living in the woods

The Cordillera Blanca.

Perhaps the most stunning and difficult thing I've done thus far. It is included within the Huascaron National Park, extending over 180km, it contains over 663 glaciers, has the highest peak in the Peruvian Andes, equipped with 269 lakes and 41 rivers—this whopping piece of earth is truly daunting.

For 5 days I trekked through valleys, shimmering lagoons, and snow-capped mountains at an altitude this Mississippian isn't accustomed to. The total hike was 62km, which doesn't sound like much, but when you have an additional 60lbs of stuff attached to your back you start to wish you were one of the people who rented a mule for $5 bucks a day.

I decided no mules, and no guide.

I was going to do this with only three days of acclimatization in Huraz, rent some gear, get a friend, and buy lots of oranges, bread, oatmeal, sausages, and mustard. Always mustard. The gear I got looked as if it got lost in 1983.. Neon purple backpack—missing buckles & straps, a tent with a hole, a sleeping bag with a broken zipper, a pot barely big enough to boil water, and a spork. Off I go..

It takes 2 hrs in a Colectivo—Peru's poor excuse of public transportation which is a minivan that looks like it is on the brink of explosion filled with about as many people as an Evangelical church. If you are handicapped or claustrophobic—good luck—because this is the only option.

I woke up to 6:00am sunrise, the sound of whimpering dogs and bitting cold in the background. Double checked my 60lbs of necessary shit, put on my rented jacket that smells of 1983 and licorice, and find the Colectivo to Caraz— the place I start the Santa Cruz trek. Once I get to Caraz I had to find a taxi that would take me to Cashacampa, the first refuge that you are supposed to start from. One guy tried to charge me 80 soles (about $20) to take me to Cashacampa. I had to inform him that even though I look like I'm not from around there I know enough to understand that he was an idiot for thinking I was dumb enough to pay him that much. I found a guy that would take me up the winding, gravel, mountain road for 30 soles instead:)

Along the way we picked up a lady walking with a basket of peaches and a guy with a transistor radio. They were curious if I was from Germany, which is what everyone thinks, but I said

Nope. Mississippi. United States.
And with a grand smile the taxi driver tells me
Que bueno! Obama!

I laugh and tell him
sí, sí... finalmente!

We talked about the landscape of the area, our favorite fruits, Quechua words, and places I've visited. After the 35 minute taxi ride I learned about the importance the rivers have as their water source, that the cab driver's favorite fruit is duranzos, the lady with the fruit makes her living from the field, and the man with the transistor radio has a wife and 3 kids. We finally make it to the place I needed to go, I pay the cab driver, and all three wish me luck as the lady hands me a peach from her basket.

Buena Suerte. They say.

And I tell them thanks because I know I will need it.

Day one was the hardest. The terrain was mostly uphill and I was already halfway exhausted from the multiple forms of transportation I had to take just to get there. I started at 10am with a fleece jacket and long underwear, by 12am I was down to a t-shi rt and windpants, and by 3:30am I made it to the first camp. I had to take many breaks before I made it. Many were so I could chug my river water, one was for me to puke it up, and the other was for me to devour the most delicious orange in my life. The sight of camp was the greatest sign of relief. I threw off my backpack that weighed about as much as a 3rd grader and began to breathe again. It wasn't long, though, before I started to get attacked my killer flies, mosquitoes, and other insects that like to drink blood. While I was setting up my tent I noticed that my hands and arms had encrusted blood on them from all the bug bites. Damn bugs.

It didn't take me long to set up camp, but it did take me quite a while to boil noodles for dinner. I blame it on my mini pot, portable propane tank, and lack of patience. Finally, I got them half cooked. They were in that sticky, semi-chewy state, but I mixed in my instant cream of mushroom powder and they seemed alright to me. By 6:00pm the sun was behind the mountains and I was struggling to read my book Moon Tide by the only three stars I noticed in the sky.

When you are sleeping in the woods the days start early. You hear things that you don't notice when you are sleeping soundly in a warm bed. Like the clanking of pots from camps near by, the squawking of birds, and the weight of supplies being slapped on the back of mules. The cold in the air was jarring. At 6:00am the last thing I wanted to do was unwrap myself from my cocoon sleeping bag and begin to tear down camp. But I did it anyway. I put on my toboggan, jacket, and gloves, found my spork and ate my leftover mushroom sauce noodles before I folded up everything back in its bag and began trekking towards the mountain.

