting ore near the very bottom of the mine. Avalos jumps back into the driver's seat, no questions asked. In mining culture, the shift supervisor's word is Holy Gospel.

After three decades, Urzúa can tell if a man follows orders because he'll get fired or because he respects his job. Avalos respects the job. Sepulveda, on the other hand, he blankly shuffles back to the flatbed of the truck and climbs aboard. Urzúa feels for the disoriented miner, but right now there's no time to waste on hand-holding. He sits shotgun and buckles up.

Avalos creeps the truck forward. Pebbles bounce off the hood. It's hailing on the roof of the mine. Each pebble jangles Ursua's nerves. If any one of them were a boulder, they'd be crushed to death. Ursua flinches at the sound of Sepulveda slapping the window behind him. "Look! What's that up ahead?" There, in the soupy fog, a faint light spins in circles. It's the universal mining signal to evacuate. Avalos slows the truck.

Urzua hops out and walks forward into the dust cloud. A front loader gradually rumbles up the incline. Half a dozen miners huddle under its broad industrial shove, hitching a ride. Urzua studies them carefully. Their eyes are full of fear, but they appear to be unharmed. He does a quick headcount. There's still one man missing. Get up to the refuge. We'll meet you there. The driver of the front loader nods and proceeds on.

It only takes a few seconds for the massive machine to disappear into the dust. Ursua climbs back into the pickup. An image flashes in his mind: his wife and daughter's faces, wracked with worry. Ursua wants to see them again, more than anything in the world. If he could tell Avalos to turn around and drive them out of the mine right now, he would. But that's not an option.

When you wear the white supervisor's helmet, the life of every man on the shift must come before yours. He turns to Avalos. We're still missing one man. Keep going down. We need to find him. Avalos doesn't hesitate. He puts the old pickup truck in gear and they descend deeper into the mine. Sepulveda rides in the back of the truck's flatbed, his heart throbbing like it's about to burst from his chest.

He's furious with himself. He should be in the refuge right now. He was right there, but his adrenaline was surging and he couldn't think straight. And now he's heading down to level 40 in the back of a pickup truck to the most dangerous depths of the mine, where big rocks fall from the ceiling on a monthly basis even without a collapse. The pickup slows. Sepulveda peers over the top of the cab. Just up ahead, two headlights illuminate the dust cloud in front of them.

Sepulveda watches Ursua climb out of the pickup and walk into the dusty murk. Poised, strong, confidently operating by the book, Sepulveda can't begin to imagine how he does it. Some men must just be built differently. But then again, what if they aren't? He wonders. What if courage is a choice you make once and then again and again until you've remade yourself into a leader?

The kind of man others respect without question. The kind of man people look up to in a crisis. Sepulveda doesn't know if that's the case, but he thinks about the family he's left behind on the surface. His wife Elvira, his daughter Scarlet, his brave little man Francisco. If he's going to die down here and never see them again, then he's going to go out like a man.

Urzúa trudges towards the headlights until he can make out the silhouette of the vehicle attached to them, a big, heavy-duty cargo truck. He walks to the driver's side door and calls out, "Hello! Are you alright?" Urzúa recognizes the driver and can see that he's paralyzed with fright. The poor guy lost two fingers in a previous accident, and now the mountain is coming for him again.

Urzua opens the door to pull the terrified man from the cab. "It's okay, but hurry! Get to the pickup! We have to get back!" He's interrupted by an explosion, the loudest one yet. Somewhere in the mine, something gargantuan just fell. The walls rattle from the force. Urzua's grip tightens around the truck driver's arm. He braces for what he knows is coming next.

The piston feels like a battering ram slamming into Ursua's chest, compressing his lungs, piercing his eardrums. A tidal wave of dust blinds them like a sandstorm. To the pickup! Get to the pickup! He staggers through the haze, guiding the truck driver to the Toyota pickup's flatbed. They'll leave the cargo truck behind. Ursua wants the speed and maneuverability that only a pickup can provide.

Through the windshield, a churning wall of opaque dust blocks all visibility. If they try to move now, they'll be driving blind. But the longer they're outside the refuge, the more likely they are to get crushed by a boulder or buried under a rockfall. Ursua pats Avalos on the shoulder. "We can't stay here. Just drive ahead slowly. You can do it." Avalos puts the pickup truck into gear and gently taps the accelerator, inching his way into the dust cloud.

