San Jose Mine(Chile):
Each time the red, white and blue capsule rose smoothly out of the hole in the earth on Wednesday and another miner emerged safely, to applause and the waiting arms of his family, the scene replayed all around world with a joy that never seemed tired. (See Pics)
By mid-afternoon here, the precarious operation to hoist to the surface 33 miners who were trapped under a half-mile of rock for more than two months was moving along so efficiently that officials expected the job to be completed by the end of the day, far ahead of schedule. (In Pics: How the rescue operation works)
"All okay!" 48-year-old Dario Segovia, the 20th rescued miner, shouted to his rescuers right before they lifted him out of the ground. Once freed from the cage-like rescue device, he thanked God and walked to hug his wife. Workers then wrapped him in a blanket and took him to triage for medical treatment.
After some routine maintenance, the capsule went back into the ground to fetch the next man -- Yonny Barrios, 50, who became the group's medic in the mine. He arrived to hearty handshakes and hugs from the doctors aboveground.
When the 17th miner, Omar Reygadas, 56, was released from the harnesses of the rescue capsule, he got down on his knees, then held his hands in the air and waved the blue and red flag of one of Chile's soccer teams.
For more than 15 hours, the miners have been emerging at regular intervals in a pageant that has moved a worldwide audience -- watching on television, on computers, even on mobile phones -- to tears and laughter.
The second miner to reach the surface, Mario Sepúlveda, left the rescue capsule in a kind of victory dance, hugging family members and officials. He embraced the Chilean president, Sebastián Piñera, three times and presented people with gifts: rocks from the mine. He punched fists with the crowd and led a cheer: "Chi, Chi, Chi, le, le, le," they shouted. "Miners of Chile!" The refrain echoed as subsequent miners reached the surface.
"I've been near God, but I've also been near the devil," Mr. Sepúlveda said through a translator. "God won."
The 12th miner -- Edison Peña, 34, known for running miles in the mine tunnels every day -- stepped from the escape capsule to rapturous cheers and the embrace of his girlfriend, and then another from Mr. Piñera.
"Thank God we're alive," Mr. Peña said. "I know now why we're alive."
Other miners expressed their gratitude in ways important to them. When the 17th miner, Omar Reygadas, 56, was released from the harnesses of the rescue capsule, he got down on his knees, then held his hands in the air and waved the blue and red flag of one of Chile's soccer teams.Laurence Golborne, the mining minister, praised the rescue operation at an afternoon briefing on Wednesday, saying that officials were able to cut the time down between miners rescued from an hour to 45 minutes.
"We hope to finish this successfully by the end of this day," he said.
Mr. Golborne did note two small problems, however. He said that the Phoenix capsule door had been sticking, and that it was necessary to do maintenance on the wheels of the capsule to prevent it from getting stuck in the shaft. "This capsule is going to continue in operations, unless there is a problem," he said.
As of early afternoon, there were five rescue workers currently down in the mine, and a sixth rescue worker would go down "in a few hours" to replace some of the other workers, Mr. Golborne said.
Thus far, Mr. Golborne said, the most difficult rescue was that of Mario Gómez, 63, the oldest miner in the group, who had struggled with a lung condition. "We took additional precautions in this case, but he's fine," Mr. Golborne said. Mr. Gomez was the ninth man rescued. "Maybe we overdid it, but it's better to do more than less."
After the first 10 men were pulled up, Health Minister Jaime Mañalich said the next men to be raised would include those in a more "precarious" health condition, but Mr. Golborne reported no major health problems after 17 miners had been rescued.
Cameras inside the mine showed the miners sending off an evacuee with cheers, and another camera positioned on the top of the capsule carried images of a seemingly smooth shaft slipping by around a taut metal cable as a winch pulled the capsule up.
The race to save the miners has thrust Chile into a spotlight it has often sought but rarely experienced. While lauded for its economic management and austerity, the nation has often found the world's attention trained more on its human rights violations and natural disasters than on uplifting moments.
