We were up before dawn. It was day 2 on the Inca trail, known for those on the four day trek as the hardest day. Though we’d camped at over 10,000 feet in elevation. Ahead of us lay 10 hours of hiking to summit the 13,800’ Dead Woman’s pass, a drop down to 11,700’ for lunch, back up to 13,123’ for a second pass, and finally a short drop to 11,800 feet to our camp that night. The map for the day labeled the distance with 16 kilometers over 11 hours as ‘challenging’. The drawing of elevation gain and lost looked like the outline for a rollercoaster. And we were going to walk it.
Everyone was nervous about rain. Our trip commenced at the beginning of the rainy season and the forecast had warned of showers. We woke to fitful clouds where our tents perched on the side of a mountain. Dead woman’s pass, so named due to the profile of a woman in the rocky outcrop, lay hidden behind us by terrain and clouds, and, when we first woke, dark.
We were served coca tea in our tents and given warm water for washing. Then it was packing up our sleeping gear, and stuffing anything we didn’t want to carry that day into the bag for the porter. The day before had taught me success was more important than a great photo. I deposited my good, and bulky, camera and lenses into the porter bag. And, after a glance at the sky, most of my rain gear, keeping a jacket and gloves, my hydration pack, and my little point and shoot camera. I wore layers to deal with the exertion and altitude changes. Then I tried not to feel guilty for asking someone else to carry the crap I’d just abandoned. Especially when the porter’s physically didn’t reach higher than my shoulder.
Raven and I are early risers. Our bags were stashed on a tarp and the porters were disassembling our tent before we were called for breakfast. Mindful of lunch the day before, I ate sparingly. And then Lizandro gave us news I didn’t want to hear. We would hike together to the day’s first Inca ruin Llulluchapampa.
I knew I’d made it through the day, but only by hiking my pace. Which wasn’t the group pace. But what can you do but try? Tammy and Stephanie bucked up my spirits, laughing that the three of us would bring up the rear of our group. With that, packs went on and we starting hiking… up.
How do you prepare yourself mentally for something that you know will challenge you on every level? Everyone was in good spirits, especially as the sky cleared and rain appeared less likely. I was ready, determined that I would make it through the day, knowing that the hardest part of the Inca trail would be behind me by dusk.
It was a promised two hours to Llulluchapampa. We made it in an hour and three quarters, and I was the last of our group to arrive. Beyond that, I can’t tell you much of the hike upwards other than I was out of breath, I stopped to gaze at, and photograph, flowers, enjoyed the breeze sweeping down the valley to my right, and marveled at the view of high mountains surrounding me. There were fitful clouds masking and revealing summits, and merging with distant snow on the tallest. The struggle seemed so much less amid such a place. Those hiking past me were mere blips in my journey to a place far ahead.
At Lulluchapampa, we had not only a rest stop, but deeper education into the Inca culture. Perhaps this is where schools go wrong. It is easier to appreciate, absorb, and remember history when surrounded by its ruins, and the lecture is given by someone related to the legacy created by the events he told. I might get the names wrong, but I can now rattle off the events prior to, during, and following the Spanish arrival in Peru. Some of the names I even get right! 😉
After our stop, Lizandro released us for the remaining two hour hike upwards to Dead Woman’s Pass, a portion thankfully taken at our own struggling pace. I was quickly playing leapfrog with a set of other hikers from a different group. We exchanged encouragement along with backgrounds. We were all on the same hike, struggling and overcoming. Below in the grass valley, llamas dotted the edge of a field. A few appeared on the slopes around us as we walked, and stopped, and walked onwards.
The punishing upward steepness eased toward the top. I knew it was the top as on my frequent, not really breath catching stops I had plenty of time to study the terrain ahead. At the head of the valley-wide ravine of grass and scrubby trees a few figures waited at the notch between higher peaks. As faster, desperately out of breath hikers trudged by, I told them the pass was just ahead and gave time estimates. They shook off their daze with a relieved smile and kept going.
Raven was the first thing I saw as I made the last bend in the trail that had been all dirt to this point. He sat on a rock where the path merged with the flat of the summit and offered a smile along with, “finally made it?” Lizandro took my blood oxygen level which read 82, telling me it wasn’t bad for our altitude. Raven’s was, of course, 89 and he’d been one of the first at the pass. The altimeter read 13,800 feet.
We sat and surveyed the valley with its clouds as the cold air of Dead Woman’s Pass dried well earned sweat. For me, it wasn’t a long break, I barely had chewed on the sandwich the porter’s had given me, before Lizandro gathered us together and advised we head down.
Down to lunch, down to a break, down 2,100 feet on a trail that was now stone and mostly steps: steep, old, alpine steps of stone. Living in Maine, I felt like I was home.
Finally no longer the last in the group, but instead in the middle, I stretched my legs on the short flatter sections and used the hiking poles on the crumbling staircases that dropped farther and farther down the mountain’s flank. A small stream rushed along to my right, first far below me and eventually above me as it tumbled over the steep hillside. Other waterfalls came into view far above me to my left. Lizandro told us later there were seven lagoons nestled amid the mountain summits which fed the falling streams.