Sepulveda sits in the back of the slowly moving truck. He's not sure where they are in the mine now, the thick dust. It's impossible to tell. He thinks they may have overshot the refuge, but he can't be sure. Sitting beside him is the cargo truck driver, the man they just pulled out of the lowest level of the mine. He's panic-stricken, hyperventilating like a panting dog. Sepulveda knows panic can be contagious. He tells himself to fight it.

Though, it's not an easy task. For the last 15 minutes, the truck has been creeping up the ramp, barely faster than he could walk. Stones plunk off his helmet. To Sepulveda, each one feels like a taunt from the devil himself. A reminder that a bigger stone could kill him at any moment.

He wants to take the wheel, slam his foot on the floor, and speed ahead. Something, anything in this crisis to take back control. To be a man instead of a passive victim. Then he sees a constellation of miners' headlamps bobbing towards him in the dust, running directly at the truck. "Hey! Quick guys! Get in!" As the men run, a shockwave from another collapse surges violently through the mine.

The road undulates as solid rock moves in waves. Sepulveda holds fast to the side of the truck, like a cowboy clutching the mane of a bronco. We can only watch as the approaching miners are flung off their feet and ragdolled into the stone walls of the ramp. One smacks the wall face first, sending his teeth flying. The miners stagger to their feet, punch drunk. Sepulveda shouts to them, Get in!

The miners climb into the truck's flatbed, cramming in alongside Sepulveda. There's a dozen of them, maybe more, and they hang over the sides of the flatbed, barely able to fit. He asks the man with the broken teeth, "Why aren't you in the refuge?" "We were, but when the mountain stopped shaking, we made a break for the surface."

Sepulveda looks at their panicked faces and realizes they're more scared than he is. They need someone to take charge of the situation. That should be Ursua, the shift supervisor. But right now, he and Avalos are inside the cab of the pickup, windows rolled up, doing nothing to calm their men. Sepulveda can't bear to sit for one second longer. He grabs his flashlight, jumps down from the pickup's flatbed, and runs ahead, into the dust cloud. Follow me!

As soon as he's out front, Sepulveda is glad he took action. The back of the pickup is so weighted down with men that its headlights are pitched up towards the ceiling. They need his flashlight to illuminate the roadway, which is covered with cracks and debris. So, with Sepulveda leading the way, the crowded pickup inches forward, slowly towards the surface. Urzúa sits shotgun in the truck, his eyes homing in on Sepulveda's flashlight up ahead.

For now, the mountain has gone eerily quiet. During the collapse, Urzúa had to follow protocol, get his men to the safety of the refuge. Now that the cave-ins have subsided, his objective has shifted: to get everyone to the surface as fast as possible. Whatever decision he makes, he has to do it on his own.

Urzúa's had no communication with the San Jose's mining office. Radios and cell signals don't penetrate this deep beneath the surface, and the collapse has most likely snapped all hard-wired communication lines. The ramp is the only way in and out of the mine. If it's blocked, Urzúa isn't sure what they can do to escape. He has no other evacuation plan.

In his three months on the job, he's tried to learn every tunnel, nook and cranny of the San Jose. But he knows his mental map is not yet complete. But he can't worry about that right now. All he can do is follow Sepulveda's flashlight, hoping, praying he can lead them to the surface.

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Just beyond, barely visible through the haze, Mario Sepulveda waves his flashlight like an air traffic controller, signaling that the road ahead is clear enough for them to proceed. Urzúa's heart leaps. It's the sound of the mine's transport shuttle coming towards them down the ramp. Urzúa hops out of the pickup and approaches, waving his flashlight.

The shuttle is the size of a small city bus. It's designed to carry miners up and down the ramp, from the surface to their various workplaces. Aboard it now are just two people, the driver and one other miner. Ursua walks up to the driver's window. What happened? Something big collapsed behind us as we were driving. We barely made it through. We're going down to the refuge. Ursua shakes his head.