The San Jose mine -- which produced copper and gold -- collapsed on Aug. 5, leaving 33 men unaccounted for. After 17 days of frantic drilling, rescuers made contact. What they found captivated the world -- all the men had survived with their spirits apparently intact.
They had to withstand nearly two more months of waiting for this day, hanging firm to discipline and collaboration held firm in the lightless, dank space. Their perseverance has transfixed the globe with a universal story of human struggle and the enormously complex operation to rescue them.
Mr. Piñera, a billionaire businessman who is one of Latin America's most conservative leaders, staked his presidency on the effort. It has involved untold millions of dollars, specialists from NASA and drilling experts from a dozen or so countries. Some here at the mine have compared the rescue effort to the Apollo 13 space mission, for the emotional tension it has caused and the expectation of a collective sigh of relief at the end.
The ordeal has also riveted Bolivia, home to one of the miners, 24-year-old Carlos Mamani, who kissed his wife, Veronica, and shouted: "Gracias, Chile!" The Bolivian president, Evo Morales, joined Mr. Piñera in welcoming Mr. Mamani, and warming chatting with the ever-growing rescued group in the makeshift hospital. It was a rare moment of rapprochement for the two leaders, whose nations have strained relations.
"I would like to thank the Chilean people, thank you very much for rescuing our brother, Carlos Mamami," Mr. Morales said. "Bolivia will never forget, this is a historical moment, and this unites us more every day. These events are fostering greater trust between Bolivia and Chile."
In the early minutes of Wednesday at the mine site (late Tuesday night Eastern time), the first miner was pulled through the narrow, twisting escape shaft in the specially designed capsule -- the Phoenix.
The first miner, Florencio Ávalos, 31, made it to the surface shortly after midnight, to the music of blaring celebratory horns. With a look of sturdy calm, he embraced his weeping child and other family members, his nation's president and the workers around him before being taken away on a stretcher, lifting his thumb triumphantly.
As each subsequent miner emerged alive and smiling, the world seemed to celebrate, but also to hold its collective breath that all 33 would make it out as effortlessly as the first ones.
A global audience watched nonstop coverage on computers, television sets and even cellphones. Deep in the mine, the remaining miners waited for their turn, along with a rescue worker who descended to their underground haven in the capsule, which was painted in the red, white and blue of the Chilean flag.
Tuesday was a day of great excitement and last-minute delays. As Mr. Piñera waited anxiously near the rescue hole, the families of the miners and more than 1,300 journalists gathered around plasma televisions set up at the makeshift tent city near the mine, which vibrated with a carnival-like atmosphere as the rescue drew near. At one point, Mr. Piñera mingled with the families and even broke into song with them.
"We hope that with the help of God, this epic will end in a happy way," Mr. Piñera said before the rescue began.
Despite high expectations, officials here warned that the operation was still in a precarious phase. The rescue hole is barely wider than the capsule that rides inside it, shuttling the men about 2,000 feet to the surface, one at a time. Complicating matters, the hole is not perfectly straight, raising fears that the capsule could snag on the long trip.
The decision by Mr. Piñera, Chile's first right-wing leader in 20 years, to stake his young presidency on an unbridled push to rescue the miners was an extraordinary political calculation. But it has paid big dividends, bolstering his popularity at home and propelling him onto an international stage often dominated by other large personalities in the region.
After the Aug. 5 cave-in trapped the miners, their fate was uncertain at best. Advisers to Mr. Piñera counseled him not to raise expectations that the men could be found alive. Laurence Golborne, the mining minister, said publicly that their chances of having survived were slim, comments that bothered many Chileans.
But Mr. Piñera, who was in Ecuador when the news of the mine disaster broke, argued differently. "I had a strong conviction, very deep inside of me, that they were alive, and that was a strong support for my actions," he said in an interview in late August.
He set in motion an intense rescue effort, sparing no expense. Workers drilled a skinny borehole, and on Aug. 22 a drilling hammer came up with red paint. Wrapped around it with rubber bands were two notes: a love letter from Mr. Gómez, the oldest miner of the group, to his wife, and another in red ink. "We are well in the refuge the 33," it read.
