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Published: October 29th 2008
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Water abound
Descending from our summit attempt, there were so many beautiful sites. The ´Mile High Club´ is for people with a big fascination for remarkably small proportions.
Nestled in a North-South running valley, with the lower Cordillera Negro (black range) to one side, and the Cordillera Blanco (White Range) on the other, Huaraz is an awesome spectacle of altitude. The peaks of Blanco tower over the town, which itself sits at 3000m. Compare this to National Park, NZ, at 850m.
And in this recreational paradise, we were truly blessed with things to do like mountain biking through local farming hillsides, swimming in a gorgeous lake at 4900m looking up at the ice shelf, and tackling a 5600m snow covered summit, Villunaraju.
But perhaps this beauty comes with a price tag for the locals who have a slightly xenophobic streak - more so than anywhere else in Peru we have seen. It was evident in the small things like cycling down through a small outlying village when the school kids were walking up. Amongst the greetings were a few doing the fingers, and even two who absently threw stones at us while simultaneously asking for some money (multi-tasking). But it is also evident in the big things - our fellow hostel
stayers who had a gun to their heads as they were relieved of their money, in exchange for an unfortgettable life experience - an offer you could hardly refuse. On reporting this to the local Police, they were helpfully informed they were the third in two weeks, and that spot is a known mugging site. Great.
Cycling is a great way to explore a new place, so this was our first outing - once we had both recovered from jelly belly (courtesy of the food served on the bus ride), strongly assisted by a hefty dose of antibiotics. So, as farmers went about their workday, we donned lycra, and were guided by Julio up over the hills above the town on mountain bikes. The farm roads we followed were almost deserted, and the peace was only broken by the farm dogs racing to enthusiastically defend their livelihoods from these three strange monsters. As we got used to fending off these attacks, we savoured the views until it was time for a fairly difficult (for us) descent down towards Huaraz, over loose rocks, and pre-Incan stone paths with steps.
A quick word on personal comfort. A collectivo is a
5 in the bed...
and the little one said, Ouch. 5 people in the boot of this Toyota Corolla on a bumpy road ... and the tourists have to take a photo. taxi that goes a route, and picks up people along the way - remarkably sensible really, and MUCH cheaper. So our Toyota Corolla station wagon colectivo we caught was going up a bumpy and unsealed mountain road to drop us within day-walking distance of a gorgeous sub-snowline lake. Loaded with driver, and two couples, it was ´full´. We picked up a local guy, who happily hopped in the boot. Just further up was a group of (not small breadth) local ladies, burdened with their colourful back luggage wraps loaded up. The ensuing discussion with the driver was translated to us - could one of them hop in the back seat with the three tourists. Looking at her generous proportions, and the dubious road quality, and themselves shoulder to shoulder in the back seat, they all said ´NO!´. So all four women literally piled into the boot with the other man. And this pile of bodies and bags lumped and bumped all the way up that rough road, giggling and laughing as we went over the bumps both small and big. And they also saw the funny side of our camera flashes, enough to pass some local headgear to set the
4900m of cold...
Fed with a trickle of snow melt, this was just the thing for ... something. Even the locals laughed at this lunacy. photo off nicely. Unbelievable.
And so one is drawn to philosophise on the remarkably expansive need of ´our types´ for personal comfort. Perhaps inspired, Benj saw the need to reverse this trend by jumping in the lake, as the ice shelf above gave the occasional atmospheric ´crack´.
Talking to other folk at the hostel is often a transforming experience. A couple ´freshly´returning from an altitide assault on one of the many summits left us with wide eyes focussed upwards. Hunting good mountain guides, we found MountClimb. And there we were, at the Moraine Camp just below the snow line, learning how to walk on rock and snow with ice boots and crampons, doing knots, harness rigging, ice rescues.
But not so fortunate with the timing, the ´wet´season was in full swing. The hail and snow started falling on our sagging tent through the afternoons and nights, and this was spectacularly finished off by the electrical storm that passed overhead, giving us approximately 1 second in between the flash and the whump. Benj speculated on the role of aluminium tent poles to divert a hit, although we both looked nervously unreassured.
And so it was that we
Sub summit
At 4am, having reached as high as we were going to, this was our mini celebration. set off at 1am the next morning, over the icy and slippery rock to the snow line under torch and moonlight. There is something ultimately primeval about three people lashing their fortunes together, and venturing into the wild. The small circle of light from each of our torches as we trudged agonisingly slowly up over the snow in the dark. Roped conservatively 10m apart, we were each in our little worlds labouring away against the sinking soft snow.
For our part, we had the privilege of faithfully following our guide Willie´s deep bootprints. He had the more arduous task of figuring out where to go (and where NOT to). The snow layer caused a few problems: hiding the best route laid out by the passage of others, but worse was hiding the presence of crevasses - separations of the underlying ice shelf lying like a trap under a soft smooth sheath of fresh snow. And he found one too. You know something is up when you hear him say ´O Shit´for the first time. Sinking down to the waist, his foot sank into open space. Fortunately only about 20cm wide at this point, he had the pleasure of laughing
Getting out of another hole
Our guide was our deep snow probe. about it, and we didn´t have to test out our vague recollection of the rescue rig using our cold fingers to pull him out.
With her nerve on razor edge, tackling a soft snowed-over sharp incline, and sinking into the snow to the hip again and again, the Ironman veteran was almost ready to go somewhere really warm. Benj ´encouraged´ her up the climb, but reaching the top of this was as far as this mountaineering party was going. So we sat and savoured the mountain range in the moonlight, at 4am, after three hours of labouring up its beautiful but demanding side, before setting off downwards, leaving the promise of the summit well behind in the darkness.
Travelling is a fantastic way to push you out of your comfort zone. When we began travelling, a night time bus trip from the airport across Santiago (Chile) was enough to get you out of your comfort zone. Now we have to work a bit harder. And this was a damn good way to do it. If ´failure´ is defined by not making it to the top, we failed. But what an experience on the way...
After that, there
Look down
This was a generous amount of road space - it got much worse. was only one thing to do in Huaraz - leave the locals to it. Hearing of the incredible beauty of the North end of the valley out to the coast, we elected to leave that way via the Cañon del Pato. The cañon would be impassable if it were not for the audacious efforts of 35 tunnels linking sections of roadway along the most precarious course. Benj was hanging his head out the window marvelling at how close the bus tyre was to the loose edge and ravine below, while Arlene looked out for upcoming tunnels only as wide as the bus - the record was 15cm of crumbly metal road spare. Then when the front right tyre went flat, and he watched the piece of smooth and crumbling rubber that was removed, he just wasn´t smiling quite the same.
Gracias Huaraz. Lo Siento no es siempre bien para ustedes tiener muchas touristas. Bien suerte para ustedes.
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