Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 3

There is a beautiful paradox, walking into the mountains. The higher you go with your heavy pack, the steeper the trail is yet the lighter you become, despite the rations of food and warm layers you carry on your shoulders - the weight of the world lifts from them and you begin to connect with the natural beauty of your surroundings. You catch your stride and you embrace the freedom that is adventure.

We opened our tent to find blue skies above and we smiled, thinking that all this talk about the Andean rain season was nothing more than myth. We ate a hearty breakfast, packed up our bags and carried on. 

There's an old saying about weather in the mountains, "If you don't like it, just wait five minutes and it will change."

We weren't even a mile into our day when we had to drop our heavy packs to dig out our rain gear, preparing for the dark clouds that were racing down the valley- straight for us. We sinched our hoods and agreed that we might be in for a soaker but barely twenty minutes later we pulled down our hoods laughing, barely damp from the storm. 

We stopped in awe as the first of the 20,000 ft peaks humbly revealed its grandeur. The realization of the magnitude of our surroundings charged our spirits. We smiled and continued down the valley.

At this point in our journey, we had seen more tarantulas than trekkers so we were a bit surprised when we encountered three people splayed out across the trail ahead. With smiles and a quick hello, we quickly realized that this older French couple and their daughter had seen more than their fair share of rain and were making their way down the valley as quickly as possible. While their spirits only seemed dampened, French momma in particular, it was downright done with their journey. We carried on and discussed that it was either mountain karma or some kind of dumb luck, but to this point our feet still remained dry and our spirits high. 

In the Santa Cruz valley, the landscape changes as quickly as the weather. Ascending a small bench, we were greeted by a brilliant, emerald green, alpine lake. We walked along up the wind-swept valley, through a mixture of sun and rain, as the gigantic mountains above played a game of hide and seek.

The lake soon gave way to another dry valley with litte vegetation. With plenty of warm rocks to sit on, we decided this was a good place for lunch and gazed up the valley, realizing the fork in the trail and the decision we would soon have to make. The side track would lead us up to the beautiful Alpamayo valley, with huge glaciated peaks and an alpine lake. Even though it meant carrying our packs up an additional 1,200 ft of zig zagging trail, we silently agreed that there's no better time than the present.

Seventeen switchbacks later, we found a spot to stash our packs under our tarp. Drawing us further into the mountains, the clouds lifted to reveal the grandeur of the peaks; and without the weight of our gear, it was almost as if we floated our way to a brilliant alpine lake wedged at the base of tremendous peaks. The large glaciers, almost close enough to touch, perfectly reflected the glowing orange of the late daylight. There were no words needed as we sat there, taking in our surroundings and realizing that we were in the heart of the Cordillera Blancas.

Any time you sit down to write about an experience in the mountains, you encounter that wonderful and beautiful irony. You attempt to put your words to the moment when you found yourself without a single thought. You try to describe a place and a time when you yourself didn't even recognize the existence of time and space. There truly is freedom in adventure and when you find that, there really is nothing to say. 

The glow of the glacier shifted from bronze to amber and onto a deeper purple so we decided it best to make our way back towards our bags. As we retreated down the valley, the rain came and went and when we reached our bags and shouldered our packs, we turned one last time and were granted with the clearest, most beautiful view of Alpamayo. The mountain gods smiling down on us and wishing us safe travels. 

By the time we got to camp it was dark. It was raining. It was windy. It was cold. Our nine hours on the trail had us worn out to say the least. With some team work, we pitched the tent and boiled some water, eating our dinner of Ramen and tea nestled inside the warmth of our sleeping bags.