On August 5, 2010, the earth swallowed 33 men.
A catastrophic collapse inside the San José mine in northern Chile sealed the main tunnel, trapping the miners more than 2,300 feet (700 metres) underground. It wasn’t just a disaster - it was the beginning of a 69-day fight for survival.
What followed was a masterclass in leadership, unity, and the incredible things people can achieve when they hold the line together. This is the full story, not just of survival, but of shared purpose.
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The moment of the collapse was like thunder. Dust, rock, and panic filled the air. In a matter of seconds, 33 miners were entombed with no way out. Trapped in total darkness and rising heat, they quickly understood: no one was coming soon.
But they didn’t give up. Instead, they organised.
Luis Urzúa, the shift foreman, became their de facto leader. He divided roles: a health officer, a medic, a spiritual guide, a communicator. With only two days' worth of food between them, they agreed to ration: two spoonfuls of tuna, a sip of milk, and half a biscuit every 48 hours. It wasn’t enough, but it was something, and more importantly, it was shared equally.
They created routines to protect their minds. They prayed together, played dominoes, and kept themselves clean by assigning a waste corner. They limited light use to save battery life. One miner led morning exercises. Another led evening prayers. Together, they protected morale as if it were oxygen.
Mario Sepúlveda, one of the most spirited and outspoken of the 33, later described how order and equality kept them going:
All 33 trapped miners, practising a one-man, one‑vote democracy, worked together to maintain the mine, look for escape routes, and keep up morale. We knew that if society broke down, we would all be doomed.
Hope arrived on Day 17. A drill probe finally broke through. The men quickly tied a note to the drill bit, written in red marker:
“Estamos bien en el refugio, los 33.”
(We are well in the shelter, the 33 of us.)
That message would echo around the world - proof that they were alive, united, and still fighting.
Campamento Esperanza: The Families Who Refused to Leave
Above ground, their families were living their own nightmare. For days, the mining company offered few answers. Officials feared the worst. But the families - mothers, wives, children - refused to give up.
They built a camp at the mine's entrance and named it Campamento Esperanza - Camp Hope.
What started as a few tents grew into a small village. There was a kitchen, a prayer tent, even a makeshift school. Journalists from around the world arrived, and Camp Hope became the emotional heartbeat of the rescue.
The families prayed, protested, and spoke to the media. Their strength was relentless. Each day, they stood firm, not just for their loved ones, but for each other.
Alicia Campos, the mother of one trapped miner, captured the moment hope returned:
I’m happy, I’m happy, because it means that Mother Earth is going to give our loved ones back to us.
The message was clear: “We are not leaving until they come back.”
The Rescue: When the World Came Together
Getting the miners out was a global challenge because the rock was unstable and the depth was extreme. But failure wasn’t an option.
Engineers and experts from Chile, the U.S., Canada, Australia, and more developed three simultaneous rescue plans:
- Plan A: A slow, traditional bore drill.
- Plan B: A more agile drill that offered better speed and accuracy.
- Plan C: A custom-built oil drill from Canada, designed for extreme depth.
While Plan A dug patiently, Plan B broke through first on Day 66.
Meanwhile, NASA provided psychological support and co-designed the rescue capsule: Phoenix, a slim metal pod just 21 inches wide. Inside, a miner could barely move. But it was their elevator to freedom.
The Phoenix capsule was a marvel of rapid engineering. Designed by the Chilean Navy with NASA input, it included oxygen supply, communication equipment, an escape hatch, and wheels on the side to prevent it from getting stuck in the narrow shaft. Before the rescue began, test runs were performed using a dummy and rescuers themselves, ensuring every contingency was covered.
Each miner had to wear a custom bio-harness, allowing doctors on the surface to monitor heart rate, breathing, and anxiety levels. They also wore special sunglasses to shield their eyes from the sunlight after so many days in darkness.
On October 12, 2010, the world held its breath. The first miner, Florencio Ávalos, was hoisted up in a 15-minute journey that felt like hours. He emerged to cheers and tears.
As they emerged, the reactions varied. Some cried, some sang, one knelt in prayer. Others, like Sepúlveda, turned the moment into celebration. The crowd erupted with each reunion, creating a rhythm of relief that lasted through the night.
When Mario Sepúlveda emerged second, he made a point of bringing up gifts - rocks from below - for the engineers and rescuers. His energy, humour, and gratitude set the tone. These were not broken men. These were survivors.
The final man out was their leader, Luis Urzúa, who made sure all others were safe before leaving himself.
As the last miner reached the surface, a banner hung at the top of the shaft read:
“Misión cumplida, Chile.”
(Mission accomplished, Chile.)
It was one of the greatest rescues in modern history, watched live by over a billion people.
What Happened After?
Photo source: www.bbc.com/news/world-latin-america-34463547.
Life didn’t go back to normal.
In the weeks that followed, the miners were treated as heroes. They received invitations to the FIFA World Cup, toured Disneyland, met Pope Benedict XVI, and were honoured by governments and celebrities around the world.
But the fame was short-lived, and life became complicated.
Many miners reported nightmares, anxiety, and depression. Some struggled to return to mining work, either due to psychological trauma or physical injury.
Omar Reygadas, a senior member of the group, says the ordeal transformed his personality:
I used to be a very social person who loved to get together with my children and grandchildren for barbecues, but now I prefer to be alone.
A few tried to turn their story into books or speaking careers, but not all succeeded.
Some miners sued the Chilean government for negligence, arguing that they were sent into unsafe conditions. Years later, the court acknowledged that the San José mine had a record of collapses and structural instability, but no substantial reparations were paid.
Still, one legacy remained unshaken:
The note they had sent up - “Estamos bien en el refugio, los 33” - was preserved and is now displayed in the La Moneda Presidential Palace (the seat of the president of the Republic of Chile) in Santiago as a symbol of national courage and human resilience.
The number 33 became a symbol of strength through unity.
The Takeaway: No Goal Is Achieved Alone
The Chilean miners’ story is more than survival. It’s a reminder that progress - in life, in work, in crisis - is a team effort.
Underground, they formed a team.
Above ground, their families formed a team.
Globally, scientists, engineers, and rescuers formed a team.
Whether you’re chasing a personal goal or climbing out of a difficult chapter in life, you need your people. You need a system, structure, and someone to pass you water when you’re running low.
Because no one makes it out alone, not 700 metres below the earth, and not in real life either.
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