Watching Condors Rise in the Andes — Huayhuash Trek (Day II)
From Mitucocha to Carhuacocha
Standing in the valley of Mitucocha at 4,232 metres, I look up at the skies and think what to wear.
The weather is so unpredictable that yesterday we went from 17 degrees to below zero and the passes are covered with snow. Massive clouds glide on the horizon.
The interplay of mist and clear skies is mesmerising. As I climb up higher and reach the ridge, large brushstrokes of blue, white and grey sweep across the horizon. In not-so-far a distance lurk the highest peaks of Jirishanca at 6,094 metres and Rondoy Chico at 5,500 metres with the mighty Yerupaja topping at 6,635 metres. Stone approaches and grassy slopes. The perfume of grass and snow whiffing in my direction.
Further along the ridge, I sit down with my companions and look at the first glacial lakes that appear in the distance. The walk that begins as an earth path displaying rich soil underlayers
turns into a downward inclined spree-covered hard path meandering between the massive, impressive mountain ranges with a splash of green and yellow grassy cushions. They are tiny, moss-like plants called Yareta, or Azorella compacta, that only grow between 3,200 and 4,500 meters in the Andes and hail from the carrot family. They are the last defence against heat and water loss in the otherwise dry and windy passes.
As I watch these curious cushions, I hear a cry: “Look, a condor!”. I lift my eyes and face majestic black wings of a condor piloting through the pass. I have seen a condor before, at the well-known Colca Canyon near Cusco but I was on a platform, surrounded by hundreds of people, all taking videos of the birds rising up as the temperature increased, providing beneficial conditions in an otherwise cold canyon that created whirls of air, lifting the birds up. But here, there were no tourists, just a few of us, and the condors have come to judge who these curious creatures are. To see a condor is a sign of good luck, indigenous people of the Andes would say. Along the puma and the snake, the condor belongs to the Inca sacred trilogy and depicts the realm of the gods. And we are fast approaching this world. They circle for quite some time above our heads and then fly further north.
A few kilometres south, we encouter our first lagoon. The descent to the Laguna Alkaycocha is rather steep but nowhere as near as what we will face in the next few days. I have to concentrate not to slip and finally take out my walking poles.
As we reach the lagoon, a herd of cows approach me and one follows us around the pond.
Another ascent along the grassy pathways, up to a 4,750 pass from which the first lake of the three lagoons appears in the distance. Turquoise and mirroring the skies, the lagoon holds secret promises. We start the descent which will last several hours and lead us to the Carhuaocha lake.
The descent is the most meditative-cum-adrenaline packed slide in a straight line that ends in the view point, sharply cutting off the ridge and falling from 4,600 metres to 4,214 metres, a drop that cost many lives.
Joe Simpson wrote a book in 1988 called Touching the Void, describing how he fell from his descent of Siula Grande, broke his leg but managed to crawl, seek help and survive. A momentous feat of human will. I am looking at Siula Grande at 6,344 metres and decide to do some yoga poses, just to be yelled at by my companions, as I stand too close to the ridge.
My mind is poised and balanced and I stand strong. The willpower and balanced mind are a prerequisite as you descend such peaks. We trek down for almost an hour along some very steep slopes, people slide despite trekking poles and we have to take another break before finally descending to the Carhuacocha lagoon.
Our night camp has been set up at the shores. A little boy lurks behind a stone wall and his mother asks me to give them some money but my wallet is at the bottom of a 35-litre backpack and I walk by. Meeting humans again…
As the clouds gather, we decide to bathe in the Carhuacocha lagoon because we feel rather dusty after a 14-kilometre hike and the weather is relatively nice, a move that proves both liberating and excruciating as the waters are extremely cold and one feels as though stabbed by a thousand knives.
The night falls and the rain begins to drizzle. I am hoping that this time the gods of thunder will pass us by in the far distance.
