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.

Sufficiently Soaked: Chapter 2

In order to trek through some of the biggest mountains in the world, one must first hike into the mountains. After the first mile and 1,000 ft of elevation, we quickly realized this reality. Our destination for the first night was to be Llama Coral and according to Messi, our native Peruvian hostal owner, it should be "just a short three hour walk." His weathered skin and knowing smile suggested he had spent his lifetime amongst these monstrous peaks. We estimated that we had at least six hours of daylight left and decided it would be sufficient for us.
The trail climbed steeply up a narrow canyon with huge granite walls. The vastness and enormity attempted to overwhelm us although just as it did, we came across a Peruvain family bathing in the river and enjoying the Christmas holiday. Their warm smiles and well wishes set our minds at ease and temporarily allowed us to forget about the steep climb. We smiled as they took pictures with us and they giggled as they mentioned that we were the first people they had seen to hike up in this direction. We walked on in silence, settling in to our new routine. Afterall, this would be our reality for the next few days.
After we hiked for what we decided was enough time, we found some grassy corrals to call home for the night. The sun was shining, the crystal clear creek was flowing nearby and our only company was a few high-alpine cattle grazing on the abundant grasses. We laid in the sun for a bit and leisurely set up our tent. Afterall, it was Christmas so we decided on a feast fit for the occasion. We sat atop a mossy boulder eating our tuna-quinoa-curry creation and watched as the sun dipped down the valley. The days heat pushed its way up the mountains, causing the clouds to dance and twirl, eventually enveloping us and motivating us into our tent. Towards our warm sleeping bags and a peaceful night of sleep we went.

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.

Sufficiently Soaked

A short story written by Brad Van Wert and I (mostly Brad :) about our recent adventure trekking through the Cordillera Blanca. I'll post it chapter by chapter throughout the week. Enjoy!!

5,000 Years Old

According to Wikipedia...

     "Caral was inhabited between roughly 2600 BCE and 2000 BCE, enclosing an area of more than 60 hectares. Caral was described by its excavators as the oldest urban center in the Americas. Accommodating more than 3,000 inhabitants, it is the best studied and one of the largest Norte Chico sites known."

Brad and I so happened to stumble upon this 5,000 year old site in the middle of the Peruvian dessert...

We went to the town of Huacho to spend New Years on the beach and enjoy the sun because we were chilled by the rain in the mountains during our Christmas trek (story soon to come). We spent the New Year's Eve eating fresh ceviche by the port, sitting on the shore while the waves crashed and watching the fireworks simultaneously explode as the clock struck midnight.  

The next day we hired a taxi to drive us out into the desert to this so-called Caral place and walked through the pyramids and ruins of a civilization that lived there almost 5,000 years prior. The history was incredible but even more intriguing was the location; in the middle of a hot, dry, sandy desert. We couldn't help but wonder the reason behind the location and how a society functioned in such harsh conditions. This was one of the first societies in America and its inhabitants established a societal structure and way of urban planning that was followed by many civilizations to come. By far the richest history either of us had ever experienced, we were shocked that this was the first time we had ever even heard of the site. Not only were the pyramids an impressive historical feat, but the entire society was operating around the same time as the pyramids of Egypt. It was absolutely fascinating, to say the least.

Familiar Faces in Foreign Places

Meeting Brad in Lima was such a wonderful feeling. To see a familiar face in a foreign country is a wonderful slice of home when traveling abroad.

We spend two days wondering around Lima and exploring the huge, chaotic, diverse, and bustling city. According to some critics, the food of Lima has "surpassed the cuisine of Paris." 

We had fun trying some different restaurants in the city and stumbled upon very delicious ceviche and gourmet creations. We walked to the beach and watched the surfers in the break. The smooth black stones rolled and made a wonderful sound every time the water crashed on the shore, stumbling and rolling when the water receded.

Exploring the urban area was neat but in the end we decided it was very similar to any other metropolis and we had had our fill. 

We were ready to surround ourselves in some of the world's largest and most beautiful mountains, the Andes.

Isla Del Sol

For a few days, I was lucky to have the opportunity to hike around and explore La Isla Del Sol- and island in Lake Titicaca with three small indigenous communities, jaw-dropping views, dozens of trails and remnants of Incan Ruins. To say the least, I had a wonderful time on the island. 

On the first day, we took the local ferry from Copacabana to the northern community. After meeting a big group of travelers, we found a hostel on the beach for about three dollars and went on a hike to the top of a volcano on the island. We sat on a beach and watched as the children played in the sand. They all had little sticks with plastic bottles tied to the ends and dragged them through the water like boats. Pigs and sheep roamed along the shore, nibbling on bits of grass and napping in the sunshine.

We came back and had a lovely night with new friends from all over the world. At first, it seemed as though there wasn't electricity but when we were at the store buying some things, the lights flickered on at about 8:00 and the old woman in the store looked up at us with a big smile on her face, "La luz!" she exclaimed and started chuckling to herself. We sat at the end of a dock in the moonlight, drinking  cheap Bolivian wine and watching the bright stars overhead. In the distance a storm was approaching and we "oohed" and "ahhed" as the lightening illuminated the dark clouds.

The next day we packed our bags and hiked the trail across the island. We followed an elderly sheep herder for part of the trail and made friends with a dog who lead us the entire 9km to the southern community of Yumani. Once there we found another small, family-run hostel and walked around the small town. While crossing over farms and walking up Incan terraces, we gathered an entire pack of dogs and we named each one individually.

For our third day on the island, we ventured off the main trail and went to find some hidden beaches. We got off the trail and found a beautiful rocky beach on the shore of Lake Titicaca. It was absolutely stunning and we decided it was necessary to swim in the lake's clear blue water. Across the beach we spotted a boat coming and watched as a family disembarked and began to collect driftwood. We approached them and asked if they might be going back to Yumani. After they realized we actually had no money to contribute, we decided to help them collect firewood and eventually began the slow journey back, trolling in the crystal-clear water near the rocky shore. 

That night we met some other traveler friends and hiked to the top of a hill for a delicious dinner and sunset. We sat, played cards and talked as we waited two hours for the woman who owned the restaurant to cook us the most delicious meal. 

Our final day we sadly said goodbye to the magical paradise and took the ferry back to mainland Bolivia in the rain.

Going to the island felt like going back in time. The electricity was sparse, there were no roads, no internet, no cars and a very simple and pure lifestyle. In contrast to the very invasive tourism of the Floating Islands, La Isla Del Sol felt genuine; We were simply observing the islander's way of life from a distance.