They refer to it as the Santa Cruz trek. One of the most breathtaking hikes one can take in Peru. Day 2 took longer to the next camp because there was more terrain to cover, but it seemed much easier since there weren't as many hills. I passed several rivers and lagoons—all different shades of blue. Some were iridescent and swallowing, others had a film like green shadows. And then there were rivers that I dunked my head that were about as shivering and clean as silver. I ate my expired meat sandwich and animal crackers by one of the lakes and it occurred to me, on day 2, that I was in the middle of nowhere, Peru. The thought made me laugh as more mules passed me bye by people carrying Camelbacks and fancy cameras. I was still stuck with 60lbs of survival utensils on my back under the heartbeat of the sun. It is an interesting weight, the things one needs to survive away from supermarkets and depot stores. To hear the slug of water and know that it is something I'm going to need soon. Real soon.. Like once I reach the top of the hill.

For 9 hrs I walked. Did the same thing I did the night before, unpack my bag, set up tent, swat killer mosquitoes and kamikaze flies. I got out my propane tank and made either porridge or bread-pudding. I am still not sure what the hell it was. I just know that it was 30cents, the requirement was water, and the package said that will make you strong. Perfecto!

Five minutes later my oat concoction swelled to an alarming proportion in which I would have offered some to the rest of the camp if it didn't taste like grey mud. I ate this for 2 days.

Punta Union pass happened on Day 3. This is the reason so many people do this particular trek. It is supposedly the hardest day for many trekkers. It is the day you reach the highest altitude of the trek and it is all winding, narrow, uphill. Luckily, I had eaten half of my oranges so I didn't have that to weigh me down as much:)

The snow mountain in the distance was a palm print away by noon. Below Punta Union mountain there was another shimmering lagoon and a glacier you could touch. A glacier!! It was the coolest thing being able to be so close to one. I wish the pictures could explain the magnitude of the place. Of the valleys, of the warmth, of the mountains, of the lagoons, and the cool, breezy nights.

After eating my canned tuna smothered in mustard on top of the pass, I took on last deep breath before hoisting the weight back on my back and heading towards civilization. I still had 2 days left. The rest of day 3 was downhill, which my lungs were appreciated of, but not my knees. It took about 4 hours to get to the last base camp. The landscape had changed from boulders and dirt, to flat valleys, snow-crusted mountains, sapphire lagoons, to emerald covered hillsides and hunter-green trees. Finally, trees!!

Day 4 reminded me of the Pacific northwest. Air smelled like wintergreen with a crispness of Washington apples. There were wild horses in the valley, cows eating the green, and one time I saw a sea of sheep come trotting through a clearing followed by a young boy with a stick. Day 4 was the easiest. Mostly flat and lush with shallow stream passings caused by glacial runoffs. Glacial water is the best water I've ever had. The landscape felt like I had stumbled into the Chronicles of Narnia—a part of me felt like I was loosing my mind.

The last 3 hrs was trekking through indigenous villages. Small children would run up to me smiling with their hands open saying

Caramelo ! Caramelo!

I first I thought it must have been another word for Gringo but it occurred to me, about 9 children later, they were asking for candy. It is endearing how simple the wants are of a child. Unfortunately, all I had were animal cracker crumbs in the bottom of my 1980s rucksack. They didn't seem to mind too much. They would try to talk to me and I would try to talk to them while walking and eventually our conversations would hit a wall as I kept following the path.

The farmland was beautiful. Deep fields of wheat and lilac. I passed some straw and mud shacks with people smoking meat and shearing sheep for wool.

Eventually, I made it to the small town of Vaqueria. From there I hitched a ride to Yungay, another town 2 hrs away, and hopped on a Colectivo back to Huraz. The drive down and through the backside of mountains might have been actually more beautiful then the pass and valleys I hiked. I sat next to a Quechua grandfather holding on to his 3yr old grandson while his sons sat in the front and drove. He told me me Quechua words for things like mountains, hats, and snow. Halfway down the mountain pass all 3 men and the tiny grandson got out of the truck and peed in a line over the cliff. I could tell by the melting snow and the angle in their trousers. I sat in the back of the truck laughing at how I managed to hitch a ride with three whizzing men and one rosy-cheeked, rawhide skin grandson whose name I still cannot pronounce.

By 6:00pm I was back in Huraz. I drank 2 bottles of wine and took a cold shower. I crawled into bed warm, clean, and thankful, that tomorrow I was going to return my 1983 trekking gear back to the lady I rented it from.