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Me & Molesto
Our trusty guide/guard dog that led us the whole wayI arrived in Huaraz in that spaced-out state that is becoming so familiar. A bumpy night of fifty ten-minute naps, it´s like blinking incredibly slowly, a strobe-lit vista out the window. Abruptly spat out in the early-morning glare of new city to face the aggressive touts.
As much as I stand out as a gringo, I still feel ultra-conspicuous trudging through unfamiliar streets with my big bag, all turtled-up. It was even worse with my newly-acquired limp, I could almost see the jackals trotting along behind me and vultures taking interest from three hundred feet above. It must sound like an incredibly negative way to spend my first moments in a new location but I put it down to a healthy paranoia that has allowed me to hang on to all of my stuff where so many friends have not. It always evaporates as soon as you close the door to your room and collapse into bed.
When I emerged from my deserted hostel in the afternoon, I discovered that Huaraz was in the grip of a five-day fiesta. The celebrations seemed to be focussed around the main church, about one hundred metres from my new bedroom. Small squads
of brightly coloured dancers with a loud rear-guard of drummers were being despatched to spin and sing their way through the streets on a winding lap of the city centre. They seemed oblivious to the frustration of the honking taxi drivers who seemed determined to run them down.
The music was very basic and seemed to be the same for each group that I came across, always emerging from a different direction, as if the whole parade had become separated and disoriented.
It was the costume that held my interest and had me sitting in the gutter waiting for each group to appear and hop/dance on by. Feathered “Indian-Chief” headdresses. Blush-cheeked masks - staring blankly. Bright handkerchiefs streaking through the air - tracking the dancer´s hands like tail lights on a highway. Below all of this - strings of threaded nutshells bouncing around ankles, providing a half-beat reply to the drummed instructions.
The fluoro-coloured costume seemed very odd to me but they certainly made the procession stand out against a drab city backdrop - perhaps the intention. Throughout the festival, day and night, giant-firecrackers would split the air. It was impossible to know when this would happen and
Tireless...
They were doing this for 5 days! it took practice to stop hunching my shoulders at the sound. (I had just caught CNN footage of La Paz descending into tear-gassed demonstrations so…).
Weaving my way through all of this, I managed to sort through the hundreds of agencies and organise a four-day trek of the Santa Cruz valley. This was my destination and I had been told that it was one of the most beautiful mountain treks in South America. This was another “big-ticket” destination with a lot of pressure on it to amaze.
Although Huaraz sits at the foot of the Cordillera Blanca, whenever my eyes dropped below the stunning snow-capped peaks to take in the city itself… It struck me as just another bleak, half-finished mess of construction sites and squabbling traffic. I was looking forward to the mountains.
As agreed, I was ready and waiting at 5:30am. Standing on the main street outside the metal shutters of the tour agency, I watched the street lights flickering off and felt like the only person in Huaraz.
Eventually my tour operator appeared, puffing and apologetic. He explained that the other two members of our group (who may or may not have actually existed)
Say Uncle!
Jesus and Molesto WWF Smackdown had withdrawn due to illness and I was being absorbed by another group/agency. I was unhappy with this but was quickly appeased as the other agency had been recommended by others and I was getting a more expensive (and presumably better) trek without paying the difference.
After a few hours of chatting with my group and snoozing on the bus, we entered the National Park and began a winding ascent of yet another perilously-narrow mountain road. Although uncomfortable with the precipitous gravel track, I quickly discovered that I was practically a “veteran” as most of the group were new arrivals via Lima International. Strangely, their discomfort made me relax and I tried to put them at ease - quite challenging as we wobbled our way past the smashed remains of an old bus strewn across a long section of switchbacks.
We eventually left the cliff-side behind and reached our jumping-off point where we were to meet our “muleteer” - the donkey driver. Once that was sorted, we were off over the edge on a steep path into a beautiful farmed valley. As we got into it, I was able to test out my injured knee and was very
I´ve had better...
The stunning view behind us as we began. happy to feel it working away under me, as good as new.
We had a very leisurely stroll through the afternoon, taking it very slow as everyone but me had just arrived at altitude for the first time. Camp One was set in a sheltered little valley where I got my first glimpse of a glacier. As we broke out the Mate de Cocoa and built a fire*, it became obvious that the others were all struggling with the thin air - headaches and lethargy all round.
*We later found out that fires are not allowed in the National Park but the guide said nothing…
Despite feeling generally fine and my long acclimatisation in Bolivia, I still had trouble sleeping. My tent-mate, Dave, and I spent a restless night in our munchkin-tent, head and feet pressed against the cold walls.
