the peruvian chronicles, day 3

“Oh, it’s just the Peruvian Flats,” explained Ricki, one of our fearless leaders, as he pointed towards the summit of Salkantay which sits at a modest 20,574 feet above sea level. 

I looked at him doubtfully, my brain lurching at the irony of his statement, and then cast a glance at the clouds that seemed to be closing in on us in a somewhat menacing manner.  

“Oh, and expect rain at the top. It rarely snows up there,” he said nonchalantly, as he pushed back from the breakfast table and strode down the stairs to prepare himself for the eight mile hike up and over Salkantay Pass (elev. 15,213).

After spending much of the previous day doing our best to dodge whipping rain and howling wind, it was decided that garbage bags were imperative in keeping our belongings rain free. So we swathed ourselves in big, black garbage bags, draping them over raincoats, over gloved hands and in some cases, for those whose boots had proven to be less waterproof than advertised, over socked feet inside boots. 

Similar to the day before, we began our trek amidst a deep fog. A fog that was so fluid, that it seemed to be alive. It floated and undulated through the air, cradling us in its soft, wet arms before dropping us into torrent of wind and rain.

 A climb of 2,522 vertical feet, before lunch, was the crux of our trek up through the “Peruvian Flats”. A climb that featured 12 hairpin switchbacks, a rocky, muddy trail that became slicker and sloppier as the morning wore on, trains of mules lead by weathered porters in sandals (?!?!), and a cocktail of Gatorade and Clif Shot Bloks that were passed down our line from leader to porter like a sacrament. 

We weren’t the only ones enveloped in the mist and rain. The monumental glaciers that stood sentinel over the valley were shrouded in clouds, casting only the briefest of glimpses of their mighty peaks out to their waiting public. 

“13,000 ft!” shouted Steve as he ever so dutifully reported the altitude at 500′ increments to the group.

And as though Steve’s report of 13,000 feet was an sign for the heavens to open above us, the mist and the rain turned to snow.

SNOW. 

Now as many of you know, I live in the land of the snow. And don’t get me wrong between the months of October and April I live for snow; heck, I have a tendency to be a bit of a powderhound when conditions permit, but once May 1 rolls around Mother Nature and I are in a month long fight, which tends to see me on the losing side. That said, I was mildly impressed that Mother Nature’s snow curse had hopped continents to find me.

I shot Ricki a look that plainly said, “no snow, huh?” and he shrugged his shoulders and offered me a bewildered smile. 

As we rounded the last bend of the upward trudge, at about 15,000 feet above sea level (officially 780′ higher than I have ever been), towering cairns became visible through the dusty white snow that was swirling through the cold, wet air. 

“213 feet to the top of the pass!” announced Steve, as if on que.

We trudged onward with a renewed sense of determination. Another 213 feet and the rest is all downhill!

A round of cheers exploded out of The Garbage Bag Brigade as a sign proclaiming, “Abra Salkantay”, appeared through the sea of white.

“We’ve made it to the top of Salkantay Pass!” exclaimed Pepe, “How about a snack?” he questioned, a trace of a grin curling in the corners of his ever smiling mouth.

Pictures were taken, hugs were shared and high fives and pats on the back announced the excitement and relief felt by the group. 

We had summited our Everest. 

As promised, the rest of the trek was downhill. It snowed until we fell below 14,000 feet where cows grazed on rocky outcrops that merged with leafy green ferns and hot pink and yellow wildflowers. 

Our next lodge sat at 13,900 feet, right on the brink of the entrance to the palatial glaciers guarding Salkantay Pass and the Amazon jungle. Shortly after we arrived, the clouds broke, offering The Garbage Bag Brigade the chance to shed their black, plastic layers and gape at the mighty peaks towering above us. 

Mother Nature approved. We had passed Salkantay’s test and the deep jungle greens mingling with the stark grays and whites of the glaciers and the late afternoon sun casting a pinkish, blueish glow upon the landscape, was our reward. 

the peruvian chronicles, day 2

“It’s a little foggy out there,” someone commented over the clink of silverware and the munching and slurping of breakfast juices and cereals.

For me, strawberry yogurt with a sprinkle of crunchy, nutty quinoa. Muña tea, no sugar. One egg, scrambled with cheese, hold the tomatoes. And a glass of passionfruit juice, filled all the way to the brim.

“Don’t worry, it’ll burn off,” said someone else, taking a swig of their coffee.

“No, no, no, rain is in the forecast. Not too much, but wear your rain gear,” instructed Pepe, as he wiped his lips with a perfectly square napkin and pushed his chair away from the table. 

Outside, it was a little bit more than a little bit foggy. It was a deep, thick, engulfing mist, that swaddled the mountains and kissed the valley floor.  