He wants to go up, not down, before there's another collapse. "No, no, no. Turn around and follow us to the surface." He turns to the dozen or so miners crammed into the flatbed of the pickup. "Everyone, into the shuttle. You'll be safer in there." Then he calls out to the shuttle driver. "We'll drive ahead in the pickup. Stay close. We'll lead the way past the pit." At level 150, the ramp runs alongside a massive cavern called the Pit.

It extends for nearly 100 feet straight down. Under normal conditions, it's roped off and easily avoided. But these are not normal conditions. With all the dust they can barely see, and the collapse might have knocked down the ropes, it would be all too easy for one wrong turn to send a vehicle tumbling over the edge. So Ursua wants to lead the way with Avalos in the pickup.

If anyone's going to fall to their deaths, he wants it to just be him and Avalos, not a shuttle full of men. Urzuwa supervises the miner's move to the shuttle, then climbs back into the passenger seat next to Avalos. "Okay Sepulveda, go ahead. We're right behind you." Sepulveda resumes his careful march up the ramp, the beam of his flashlight piercing the dusty air. Urzuwa and Avalos follow in the pickup, with the shuttle close on their bumper.

Suddenly, Sepulveda stops, waving his flashlight back and forth. Something is wrong. Urzúa signals Avalos to stop and jumps out to size up the problem. He sees immediately why Sepulveda stopped. There are too many fallen rocks on the ramp to proceed any further in the vehicles. Urzúa calls out to the men. We go on foot from here. Let's go. Urzúa and Sepulveda lead the way up the steep grade.

The air is so dusty, hot, and humid. Breathing it feels like slurping soup. Urzu aspires a looming mass waiting for them on the dark path, but he can't make out what it is. Hold up! He waits for the dust to settle so he can get a clearer view on what's blocking their path. What he sees makes him gasp. A solid slab of rock has cut off the ramp like a guillotine.

It's floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Ursua can't see where it begins or ends. It must be at least 20 feet tall, maybe more, and weigh thousands of tons. There's no way for them to move it, and no way around. They're trapped.

Urzúa thinks about survival stories from Chile's mining history that he heard growing up. But he can't remember hearing about any collapse half as dire as the crisis he finds himself in now. As far as he knows, there's never been a collapse this big or this deep. He doesn't know exactly how big the block is, but he does know that the standard escape route and rescue tactics are unlikely to work.

The San Jose has only one way in and one way out, and that's the ramp. Even if they could find a way around this blockage, through a side passage or ventilation shaft, the risk of being trapped by another collapse is too great. And for rescuers on the other side, it's also too risky to climb through. To reach Ursua and his men, rescuers will most likely have to drill a new passage down to them, reinforcing it as they go.

Urzúa scans the faces of his men. Sheer panic has been replaced by dread. They clearly need him to take charge. He needs to plot the next steps for survival. But for the first time in his three-decade career, he doesn't know what to say or what to do. He's afraid to tell them the grim truth: that they'll most likely be trapped down here for weeks or even longer.

Or, the worst case scenario, that they'll be abandoned, given up for dead. Urzúa stands there, paralyzed. His men stare back. After a long silence, one of the miners calls out, I'm going to crawl through! It's Alex Vega, one of the youngest and smallest of the miners. The others call him Pato, his childhood nickname, the Spanish word for duck.

If anyone can squeeze through the tiny crack at the base of the rock wall, it's him. But Ursua isn't so sure. It's a reckless, crazy idea that runs completely counter to standard operating procedure. No, Pato. Even if there's a sliver of space, if the rock shifts, you'll be crushed like a beer can.

But now the other miners chime in. "No, don't stop him. Let him in. Let him go. Let him go. Let him go." "He's small enough for the craft. Let him go." Normally, the supervisor's word is the final authority. End of discussion. Now Urzúa senses his control is slipping away. Discipline is unraveling. But the truth is, he has no plan. He has no choice but to consider Pato's idea. And he has to admit, it does make sense.

If Pato makes it through, he could alert the authorities that there are others still alive. If they wait, any route to the top might get cut off in another collapse. Though it goes against all Ozuwa's training, he decides that he has to let Pato proceed. But he needs to make sure the younger miner knows the risks. "Pato, listen. If you do make it through,

It'll be hours until you reach the surface, and at any moment there could be another collapse. I... I understand. If there's any motion, any sound, you come right back, okay? Yes, I will, boss. I promise. Pato hurries to the blockage and drops to his belly. Then he wedges himself into a small opening at the bottom. Ursua watches him wriggle under the rock and disappear, a pit forming in his stomach.