I loved the walk down, but by the time I reached the lunch spot nestled in the valley the sight of the trail weaving up the next mountain made me nauseous. Raven and I napped in the grass as the remainder of the group arrived and lunch was prepared. The food served was truly a feast for the eyes and us with skewers of chicken stuck into a turtle made from a pineapple arriving to applause. But eating was another matter as we tried to convince bodies that only wanted sleep to consume the calories we each needed to go on. Because we had another four hours to go on. Cooper was the first to opt for sleep over food. Lizandro looked over his group and gave us an hour to nap. Everyone happily headed out to the sun and grass.
After break, Lizandro told the group to head out, stick together, and he’d catch up. The instructions led to some confusion when we reached a small lagoon. Half of the group thought we were supposed to meet Lizandro there. The other half wasn’t sure. So we waited. Which began with a story promised the day before by Ivan. He crafted a grand tale of lost dragon love that resulted in the expanse of water before us. Somehow that led to plots to scare Lizandro, who had yet to appear. As Ivan hid, Tammy, Stephanie, and Cooper called Lizandro over with a question about the lagoon. Unbelievably the shenanigans worked as Ivan leapt out from below the ledge where Lizandro stood with a growl. Lizandro jumped and yelped, we laughed. And then were told to get moving.
Now with our guide, we kept the pace upwards through switchbacks. During pauses Lizandro pointed out the profile of the woman for whom Dead Woman’s Pass was named, though we argued sleeping might have been the better term. We looked back to the tiny ruin of Runkuracay with the waterfall dropping to the valley where we’d had lunch, and mountains stretching skyward around the valley.
The summit of the second pass of the day had a fine dark dust coating the pace between rock outcrops. The rest there was friendly after the shared joke on the way up. So we took Lizandro’s warning of more steep steps, and our first Inca tunnel, which we were told was dangerous, very seriously. Our tents were a mere two hours of downhill walking! The sun was getting low, though now that we were on the western side of the mountain we were descending with the light.
A few hundred feet below the summit, the stone path entered the mouth of a small cave. Warned to watch out for spiders, watch our step, and not to touch the walls, Lizandro walked in first. I heard startled yelps as one group member after another entered ahead of me. Uncertain what I faced, I eased my way down the steep stairs, feeling my way in the dark. I could see Raven ahead as the trail flattened out before exiting the cave. Watching him, I never saw Lizandro until he jumped out and growled. I yelped and laughed, joining my similarly accosted hiking mates. Lizandro hadn’t waited long to payback the teasing we’d given at the lagoon.
With an hour and a half of Inca steps ahead, the group spaced out. There were times I walked alone on the trail, no one visible ahead or behind. The sun dipped lower. My legs began to feel the constant jarring of step down after step down onto hard stone. Many places had to be navigated carefully due to loose pebbles or slanted surfaces. After eight hours of hiking with only an hour break, it was no time to stop paying attention.
Finally the trail evened out, dropping from the alpine grasses to a lush forest looking more jungle like than anything we’d seen on the trail. Moss and lianas hung from branches. Ahead the walls of Sayacmarka reflected the fading sun where it perched on the mountain side. Only seventy-nine steps up, steep and awkward steps covered in moss, lay the Inca ruin waiting to be explored. Lizandro had said it was optional. I watched a few people walk through it longingly, hating to walk by while knowing the chances of standing there again were small. But I kept going.
As I dropped farther into the valley and the campsite didn’t appear, I decided I’d made the correct choice. A small ruin lay along a stream, the site already lost to shadows. The trail wound onward through the jungle-like forest. The path here was mud and there were few other hikers. Exhausted and stumbling in my pace a bit, I hurried forward. Finally the trees opened up to a wide flat plateau. The tents appeared.
I found Raven who led me to our tent set amid the most amazing campsite I’d ever seen. The setting sun lit the mountains in before us while a deep forested valley trailed off toward the southwest. The view was spectacular and mesmerizing, made all the more rewarding for having achieved it after such a day.
For most groups, the story of day 2 ends there. Exhausted, happy, fed snacks and then dinner, it was to be an early night. But… we weren’t the average group. Dinner led to some after dinner drinks. As a few of us pushed our tolerance levels, we laughed loud enough that we knew we were the most hated group in camp at that moment, keeping everyone from sleeping. But we couldn’t stop laughing. It might have had something to do with Cooper’s Shaker Weight demonstration, but I can’t say more than that. I swore I’d keep most of what happened off line.
When we finally spilled out of our meal tent so our equally tired porters, who’d walked the same trail as us carrying more gear than we had, had set up tents, and made two meals, to clean up and then finally get some sleep (they slept in the main tent where we ate), it was only eight thirty and not another sound came from the groups camped around us. Finally curled into sleeping bags, we faded to sleep only to hear one group mate giggle. Which set off the others. Laughter rippled down the line of Alpaca tents until we fell silent again. And then someone would giggle. I finally fell asleep with my stomach hurting from laughter far more than my legs hurt from the Inca stairs. And we still had two days to go.