Three Mesmerising Lakes Hidden High Up in the Andes — Huayhuash (Day III)
From Carhuacocha to Huayhuash camp or how an easy hike can turn into a nightmare
Is there a better way of waking up than this? The neighing of horses, hot coffee, crisp air, fresh hiking clothes, the views the Impressionists would have died for…
I am at the Carhuacocha lake, at around 4,200 metres up in the Andes, and am preparing for a hike along some of the most beautiful landscapes on earth: the Tres Lagunas or the area of three glacial lakes (cochas) - Qanrajancacocha, Siulacocha and Quesillococha. They are nowhere near in sight, hidden behind the surrounding high ridges. But I can smell them.
The path winds around the Carhuacocha as the morning mist rises up and the perfume of our horses carrying provisions ahead of us slowly permeates the air.
We veer left and enter a hollow between a ridge and a mountain range to the left. It is a slight, steady incline until we reach a few bigger stones and look up a steep slope covered with spree. It is the end of the hollow and less than a 5-minute steep hike lies what must be one of the most beautiful alpine lakes: Qanrajancacocha. When one sees such beauty, time comes to a standstill. One cannot hurry. One sits down in peace, as though finally arriving at a particular destination or a symbol, and tries to imbue as much of the external as possible.
There is a sound of cracking ice and water streaming down a craggy, violet stone. The glaciers are thawing. There is a smell of pristine waters and grassy slopes that embrace them. The white clouds gliding over some of the highest peaks in Latin America, all exceeding 6,000 metres. I wish I could stay here forever but there are still hours ahead of us until we reach our night camp and I reluctantly slide back down and into the hollow.
Frequently turning back and listening to the ice falling into the lake, I follow the group skirting the second lagoon called Siulacocha and starting a steep ascent to the Mirador de Las Tres Lagunas. Siulacocha is magnificent, reflecting clouds on this brightest of days but fades in comparison with the first lake.
As we approach the third one, Quesillococha, I briefly admire the magnificent views but am falling into a steady hiking pace, trudging along the grassy ravine. We are heading towards the Mirador, at 4,550 metres, to take in one last glimpse of all three lakes. I start passing some of the members of my group who had been too fast and too eager to show themselves strong and worthy of the group as they start to experience the first onslaught of the altitude sickness. They pale into the background, sweaty and looking positively sick. There is nothing I can do but alert the guides who have pills and might be able to carry them up the slope, if necessary, as I detect shame in their faces and am not sure they would welcome my help.
As the diarrhoea kicks in, they are glad to be able to find shelter in the high grass of the highlands. The importance of acclimatisation at its most fundamental. I reach the Mirador de Las Tres Lagunas and am able to enjoy the view. The mist and fog are starting to envelop high peaks but it is still early enough an afternoon that there is no prospect of a storm or hale. A long ascent lies ahead and I am hoping that my companions recover enough to be able to scale it. For them, the hike has turned into a nightmare for they are not able to straighten up and see the beauty of these mountains, due to the most excruciating stomachache. The cooks look on placidly, accustomed to people crouching in the bushes.
Finally, after about an hour, I am at the Siula pass at 4,800 metres. The view on both sides of the mountain pass is beautiful but the winds are picking up and we take cover among some crags scattered on the pass to eat our lunch and get some of our energy back. There are a few independent hikers who carry their belongings on their back and even they start to unravel and complain about the altitude. It is the third day of the hike, Day D for most people not accustomed to high altitudes. If over-reaching their limits either in speed or power, most of them will end up being violently ill, which is not a nice prospect when one is so far from the nearest farmacy.
I feel good as we descend the final few kilometres of our 13.8 km day hike but my companion, the sturdy Brazilian guy, wobbles and looks weak. I give him two pills and tell him to swallow them immediately. He straightens up and asks to be left alone for a while. Since I am at the front of the group, I oblige knowing he will not be alone for long. I hike steady towards and around Laguna Carnicero as the thunderbolts strike its opposite shore. I quicken my pace almost to a run, remembering the tempest and thunderstorm of the first night. The rain starts falling, not too heavy, and I reach the camp just in time to avoid becoming muddy.