It's the first time in his career that he's thrown out the rulebook and improvised a solution. He feels unsteady and that he's in uncharted territory. As Pato inches his way further into the crevice, no one says a word. The only sound is the occasional rustle of falling pebbles and dirt. Ursua listens, silently praying he finds a way through.

At first, Sepulveda supports Ursua's decision to let Pato try to crawl under the wall. Any action, however reckless, is better than nothing. But as the minutes tick by, all he can think about are the endless ways it could go horribly, horribly wrong. What happens if Pato makes it past this obstacle, but ends up trapped on the other side, unable to get back? What if he makes it halfway up to the surface, only to be killed by another collapse?

Sepulveda leans forward and cups his hand to his ear, holding it against the face of the rock slab. Each sound of Pato crawling away grows quieter, more distant. Sepulveda thought he would have climbed through to the other side by now, but it sounds like he's still under the rock slab blocking the ramp. Sepulveda grows impatient. He wants to punch through the walls, take some action, but it's too late.

He should have formed a union and made them shut down the mine. He should have skipped work and not gotten on the bus. Instead, he's here, trapped, like everyone else. Silence. Pato has stopped moving. A thousand different forms of death flood Sepulveda's mind. A silent rock shift crushing the small miner like a wine grape. A jagged shard popping loose to slash his throat.

But then, from under the rock, he hears Pato's muffled voice. There's no way through. Sepulveda exhales, relieved. He's alive. But then Pato's words sink in. No. Way. Through. They really are trapped. Sepulveda turns to Ursua. The boss will have an answer. As the White Helmet, that's his job. But to Sepulveda's dismay, Ursua's just standing there,

Grimly staring at the blockage, he looks just as hopeless as the rest of the miners. A surge of anger swells inside Sepulveda. This is the problem with management. Empty stuffed shirts who don't have a plan for when things go wrong. It's the miners who work closest to the rock, who know how to get things done. He's so angry he can no longer stay quiet. He boldly steps forward and shouts, Wake up! The men turn to him, startled and scared.

Sepulveda can read it plain as day on their faces. They need hope. They need a hero. A real leader. Not just a white helmet. Sepulveda looks around at his coworkers and feels his face break into a smile. Suddenly, he feels like his whole life has been leading him to this moment. He turns to Ursua and looks him squarely in the eyes. I will find another way out.

Looking around, Sepulveda can see that his words have already lifted the spirits of his fellow miners. It feels good to give them hope. Now, he just needs to deliver on that hope. This mine is a maze, with hundreds of tunnels and ventilation shafts. One of them, somewhere, must lead to the surface. He just needs to find it.

This is episode one of our four-part series, Chilean Mind Collapse.

A quick note about our scenes. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said, but everything is based on historical research. If you'd like to learn more about this event, we highly recommend the books Deep Down Dark by Hector Tobar and 33 Men by Jonathan Franklin. I'm your host, Mike Corey. Brendan Joyce wrote this episode. Our editor is Maura Walls. Additional editing by Matt Wise.

Our associate producer is Brian White. Our audio engineer is Sergio Enriquez. Sound design is by Rob Shieliga. Our senior producer is Andy Herman. Our executive producers are Stephanie Jentz and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Hey, it's Guy Raz here, host of How I Built This, a podcast that gives you a front row seat to how some of the best known companies in the world were built.

In a new weekly series we've launched called Advice Line, I'm joined by some legendary founders and together we talk to entrepreneurs in every industry to help tackle their roadblocks in real time. Everybody buys on feeling, Guy, like everybody. So if you don't give them the feeling that they're looking for, they're not going to buy. A lot of times founders will go outside of themselves to build a story. And

and you can't replicate heart. You know, I think we all have a little bit of imposter syndrome, which isn't the worst thing in the world because it doesn't allow you to get overconfident and think that you're invincible. Check out the advice line by following How I Built This on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen to How I Built This early and ad-free right now on Wondery+.