Suddenly the name of the makeshift vigil at the mine -- Camp Hope -- took on new meaning. Mr. Piñera flew here right after his father-in-law's wake to celebrate with the miners' families.
But the Chileans were in uncharted territory. To their knowledge, no one had tried a rescue so far underground. Keeping the miners alive and in good spirits, much less getting them out, would be an enormous challenge.
Doctors from NASA and Chilean Navy officers with experience in submarines were consulted on the strains of prolonged confinement. The miners had lost considerable weight and were living off emergency rations. Some, like Mr. Gómez, who had a lung condition, struggled with the high humidity in the mine.
Medical officials consulted frequently with the miners over a modified telephone dropped down through the skinny borehole. Slowly, they nursed the men back to health. Mr. Mañalich, the health minister, enlisted Yonny Barrios, a miner who had once taken a first aid course, to administer vaccines and medicines, and to take blood and urine samples. All the medications traveled down through the plastic tubes sent through the boreholes.
The tubes, called "palomas" here, became the miners' lifeline. Over the many weeks, officials on the surface used them to send letters from loved ones, food and liquids, even a small video projection system that the miners used to watch recorded movies and live soccer matches on a television feed that was piped down.
The miners were put on a diet to keep their weight down and worked with a trainer to keep fit with exercise. One miner, a fitness buff, ran about six miles a day through the winding shafts of the mine.
In recent weeks, Alejandro Pino, the regional manager of an insurance company for work-related accidents, has given the miners media training on how to speak and express themselves, even sending a rolled-up copy of his guidebook through the borehole.
"I tried to prepare them to handle journalists' most intimate questions," Mr. Pino said last week.
Alberto Iturra, a psychologist who worked with the miners, talked to them, sometimes several times a day, to sort through their frustrations and depression. After first sending down nicotine patches, officials later sent down cigarettes to the miners, most of whom were smokers, family members said. Still, Dr. Iturra said that doctors never ended up sending down medication for depression.
By mid-afternoon here, the precarious operation to hoist to the surface 33 miners who were trapped under a half-mile of rock for more than two months was moving along so efficiently that officials expected the job to be completed by the end of the day, far ahead of schedule. (In Pics: How the rescue operation works)
"All okay!" 48-year-old Dario Segovia, the 20th rescued miner, shouted to his rescuers right before they lifted him out of the ground. Once freed from the cage-like rescue device, he thanked God and walked to hug his wife. Workers then wrapped him in a blanket and took him to triage for medical treatment.
After some routine maintenance, the capsule went back into the ground to fetch the next man -- Yonny Barrios, 50, who became the group's medic in the mine. He arrived to hearty handshakes and hugs from the doctors aboveground.
When the 17th miner, Omar Reygadas, 56, was released from the harnesses of the rescue capsule, he got down on his knees, then held his hands in the air and waved the blue and red flag of one of Chile's soccer teams.
For more than 15 hours, the miners have been emerging at regular intervals in a pageant that has moved a worldwide audience -- watching on television, on computers, even on mobile phones -- to tears and laughter.
The second miner to reach the surface, Mario Sepúlveda, left the rescue capsule in a kind of victory dance, hugging family members and officials. He embraced the Chilean president, Sebastián Piñera, three times and presented people with gifts: rocks from the mine. He punched fists with the crowd and led a cheer: "Chi, Chi, Chi, le, le, le," they shouted. "Miners of Chile!" The refrain echoed as subsequent miners reached the surface.
"I've been near God, but I've also been near the devil," Mr. Sepúlveda said through a translator. "God won."
The 12th miner -- Edison Peña, 34, known for running miles in the mine tunnels every day -- stepped from the escape capsule to rapturous cheers and the embrace of his girlfriend, and then another from Mr. Piñera.
"Thank God we're alive," Mr. Peña said. "I know now why we're alive."
