11 Ways to Die Enroute to Machu Picchu: Escape from Dead Woman’s Pass
Something had gone very wrong in Peru, and the look on my face gave it away. Undoubtedly, this would be the end of my hike, and it was uncertain how a medical evacuation would be possible from the highest point on the Inca trail to Machu Picchu, known as “Dead Woman’s Pass.” We were isolated and more than ten miles from anything resembling civilization, and it was clear that I would not be taking another step. There were so many ways that I could have died on that trip to South America, I just never thought my hike would end the way it did.
When I awoke on our first flight to Panama dry heaving and frantically pawing for the air sickness bag, I thought perhaps it was the plantain chips they served on the plane. They were terrible, but I knew that it was just the Diamox medication kicking in.
Way to Die #1: Plane Crash
Not once had I been sick during even one of the hundreds of flights I had taken that year. Even though I had never flown to South America before (and this would be the first of three flights that day) its never been necessary to take motion sickness meds, but now I was seriously considering it.
According to some of the most recent data, flying in South America is two to three times more dangerous than flying domestically. The chances of being in a fatal plane crash in North America is approximately 1 in 10 million, and during 2017 that statistic improved to 1 in 16 million. In South America, the chances are closer to 1 in 5 million, and that’s highly improved in the years since the infamous “Alive” crash in 1974.
The strong waves of nausea passed somewhere between Panama, Lima, and our final flight. The sickness came surging back once again after we landed in a tiny airport 11,150 ft (3,399m) above sea level in Cusco, Peru. This city was once the capital of the entire Inca civilization. As the bus weaved along the winding mountain road, all I hoped for was that we would quickly reach our hotel. It was on that drive that I made an important decision, that I would stop taking my altitude sickness medications. They were making me very sick.
Of all the things that we planned for and stressed the most about, it was altitude sickness that we may have worried about most. There is no way to know who will (and who will not) become sick from altitude. It affects both young and old and even if you have never been ill before it does not mean you will not fall victim in the future.
Way to Die #2: Altitude Sickness
It is uncertain why altitude sickness affects some people and not others and can affect people in many different ways. On a serious hike in a foreign land, it could be possible to dismiss or ignore symptoms like drowsiness, weakness, shortness of breath, or fatigue as the effect of a tough day on the trail. Just as easy to dismiss — feelings of dizziness, being light headed, or the onset of a headache. These are, however, the least concerning symptoms.
Many travelers will take doses of Acetazolamide (“Diamox”) to avoid the more severe symptoms, it acts as a diuretic to shed water from your body. In my case, it was the medication’s side effects kicking in that was making me ill. The reason it is so common for people to use when doing the Machu Picchu hike is thatfrom the moment you land in Cusco you are above the critical elevation of 10,000 feet (3048 meters) where altitude sickness is most common.
The effects are compounded by ascending too quickly, and it is why serious hikers take multiple days between elevation changes. The problem was, we had traveled between sea level (0 feet) to over 10,000 feet in a single day. In its severest form, pulmonary edema fills the lungs with fluid and is fatal from lack of oxygen. The Inca trails we would be hiking would exceed 13,000 feet at their peak, and it was not just possible but likely that at least one of us would show some symptoms. The severity of the condition was confirmed by our guide. Once he guided a private tour for a stubborn hiker and their spouse, who refused to descend when the early signs of altitude sickness started to creep in. By nightfall, he was having severe difficulties breathing and quickly approaching death. Through the darkness and rain, they raced him to safer lower altitudes and to the hospital in critical condition. While he barely survived, others have not.
Those pills were so nauseating to my stomach that I stopped taking them the following day. Friends in our group later would describe a wide range of symptoms from the same pills ranging from constipation to numb hands.
That night at dinner, we discovered the local alcoholic specialty — the Pisco Sour. The name is derived from “pisco” which is the Peruvian alcohol it contains. Pisco is mixed with a combination of lime, simple syrup, egg white, and sugars. These delicious cocktails quickly became our favorite drink, very similar to a margarita.
Way to Die #3: Alcohol Poisoning
The myth goes that the higher the elevation, the easier it is to get drunk. Some say it is potentially from less oxygen in the air and the effect that may have on the hemoglobin in the blood. Anecdotally this is false since I have little trouble getting just as drunk at sea level on the beach as I do flying at 36,000 feet, or in that hotel restaurant outside Cusco. However, there is real data as well.
A New York Times article in Sept 2008 renounced the common belief that drinking at high altitudes will get you drunker (or accelerate alcohol poisoning). They cited a series of studies from the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) denouncing the myth, who apparently has a vested interest in keeping people high in the sky but intoxicated at low-levels.
Alcohol poisoning is quite serious, and severe intoxication can cause you to aspirate into your lungs and drown in your own vomit. Quickly consuming alcohol causes the blood to become toxic and can cause your breathing or heartbeat to stop, can severely dehydrate you to the point of permanent brain damage, or cause seizures.
There was a twist, however. Altitude sickness can be compounded by both alcohol and sleeping pills, so they are to be avoided — and we all knew this. Despite the drinks, and late night hot tub, thankfully nobody in our group was too reckless. We all survived the Pisco Sours.