And it was humid. Wet actually. Water particles clung to hair, to lips, to cheeks and penetrated coats, hats, gloves, and shoes. Yet, the water that clung to the atmosphere was so full of air, that it felt as if we were receiving kisses from the clouds.

Our destination was Humantay Lake, located just two miles and 1150 vertical feet above the Salkantay Lodge. It would be an easy day, with some vertical that opened up to a turquoise lake fed by the glacial waters of Humantay. We’d spend a few hours relaxing by the jewel-toned lake, perhaps enjoying a dip or two in its chilly waters before heading back to the lodge to enjoy the views from the “yacuzzi”. 

Alas, the weather had other plans. The higher we trekked, the wetter the conditions. Mist turned to rain, which turned to sleet, which turned back into rain. 

A piercing, cutting rain. 

No longer intimate brushes with Mother Earth, rather sharp, icy stings biting your skin. 

“Head for the lodge!” shouted Pepe at the top of the climb, fighting to be heard over the blowing wind and rain.

We turned back towards the lodge, craning our necks in hopes of a glimpse of Humantay Lake in all its turquoise glory. 

As we descended, the rivers began to fill, gurgling as they began their long descent back to the valley floor. Boots squelched and squished their way through the mud; rinsing again each time the creeks crossed the muddy, brown path.

Our arrival at the valley floor queued the rain to stop and the blanketing mist to return. We were soaked to the bone.

I removed my boots, stripped off layers upon layers of wet pants, shirts, socks, and jackets.

As I entered the warm, fire-lit lodge, I took one last look over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Salkantay casting a wink in my direction before disappearing again behind its curtain of clouds. 

the peruvian chronicles, day 1

We woke with a start at 6:01am.

The alarm was set to go off at 6:16, waking us from our deep slumber with its tinny bell shrilly announcing the start of our Peruvian trekking adventure up the Salkantay Trail.

But at 6:01, the ancient city of Cusco was already bustling outside our third floor window. Pots banging, roosters crowing, coffee roasting, and people shouting greetings of “Buenos Dias!” to their neighbors as they passed them on Cusco’s winding stone covered roads. 

At promptly 7:00am, we were notified that the van had arrived and was ready to whisk us off to Marcocosa where we would begin our seven day trek up to Machu Picchu. Trepidation, excitement, and nervous chatter filled the humid Peruvian air inside the van. It was an hour and a half drive to the trailhead/mule route just above the tiny ancient hamlet of Mollepata, allegedly the home of Peru’s first vineyard.

The first day of our trek began at an elevation of 11,001 feet above sea level, but upon looking about your surroundings your first observations were of the lush greenery blanketing the rolling hills. The roaring sound of swiftly moving water rushing down rocky mountainsides to the jungle floor. A flash of green and yellow as a Parakeet flittered and twittered in the trees towering above your head. And the humidity, thick wet humidity, of the fresh mountain air mingling with the thick jungle air rushing up from the valley floor. 

In Colorful Colorado at 11,001 feet above sea level, the landscape is a hodgepodge of grays and browns. Tree line sits at close to 11,500 feet and the low, cropped, dusty green bushes tell the story of the dry, thin air that characterizes the magnificent, yet barren landscape.

It was the perfect contrast.

Our group of 14 was quiet for all of 30 minutes. 30 soulful minutes of 14 strangers with heads on swivels, engaging all of their senses to envelope themselves with the sights, sounds, and smells of Peru’s high alpine jungle. 

Greens: sage, grass, evergreen, cactus, emerald, moss, sea foam

Flowers: orchids, lupin, begonias, Angel’s Trumpets

Birds: Parakeets, jays, Tanagers, and as we climbed higher, condors

31 minutes into the hike, the giggling started, the singing began, and the chatter was present as a low hum among the group. The higher we climbed, the lower the walls among the 14 strangers became. And by the time we stopped for lunch at 12,000 feet above sea level, it was as if the group was a bunch of longtime buddies going for a weekend stroll through the Peruvian wilderness.

Our Lodge for the next two evenings was located in Soraypampa, nestled between the Salkantay and Humantay Peaks, at 12,690 feet above sea level. After lunch, the 1600 foot vertical of the morning’s trek leveled off as we followed a winding path alongside an ancient Incan irrigation canal. As we rounded the final bend in the day’s stroll, Salkantay and Humantay rose up in front of us; their snowcapped peaks nearly touching the heavens.

That evening, as the sun sank low beneath the horizon, I stepped outside to watch the dusk light paint Salkantay in a jewel-toned mosaic of pinks, pale yellows, and oranges. The rocky outcrops of the “savage mountain” looked as if they were aflame in the midst of the setting sun. Clouds swirled around the neighboring peaks, bathing them, and me, in a foggy, pink mist.

Day one was coming to a close.