Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 1

Like any good adventure, as you unpack your bag, not only does the warn equipment from the days pass splay out on the floor; so too do the memories.

Handing Brad a moist five-pound bag of uneaten food, I can't help but recall watching him at the market as he piled heaps into our basket saying, "Let's just bring it. We might need it."

But let's be honest, our adventure started well before that day in a market in Huaraz, Peru. In fact, it started in the comfy environs of Bozeman, Montana as I began to plan my adventure in South America. Brad was tossing around the idea of joining. "Sure," he said "I'll do the Santa Cruz Trek with you." A quick google search revealed some beautiful pictures and that's where we left it, trusting the rest would fall into place.

Come September, I packed my bags and left. From the rainforest in Ecuador to an island in Bolivia, I practiced my Spanish and adjusted to my new reality: a life of travel, adventure, and at times, just waiting. Those three months have been packed with stories that are bound to be told eventually but for the moment, let's get back to the trek.

Our plan had been to meet in Lima, the largest city in Peru. We walked by the ocean, visited some museums, ate ceviche and set our alarms for 4:00 the next morning to make our flight to Huaraz (though we probably should have set them for earlier).

Still half asleep and finally deciding to look at our tickets, we realized departure time was way earlier than we thought and ran into the airport with our heavy bags. We pulled the "gringo card" and raced to the front of the line, simultaneously realizing that we were in Peru and nothing happens too quickly here. 

As the first light of the day cast upon the city of Lima, we were ushered to our seats and settled in for the cloudy ride north. Once our small propeller plane began to drop below the clouds, we first laid our eyes on the legendary Cordillera Blanca. Not only the highest tropical mountain range in the world, but the largest concentration of peaks over 20,000 ft behind the Himalayas. We looked at each other, smiled, and agreed "Yup. Those are some big montañas."

Our plan was to spend the day in Huaraz, the jumping-off point for outdoor enthusiasts. We wanted to do some last minute shopping and preparations for our excursion. As we made our way through the city, there were festivities abound; after all, it was Christmas Eve. People danced in the street. It rained. We found the food and the fuel we needed. It rained. We sat down for coffee, double checking our gear. And still, if rained. 

The Peruvian Andes are marked by two very distinct seasons: the dry season and the wet season. Whether it was ease of coordinating schedules or personal preferences, this was the time we had chosen and the rainy season had just begun. 

Despite the fact that we had decided to go without a guide, we stopped in several adventure shops and agencies for some local beta. Each time we described our route from Cashapampa to Vaqueria, we received the same quizzical look, "why you do it like that?" With no real reason, we just shrugged, smiled, and carried on our way. 

Although we planned a restful night of sleep before embarking on our trek, Peruvian tradition proved otherwise. As the clock struck twelve and Christmas officially began, the locals put on a firework show that light up the whole sky. 

The next morning, as most people we know ran to find gifts beneath their Christmas tree, we hired a moto-taxi, went to the terminal and crammed ourselves and our oversized packs into a miniature bus filled with Peruvians who couldn't help but giggle and point at the sight of us. After two hours in the colectivo, we arrived at Caral. Transferring from a crowded colectivo to an even more intimate station wagon of seven people, including grandma crouched in the back, we climbed up a winding dirt road for an hour until we arrived at the town of Cashapampa. With a smile and a "Felíz Navidad!" we were at the trailhead and set loose into the Peruvian backcountry.