Salkantay Trek - Day 3
With a knock on my tent door, I woke from a night filled with dreams of palm trees, warm beaches, and of all things, taking my kids to the candy store. We just kept going back over and over and every time they asked for gum balls. I reminded them that we have a gum ball machine at home and encouraged them to get something else. Aren’t dreams a funny thing? At least I know I slept well thanks to the foot sole warmers, my “water baby”, and the gifted sleeping bag cocoon.
At one point in the night though, I do remember waking from dreamland completely disoriented. I had the cocoon liner pulled nice and tight around my face for warmth plus my sleeping bag was mummy style to the point I left just a small hole for air to breathe. And so, for the life of me when I awoke I could not find my way out of the mummy wrap situation. I was feeling around in the dark for a zipper or a pull cord to loosen, but nothing. I started to feel a bit claustrophobic and then reminded myself to stay calm. I was not trapped…or was I? I fumbled with my fingers and fought my way out of the cocoon and then thankfully, just moments later found the zipper and found my way out of it all! I had escaped! As I drank my hot coffee this morning, I reminisced about this overnight scene and started laughing my ass off! If you’ve ever fought your way out of a sleeping bag, you understand.
I had some extra time after getting washed up and ready this morning, so I decided to do some self Reiki and incorporate a visualization exercise. I visualized my body as healthy and strong, my lungs adjusting to the altitude and pace quickly, and my mind rock solid for whatever lay ahead in the day. My mantra was this: "I am healing. I am strong. I am healthy.” By the time I exited my tent for breakfast, I was ready for another day on the trails!
At breakfast, our guides briefed us for the day ahead. We would start from camp at 13,700’ and climb to our highest point for this portion of the trek, maxing out around 15,360’ all before lunch. After lunch, we would descend 2,360’ rapidly downhill until we reached Pampacahuana Camp at 13,000’, our home in the valley for the night ahead. In total, we would hike approximately nine miles.
Altitude equals a wild card. You never really know how the body or mind may respond the higher you climb. Having been to 15,360’ before, I was ready for the climb ahead, but memories of my Kilimanjaro trek popped up in my mind. On that hike, the day we trekked to 15,000’ to acclimatize was the day many of my teammates began to experience symptoms of altitude sickness. I hoped our team here in Peru would remain strong and feel good.
Before heading out for the day, I stepped away from the group as usual to make my offering to Pachamama and to the mountains all around us. As I knelt down, hands touching the Earth, I thanked her for holding us safely, guiding us along this journey, and allowing us to trek and explore on this native land. I placed yet another small piece of rock that I had carried with me in my pack on the ground and before I even stood back up, I could feel my body rearing to move. Thankfully, we got the call just then.
“Hakuchis! Si, si or no, no?”, yelled Nep, our lead guide. Hakuchis is a Quechua term meaning “Let’s go!” It became a type of battle cry for us all, ringing in the air multiple times a day as a signal to get our packs on and be ready to start moving. “Si, Si!”, we all replied, and then, one foot in front of the other and we were off.
Immediately, we began ascending. This was par for the course day in and day out. Hills on repeat. Stairs to climb. Three ups for every one down. Burn, push, ease, break, repeat. I knew what was coming. I was ready for it. I reminded myself to breathe. I reminded myself of the massive power that lies in taking just one step. And so, that’s exactly what I did.
As compared to the steep switchbacks yesterday, Nep kept a bit of a slower pace this morning which I appreciated. After all, we would gain over 2,000’ of altitude today. Instead of starting off huffing and puffing right away, my body felt more at ease and I found myself get into that natural rhythm sooner. We take several short breaks to drop layers, grab water, snap some photos, and most importantly, breathe. Never a bad thing on this type of adventure, especially with a group of 22 people, some beginning to experience headaches, lack of appetite, and other mild symptoms of altitude sickness. I’m not sure if it truly matters whether you go out guns blazing or start off slow on these climbs because either way, it will get uncomfortable at times. Yet despite that discomfort, the body and mind find a way to keep pushing forward. Giving up is not an option. If I had to put money on it though, under these conditions in order to sustain day in and day out, I’d say slow and steady wins the race.
Coming into the group solo, not knowing a soul, I trusted in the Universe that at least some of the people I would be connected with would be my kind of people. After all, we all stepped out of the comfort of our day to day and chose to make the trip for this epic journey in Peru. Turns out, the Universe does always have my back. As the days go by, I am realizing that every single person here, in one way or another, is “my kind of people”. None of us take ourselves too seriously and we all know how to joke and have a good time. There has been a hell of a lot of laughter along the way, one of my all time favorite things. There are some people here in couples and others that came as singles. There are team members who have never camped or haven’t camped in years. There are people who have never been on this type of extensive trekking experience in the states, let alone in a brand new country. There are business owners, retirees, volunteers, parents, IT professionals, event planners, occupational therapists, HR professionals, and more. There is one member who is afraid of bridges and absolutely can not pee outdoors, a non-negotiable that would soon become negotiable as part of this experience. Hell, our leader, Chris Sullivan, is a freakin living kidney donor and member of the Kidney Donor Athlete team! While individually we represent all walks of life and various backgrounds, together we are a group of 22 people representing grit, determination, and persistence. 22 people who have stepped through fear and directly into discomfort. 22 people who refuse to give up. We are 22 badass humans and together, we are unstoppable.
