Up close, though, the slope is not only steeper than expected, but pocked with crevasses and gravelly mounds. And those scatterings of white? They're snowfields that feel endless when you're hauling yourself along them.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. After all, I did know I was signing up for a tour to climb one of Chile's most active volcanoes.

My heart thumps as though it's trying to break out of my ribcage, my heaving lungs competing for space. We haven't been going for even an hour yet and my legs are also aching, a burning in my thighs and a cramping in my calves.

Helmet affixed, warm clothes layered, and ice pick in hand, I'm on my way up the Villarrica Volcano near the town of Pucn, about 700 kilometres south of Santiago. In the early morning light, it's only now dawning on me how much of a challenge this will be.

Villarrica's last major eruption was in 2015, when it spewed an initial column of ash and rock particles three kilometres into the air, turning the night sky into an orange glow. But it's not the chance of an unexpected lava encounter that is worrying me right now - it's the fact the summit is still so far away.

Trekking up, the stones seem to go forever. "One step after another, Michael," I tell myself. My boots start to feel heavier, as does my pack. I don't think it can get any harder. Then we hit the snow line.

More than 2000 metres above sea level, the floor of slippery rocks and tufts of durable plants has been replaced by a carpet of snow and ice. It's now getting slippery at times, precarious at others, and just occasionally downright wet and mushy. Finally I see why the guide has given me an ice pick for the climb, supporting myself as I clamber up, hoping I don't have to use it for its main purpose - to stop from sliding all the way down if I fall over.

"Oi aya eh!" Someone ahead shouts as another person whistles. All of us stop and look up to see some large rocks hurtling down from above, dislodged by a climber. One narrowly misses a couple of us, and we jump aside just in time.

Perhaps this is why the local name for Villarrica is Rucapilln, which means "the demon's house". It's Michael versus the volcano.

But the near miss from the mini-avalanche gives us a good reason to take a break, and I look out over the views spread beneath (which are almost distracting enough to forget the pain creeping through my body). Even though it's cold, the sun is bright and a turquoise lake sparkles in the distance. Around it are fertile farming lands and green angular hills.

The scenery is emblematic of Chile's Lakes District, the region just north of Patagonia where Villarrica Volcano is located. Known for its dramatic landscape shaped by years of tectonic activity, there are volcanoes, snow-capped peaks, glacial lakes, and teeming rivers forming the backdrop for a myriad of adventure activities. Charming towns founded by European settlers have become busy tourist resorts and convenient bases to explore the area.

With direct flights from Australia to Santiago, Chile is becoming a more popular destination for Aussies, but it's still the capital city, the desert, and Patagonia that are the main attractions. Down here, though, around towns like Pucn and Puerto Varas, you'll find a different side to Chile. Nature also has its extremes on display, but it's a bit more accessible than the isolated national parks further south. There are the lakeside towns with Bavarian-style guesthouses, but there are also the World Heritage wooden churches of the Chiloé archipelago, where local legends still tell tales of mythological ogres living in the forests.

Before I can explore any more of that, though, I still need to get off this volcano, and the way down is up. For this last stretch, the dangerous cracks in the ice have gone and snow undulates ahead of us, casting light shadows on the white expanse. Large outcrops of volcanic rock poke out occasionally, giving everything a slightly mottled look.

Scramble, scramble. Some loose rocks give way at my feet and I slip slightly. I take a wrong turn and need to use my hands to pull myself up and back onto the rough path. But I'm almost there. Another scramble and I'm at 2847 metres - the top of Villarrica. Smoke coming out of the crater is obscuring the view of the land below, but I know what I've achieved. A five-hour climb - probably, in hindsight, not the hardest thing I've done, but challenging enough for a holiday.

Finally, it's time for the fun part. Because, from near the rim of the crater, the guides have shaped a slight track that leads the whole way down to the bottom of the snow level. Each of us has a small plastic sled to sit on, and I jump on mine and start to slide down. All the heaving in the chest, all the pain in the legs, it's all forgotten in the exhilaration of the ride down on the makeshift luge as I erupt in joy.

Read more about climbing Villarrica Volcano on Michael's Time Travel Turtle website.