Seventy-two days. Most of us start losing our minds if the Wi-Fi goes out for two hours, but for the survivors of the crash of Flight 571, seventy-two days was the literal distance between life and death. You probably know the broad strokes. A plane carrying a rugby team hits a mountain. People eat the dead to survive. Nando Parrado and Roberto Canessa walk out of the wilderness like ghosts. It sounds like a movie script—and it has been, several times—but the actual reality of the Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571 disaster is way grittier, more complex, and frankly more miraculous than the Hollywood versions usually portray.
If you're looking for Flight 227, you're likely thinking of the Fairchild FH-227D, the specific aircraft model that went down. It’s a common mix-up. People search for the flight number or the plane type, but the "Miracle in the Andes" is the heart of the story. It wasn't just a crash; it was a total breakdown of modern safety and a masterclass in human desperation.
The Fatal Mistake in the Clouds
The flight kicked off on October 12, 1972. It was a chartered trip from Montevideo, Uruguay, to Santiago, Chile. On board were members of the Old Christians Club rugby team, plus friends and family. Total count: 45 people. But the weather in the Andes is notorious for a reason. It’s a wall of stone and wind.
They had to stop in Mendoza, Argentina, because the weather was garbage. When they took off again the next day, they weren't flying a high-altitude jet. They were in a turboprop. The Fairchild had limits. The pilot, Colonel Julio César Ferradas, and his co-pilot, Lieutenant-Colonel Dante Héctor Lagurara, made a massive navigation error. Basically, they thought they had passed Curicó, a point where they were supposed to turn north to descend into Santiago.
They hadn't.
They were still right in the middle of the high peaks. When they started descending through the heavy clouds, they weren't heading for a runway. They were heading for a ridge. The "crash of flight 227" wasn't a slow burn; it was a violent, shearing impact. The plane clipped a peak, losing its wings and tail section instantly. The fuselage didn't just explode, though. It slid down a glacier like a high-speed toboggan, eventually coming to a halt at about 11,500 feet.
Survival Is a Mathematical Nightmare
Twelve people died in the initial crash or shortly after. Five more died the next morning. If you've ever been at 11,000 feet, you know the air is thin. It's cold. But this wasn't "I need a jacket" cold. This was "your breath freezes on your face" cold. They were dressed for a rugby match and a Chilean spring, not a sub-zero mountain survival ordeal.
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Honestly, the logistics of their survival are what people usually gloss over. We focus on the "cannibalism" aspect because it’s shocking, but consider the sheer engineering it took to stay alive. They had to create a water-making system. You can’t just eat snow; it lowers your core temperature too fast and causes dehydration. They used pieces of aluminum from the seat backs to create solar basins that melted snow into drinking water. That’s genius under pressure.
Then there was the avalanche.
Imagine surviving a plane crash, starving for two weeks, and then—on October 29—a wall of snow hits the fuselage while you're sleeping. Eight more people died. For three days, the survivors were buried inside that cramped, metal tube under the snow. They were breathing through a tiny hole they poked through with a pole. This is the part where most people would have just quit.
The Ethics of the Unthinkable
Let's talk about the food. It's the elephant in the room. The survivors held a series of agonizing meetings. They were out of everything. A few bars of chocolate, some crackers, and a couple of bottles of wine don't last 45 people very long. They were literally wasting away.
The decision to consume the bodies of those who had died wasn't a "Lord of the Flies" moment. It was a collective, semi-religious, and deeply logical pact. Most of them were devout Catholics. They compared the act to the Eucharist—the body of Christ. They even made a pact: if I die, you have my permission to use my body so you can live.
It’s easy to judge from a couch in a heated room. But when your ribs are poking through your skin and you’re watching your friends die of scurvy and infection, the "rules" of civilization feel very far away. Dr. Roberto Canessa, who was a medical student at the time, was instrumental in this. He understood the biological necessity. Without that protein, Nando Parrado never would have had the strength to make the final trek.
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The Search That Never Found Them
The search was called off after eight days. Eight.
The survivors actually found a small transistor radio in the wreckage. They spent days trying to get it to work, eventually rigging an antenna. On their eleventh day on the mountain, they heard the news: the search had been cancelled. They were officially dead to the world.
Think about that.
Most of us would have crumbled. But Nando Parrado famously said that hearing the search was over was actually a relief in a weird way. It meant they weren't waiting for a savior anymore. If they were going to get out, they had to do it themselves. They stopped looking at the sky and started looking at the mountains.
The Final Trek: A 10-Day Suicide Mission
By December, the remaining 16 survivors knew that the spring thaw was their only window. If they didn't move, they'd die of exposure or starvation as the last of their meager resources ran out. Canessa, Parrado, and Vizintín were chosen to hike out. They thought they were just a few miles from the green valleys of Chile.
They were wrong. They were actually deep in the Argentine side of the Andes.
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They climbed a nearly vertical 15,000-foot peak using only makeshift gear—rugby shoes and sleeping bags made from plane insulation. When Parrado reached the summit, he didn't see a valley. He saw more mountains. Thousands of them.
Instead of giving up, he and Canessa sent Vizintín back to the fuselage to save rations and pushed forward. For ten days, they walked. Canessa was suffering from severe dysentery. They were hallucinating. But on the ninth day, they saw a river. Then they saw cows. And finally, they saw Sergio Catalán, a Chilean arriero (muleteer) on the other side of a rushing river.
Parrado couldn't shout over the water. He threw a rock across with a note attached to it. That note is now one of the most famous documents in aviation history. It basically said: "I come from a plane that fell in the mountains... I am a Uruguayan... Please, I cannot walk anymore."
Why the "Miracle" Still Resonates in 2026
We live in an era where we're constantly told how fragile we are. The crash of Flight 571 (often searched as the Fairchild Flight 227 crash) proves the opposite. It shows that the human spirit isn't just a metaphor; it's a survival mechanism.
There are a few things that people still get wrong about this event:
- The Location: Most people think they were in Chile. They actually crashed in Argentina, in a place now called the "Glacier of the Tears."
- The "Cannibalism" Focus: While it's the most sensational part, the real story is the social cohesion. There were no murders. There was no "alpha male" combat. They organized themselves like a tiny, functioning government.
- The Pilots: For years, people blamed the pilots' incompetence. While navigation errors were made, the Fairchild FH-227 was also notoriously underpowered for the Andes. It was a recipe for disaster from the start.
Recent films like Society of the Snow (La Sociedad de la Nieve) have done a much better job of capturing the Uruguayan perspective than the 1993 movie Alive. They show the boys not as action heroes, but as terrified kids who simply refused to stay dead.
What You Should Do Next
If you’re fascinated by this story, don't just watch the movies. The nuances are in the primary accounts.
- Read Nando Parrado's book, Miracle in the Andes. It’s a first-person account that focuses more on the emotional and psychological endurance than just the physical grit. It’s arguably one of the best survival memoirs ever written.
- Look into the "Society of the Snow" (La Sociedad de la Nieve) foundation. The survivors and the families of those who didn't make it created a legacy that focuses on resilience and helping others in extreme situations.
- Check out the actual crash site coordinates on satellite maps. Searching for the "Glacier of the Tears" gives you a terrifying perspective on just how isolated they were. When you see the distance Parrado and Canessa walked on Google Earth, it seems physically impossible.
The story of the crash of Flight 227—or more accurately, Flight 571—isn't a tragedy. Well, it is, but it's more of a testament. It reminds us that even when the search is called off and the world thinks you're gone, you still have a say in the matter. You can still hike over the next ridge.