Other miners expressed their gratitude in ways important to them. When the 17th miner, Omar Reygadas, 56, was released from the harnesses of the rescue capsule, he got down on his knees, then held his hands in the air and waved the blue and red flag of one of Chile's soccer teams.Laurence Golborne, the mining minister, praised the rescue operation at an afternoon briefing on Wednesday, saying that officials were able to cut the time down between miners rescued from an hour to 45 minutes.
"We hope to finish this successfully by the end of this day," he said.
Mr. Golborne did note two small problems, however. He said that the Phoenix capsule door had been sticking, and that it was necessary to do maintenance on the wheels of the capsule to prevent it from getting stuck in the shaft. "This capsule is going to continue in operations, unless there is a problem," he said.
As of early afternoon, there were five rescue workers currently down in the mine, and a sixth rescue worker would go down "in a few hours" to replace some of the other workers, Mr. Golborne said.
Thus far, Mr. Golborne said, the most difficult rescue was that of Mario Gómez, 63, the oldest miner in the group, who had struggled with a lung condition. "We took additional precautions in this case, but he's fine," Mr. Golborne said. Mr. Gomez was the ninth man rescued. "Maybe we overdid it, but it's better to do more than less."
After the first 10 men were pulled up, Health Minister Jaime Mañalich said the next men to be raised would include those in a more "precarious" health condition, but Mr. Golborne reported no major health problems after 17 miners had been rescued.
Cameras inside the mine showed the miners sending off an evacuee with cheers, and another camera positioned on the top of the capsule carried images of a seemingly smooth shaft slipping by around a taut metal cable as a winch pulled the capsule up.
The race to save the miners has thrust Chile into a spotlight it has often sought but rarely experienced. While lauded for its economic management and austerity, the nation has often found the world's attention trained more on its human rights violations and natural disasters than on uplifting moments.
The San Jose mine -- which produced copper and gold -- collapsed on Aug. 5, leaving 33 men unaccounted for. After 17 days of frantic drilling, rescuers made contact. What they found captivated the world -- all the men had survived with their spirits apparently intact.
They had to withstand nearly two more months of waiting for this day, hanging firm to discipline and collaboration held firm in the lightless, dank space. Their perseverance has transfixed the globe with a universal story of human struggle and the enormously complex operation to rescue them.
Mr. Piñera, a billionaire businessman who is one of Latin America's most conservative leaders, staked his presidency on the effort. It has involved untold millions of dollars, specialists from NASA and drilling experts from a dozen or so countries. Some here at the mine have compared the rescue effort to the Apollo 13 space mission, for the emotional tension it has caused and the expectation of a collective sigh of relief at the end.
The ordeal has also riveted Bolivia, home to one of the miners, 24-year-old Carlos Mamani, who kissed his wife, Veronica, and shouted: "Gracias, Chile!" The Bolivian president, Evo Morales, joined Mr. Piñera in welcoming Mr. Mamani, and warming chatting with the ever-growing rescued group in the makeshift hospital. It was a rare moment of rapprochement for the two leaders, whose nations have strained relations.
"I would like to thank the Chilean people, thank you very much for rescuing our brother, Carlos Mamami," Mr. Morales said. "Bolivia will never forget, this is a historical moment, and this unites us more every day. These events are fostering greater trust between Bolivia and Chile."
In the early minutes of Wednesday at the mine site (late Tuesday night Eastern time), the first miner was pulled through the narrow, twisting escape shaft in the specially designed capsule -- the Phoenix.
The first miner, Florencio Ávalos, 31, made it to the surface shortly after midnight, to the music of blaring celebratory horns. With a look of sturdy calm, he embraced his weeping child and other family members, his nation's president and the workers around him before being taken away on a stretcher, lifting his thumb triumphantly.
As each subsequent miner emerged alive and smiling, the world seemed to celebrate, but also to hold its collective breath that all 33 would make it out as effortlessly as the first ones.