Our route today brought us up and over through two passes, the first being the Tambomachay Pass at 14,323’ which we hit prior to lunch. We may not have seen the Andean Condor when we visited the Chonta Viewpoint two days ago, but today as we approached the pass, we were paid a visit. Soaring high up in the sky, there he was, massive wingspan and all. The Condor holds great spiritual meaning, believed by the Incas to be the messenger of the heavens and representation of the Jananpacha, the upper world, the skies, and the future. The Incas also believed that the great Condor carried those that had passed to their afterlife on its massive wings. In fact, the Chakana, or Incan cross, displays The Inca Trilogy consisting of the Condor, the Puma, and the Snake, each representing different worlds, the upper world in the sky, the middle world, and the underworld respectively. Needless to say, getting to see this powerful creature in his element, us visiting his world, was moving. I watched in awe as he soared up and over the ridge line, peaking out to say hello and then disappeared once again.
After stopping to capture the views and take in the beauty of it all, we continued on to our highest point of the trek at the Cruzjasa Pass topping us off at 15,360’. When all you can see from where you stand to eternity are mountains and glaciers meeting valleys and streams, the snow capped peaks of Salkantay Mountain, Mount Veronica, Mount Ausangate and more, and blue skies meeting the greenest of green landscape, you realize that pictures will do no justice. The sheer vastness of this landscape is truly indescribable. Where it seems minimal life exists, you find red and orange mosses growing, bright yellow dandelions peaking out just above the Earth’s soil below, and patches of this bright green, spiky ground cover that reminded me of some kind of turf I might see at home. The trails we walked today were lined for miles on all sides by a special kind of ichu, a tough straw-like grass that only grows high up in the Andes. In fact, this material has been used to build straw bridges such as Q’eswachaka, an Incan bridge in Peru. How blessed are we to be here, now, seeing this all with our own two eyes?
We had hiked for 4.5 hours or so when someone spied the mess tents from afar, little dots in the far off landscape. So after a short descent to about 15,000’, we were all excited to arrive at Uspaccasa, our lunch spot, to refuel and rest before continuing on for the day. As usual, the kitchen crew had passed us along the way and by the time we arrived, a hot beef and vegetable stew was there waiting for us, along with hot tea and snacks. It never ceases to amaze me that here, high a top the mountains in Peru, we are being served five-star meals from a mess tent that has the best views around!
After lunch, we began the descent portion of our trek for the day. Down, da-down, down, down we went for over two hours and about 2,000’. Poles were out, knees were on fire, in fact screaming for many of us, and dust was flying into our faces with every step. Despite the monotony of it all, what stood out to me was that the landscape began to completely change. This visual shift was enough to keep my mind off of the fact that we were eating dirt and pounding rock with every step, no end in site. We followed a beautiful, flowing waterway the entire way down to camp, something we hadn’t done to this point. Since leaving the cloud forest, the majority of our trek had been very hot, exposed, and dry. The cooling effect of the water was better than a present on Christmas morning as a kid. The further we descended, the more we began to see. There were old animal corrals made out of rock walls, the remains of an old home made from stone, and a lot of low green shrubbery. While more visible and obvious signs of life began to appear the closer we got to camp, we didn’t actually see camp until we climbed one final hill and took that last turn. My fellow teammate, broken from knee pain and the terrain of the day, broke into tears at the first sight of our tents. Others behind me declared, half jokingly and half seriously, that if we hadn’t reached camp soon, they would have been calling for the horse to carry them. Admittedly, my body was over the moon to know rest was near.
Trekking is no different than any other sport that requires your full physical and mental commitment for hours at a time. When you’re in the midst of it, there is no room for deviation. You are completely locked in. Your full focus is on moving, progressing, and pushing with every fiber of your being. It can be glorious one moment and completely uncomfortable the next. You find a way, as Dori says, to “just keep swimming”. But the moment you see that finish line, the moment you taste the end is in sight, the moment you know you have made it, that is the moment you allow yourself to begin to loosen the reigns and let go. There is the final push of adrenaline and speed that takes over, carrying you to the finish line. You then find yourself celebrating and bursting at the seams with inner joy from it all. You’ve done it! But then, often times, you may find yourself unexpectedly having shifted to complete emotional untethering coupled with the onset of acknowledging the pain. The flood gates of emotion come rushing open and, just as quickly, they close as you pull yourself back to a space of “I fucking did it! I made it! THAT WAS AWESOME!”
Our camp that night was at Mirador Pampacahuana, sitting along the edge of the river and a nearby waterfall. Just alongside our camp was a very small village with a few small huts where the natives of this land live. Their dogs visited our camp and we all welcomed them, offering food scraps and belly scratches to mans best friend. Smoke from what I assume were their fires for cooking wafted in the air, giving off the scent of campfire, or at least as close as we would get to campfire on our journey. It was comforting. It was beautiful. It was my favorite campsite thus far. Being near the water feels like home to me and so I suppose, our campsite was the closest I’d felt to home in days.
This campsite is my favorite thus far, not because it will be above freezing tonight, but because it’s on the water. The sound of running water is like natural white noise for sleep.
My body is tired and my mind is wiped. I am ready for some warm dinner, shared stories from the group, and a good nights sleep in above freezing temperatures. The bonus of course being the sound of running water outside of my tent, a type of natural white noise.
Tomorrow we will hike for 12 miles all in, but for now, I rest and recover.