Day two was where we began the climb-proper. Our goal was the tiny Punta Union pass at 4,750 metres and it was up, up, up for most of the day. Conversation was quite limited to conserve energy and oxygen but the views were stunning. We made plenty of stops to stare at the shiny black ridges
on either side of our track.
As the morning wore on, three of us pulled ahead and the guide remained behind to prod the other two members who were struggling badly and quite sick.
Alone up on the steep track, the three of us tried not to focus on how tiny the pass looked and clambered across the rocks making stupid jokes and indian running. At one point we lost the trail and picked our way over huge sliding boulders, using hands as much as feet. Finding the path again near the narrow pass we stopped to examine the sun-bleached skeletons of donkeys that hadn´t made it to the top.
On finally reaching the summit, we could see that it was as if a giant axe had been taken to the spine of the ridge, the resulting gap only wide enough for two abreast. This little doorway between the two valleys was very impressive and we made a couple of trips back and forth to compare.
As we chatted to some hikers coming up the other face- our fine cool day was whipped out from under us and the weather closed in. We waited around taking hail-damage
(there goes my sticker-price…) and agreed that we were quite happy for the rain to be bouncing off us rather than soaking in. Fortunately this wasn´t Australian hail, no one copped a golf ball and went down like a sack-of.
With our slower members catching up, we had lunch looking out over the massive expanse of the Santa Cruz valley. The fine weather quickly returned and we were treated to a great view of the glacier as the clouds rolled back. We cheered as avalanches calved from the steep face and roared down into the ice-blue lagoon below.
Our food on board and grinning madly at the view, we began our trip down the other side.
Disaster.
It was like I had been clipped my a bus. My knee just locked up and every bend brought a flash of excruciating pain. I was stopped in my tracks. I was convinced that something crucial had finally snapped and I was almost completely unable to bend the knee and hence - descend. It didn´t make any sense to me as I had been leaping up and across uneven rock faces only minutes earlier. The three hour climb had passed without
Japanese Street Fashion
Who knew it would make it all the way to Huaraz, Peru?! even a twinge. All I can think of is that we sat still for a long time in the freezing air at the pass and it must have decided it was done for the day.
I wondered if I had pushed my amazing run of luck a little too far.
I was soon left far behind the group, the guide visible as a little dot that occasionally paused to check that I was still upright. I managed to creep down slowly with my left leg completely straight. I must have looked like some sort of demented robot. As incredibly painful as it was, I found it impossible to be unhappy. Every time I looked up from the path, I was awestruck by the 360 degrees of pure beauty. I have never seen anything like it.
I was suffering and struggling with the terrain but it was the perfect setting for a psychosomatic battle-royale. I tried every mental trick that I could come up with to keep moving towards a camp site that I knew was at least a horizon away. The most effective method was to simply keep my eyes on the amazing series of peaks on both
Dr Dave is lost
These rocks were moving! (That is the pass way up on the right). sides, it was impossible to look without smiling.
I finally arrived at our tents, walking like I was wearing a plaster cast and very, very worried that I wouldn´t be able to walk myself out of the valley.
Enter Dr Dave and the Advil.
My tent-buddy was very generous with his pain killers and I was saved. After warming up in the morning, I was able to walk almost completely normally, the pain turned right down to a low throb.
So I was back on track. Able to ignore my leg for most of each day, I got back to gawking at the incredible mountains and impossibly long and green plains. We wandered past wild(?) groups of horses who seemed oblivious to the incredible setting of their restaurant. Even when the pain returned in the afternoon it was only enough for an interesting mental struggle as I hopped and slid downhill, the iPod did the rest.
We trekked on through four days of almost-perfect weather, stretching my unbelievable run of sunshine. An occasional sprinkle of rain would zip past as if Mother Nature was quietly drawing attention to her continued benevolence. At our last camp we
built a ridiculously large fire and enjoyed an exhausted feeling of satisfaction over surprisingly good food.
As if to provide one final hurdle - the walk out on the final morning was a combination of shifting rocks and cascading gravel paths which pushed my injury to the limit. By not stopping with the others for breaks and keeping it from cooling down, I made it past the finishing line - a spectacular glacial river - with a massive sense of satisfaction.
As we loaded ourselves into the waiting vans a little voice was telling me that I might have done myself some permanent damage, but I wasn´t listening. I was undefeated. I went up there and came back down with what I was looking for.
- - -
Post script:
Two weeks later and the knee is well on the way to full recovery. I can even run on it.
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