A global audience watched nonstop coverage on computers, television sets and even cellphones. Deep in the mine, the remaining miners waited for their turn, along with a rescue worker who descended to their underground haven in the capsule, which was painted in the red, white and blue of the Chilean flag.
Tuesday was a day of great excitement and last-minute delays. As Mr. Piñera waited anxiously near the rescue hole, the families of the miners and more than 1,300 journalists gathered around plasma televisions set up at the makeshift tent city near the mine, which vibrated with a carnival-like atmosphere as the rescue drew near. At one point, Mr. Piñera mingled with the families and even broke into song with them.
"We hope that with the help of God, this epic will end in a happy way," Mr. Piñera said before the rescue began.
Despite high expectations, officials here warned that the operation was still in a precarious phase. The rescue hole is barely wider than the capsule that rides inside it, shuttling the men about 2,000 feet to the surface, one at a time. Complicating matters, the hole is not perfectly straight, raising fears that the capsule could snag on the long trip.
The decision by Mr. Piñera, Chile's first right-wing leader in 20 years, to stake his young presidency on an unbridled push to rescue the miners was an extraordinary political calculation. But it has paid big dividends, bolstering his popularity at home and propelling him onto an international stage often dominated by other large personalities in the region.
After the Aug. 5 cave-in trapped the miners, their fate was uncertain at best. Advisers to Mr. Piñera counseled him not to raise expectations that the men could be found alive. Laurence Golborne, the mining minister, said publicly that their chances of having survived were slim, comments that bothered many Chileans.
But Mr. Piñera, who was in Ecuador when the news of the mine disaster broke, argued differently. "I had a strong conviction, very deep inside of me, that they were alive, and that was a strong support for my actions," he said in an interview in late August.
He set in motion an intense rescue effort, sparing no expense. Workers drilled a skinny borehole, and on Aug. 22 a drilling hammer came up with red paint. Wrapped around it with rubber bands were two notes: a love letter from Mr. Gómez, the oldest miner of the group, to his wife, and another in red ink. "We are well in the refuge the 33," it read.
Suddenly the name of the makeshift vigil at the mine -- Camp Hope -- took on new meaning. Mr. Piñera flew here right after his father-in-law's wake to celebrate with the miners' families.
But the Chileans were in uncharted territory. To their knowledge, no one had tried a rescue so far underground. Keeping the miners alive and in good spirits, much less getting them out, would be an enormous challenge.
Doctors from NASA and Chilean Navy officers with experience in submarines were consulted on the strains of prolonged confinement. The miners had lost considerable weight and were living off emergency rations. Some, like Mr. Gómez, who had a lung condition, struggled with the high humidity in the mine.
Medical officials consulted frequently with the miners over a modified telephone dropped down through the skinny borehole. Slowly, they nursed the men back to health. Mr. Mañalich, the health minister, enlisted Yonny Barrios, a miner who had once taken a first aid course, to administer vaccines and medicines, and to take blood and urine samples. All the medications traveled down through the plastic tubes sent through the boreholes.
The tubes, called "palomas" here, became the miners' lifeline. Over the many weeks, officials on the surface used them to send letters from loved ones, food and liquids, even a small video projection system that the miners used to watch recorded movies and live soccer matches on a television feed that was piped down.
The miners were put on a diet to keep their weight down and worked with a trainer to keep fit with exercise. One miner, a fitness buff, ran about six miles a day through the winding shafts of the mine.
In recent weeks, Alejandro Pino, the regional manager of an insurance company for work-related accidents, has given the miners media training on how to speak and express themselves, even sending a rolled-up copy of his guidebook through the borehole.
"I tried to prepare them to handle journalists' most intimate questions," Mr. Pino said last week.
Alberto Iturra, a psychologist who worked with the miners, talked to them, sometimes several times a day, to sort through their frustrations and depression. After first sending down nicotine patches, officials later sent down cigarettes to the miners, most of whom were smokers, family members said. Still, Dr. Iturra said that doctors never ended up sending down medication for depression.
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