We awoke early and boarded the small van with our one-day guide, Marco. We learned an enormous amount about Peru that day. The Peruvians have always been an agricultural society, all the way back to the Inca. The terraces for growing crops adorn the mountainsides and are remarkable. As we toured the nearby Pisaq and Ollantaytambo Ruins, followed by the Maras Salt Mines and finally the Circles of Moray archaeological site, the ancient engineering was all around us.
While the country is very rich in resources, the people are impoverished. Many things are still done the old-fashioned way, but the people of Peru have never stopped adapting over centuries. Today the country is very tourist friendly, but Peru has not always been as friendly to outsiders and their influence. While many know that the Spanish conquered large portions of Peru in the mid to late 1500s, few know that the Inca empire fell mostly due to civil war from within the Incas themselves.
It was by sheer coincidence that we landed in Cusco during Corpus Christi, the significant Catholic holiday. The Inca rejected Catholicism during the invasion and had Corpus Christi forced upon them. We were told that a very high percentage of Peruvians are Catholic but do not worship it. They would secretly celebrate Inti Raymi, the Inca Festival of the Sun. Today, they are observed concurrently.
We were told that even though it is common on restaurant menus throughout the year, that during the festivals it is traditional to dine on Cuy (pronounced “Coo-ey”). Better known as guinea pig.
Way to Die #4: Food and water-borne Illness
Let’s just say that I’m a very adventurous eater. I once dined on alligator, elk, deer, octopus, and rabbit all in the same meal. Exotic foods such as horse, muskox, and caribou have also found their way onto my plate.
That cold night, at a small restaurant a short walk from the town center, we dined on ceviche and the local delicacies of guinea pig and alpaca. While alpaca has a very low concentration of cholesterol in the meat, Llama contains virtually zero cholesterol. We were told that it is rare to be served to anyone but local Peruvians. Another interesting fact — Llamas will not carry loads heavier than 25kg (55lbs),packed with more they will sit down and refuse to move. It is uncertain whether this makes them more delicious.
Peru has an upstanding culinary reputation, so we took the gamble. Pisco Sours were flowing all around while we all took a taste of the Cuy — reminiscent of a gamey rabbit or chicken. Alpaca was the much-preferred dish and tasted like a hybrid between beef and chicken. With every drink, we further risked altitude sickness, but we drank anyway. However, it was not just the Pisco Sours that some were drinking.
We discovered that two women in our group had been drinking the local water. There was an immediate concern. They had arrived early and had already been drinking the domestic water for several days. While it is possible for locals to drink from water sources, the water in Peru is not safe for foreign travelers. My wife and I had been as careful as possible and gone to extreme lengths to avoid consuming the local water — even brushing our teeth with bottled water.
While it is true that higher concentration alcohols can have a significant impact on killing specific food and water pathogens, that is only possible when consumed concurrently or immediately before or after the questionable food or water. It doesn’t help if those same drinks are made with local ice.
After perhaps one too many Pisco Sours, we departed from the restaurant. During the especially chilly walk back to our hostel, we were almost arrested for posing with some life-sized Llama statues. To be fair, we may have been riding them like miniature horses when the police rolled up — but that may have been coincidental.
When we met the ER Doctor friend-of-a-friend that joined our tour group at the last minute, our first impression of him was as he arrived fresh from the Coca Museum (Museo de la Coca). He was carrying a bag of Coca leaves with a powder that was meant to release the chemicals from the leaves when chewed.
Way to Die #5: Coca(ine) Overdose
Coca is the plant source of the drug cocaine. It is also used by local Peruvians to boost energy, alleviate fatigue, and enhance performance. Medicines are created from it to treat many ailments like asthma, cold, and flu. It is also used to improve stomach function and as a sedative. However, there is evidence to the contrary for many of these uses, suggesting that it does not improve heart output or physical exercise, even though it can cause rapid heart rate. It may also exacerbate asthma, instead of help treat it.
Coca-cola infamously contained coca extract and cocaine until shortly after the turn of the 20th century. After 1903, it was decocainized and used as a flavoring only, as the addictive nature of cocaine had become known and the drug became illegal. It is still illegal to bring the leaves into the United States.
The hard drug of cocaine causes a wide range of energy effects such as hyperactivity, restlessness, and excitement. It can also cause more serious cardiovascular effects such as migraine headaches, seizure, stroke, aneurysms, high blood pressure, heart attack, and potentially even liver and kidney failure. Just 1/4 of a teaspoon can be fatal, according to WebMD.
However, it was improbable that chewing the Coca plant in its traditional form (called “acullico”) would ever have this effect. There was ample opportunity to try it, it was readily available virtually everywhere in Peru. Regardless of this, we were told by locals to consume Coca only in tea. In that form, it can even help treat or avoid altitude sickness. The traditional chewing method was much less attractive — as a saliva-soaked ball of leaves naturally extracting the trace stimulating elements to suppress hunger, thirst, fatigue, and pain of all kinds.
Peer pressure can sometimes be a good thing. Being convinced to go paragliding for $110/person was indeed not on my agenda. That night we negotiated a group deal and were feeling pretty good about it, until the next morning when two men arrived at our hotel with two parachutes stuffed into the back of a hatchback.
Way to Die #6: Paragliding accident
As unnerving as it was to have these two yahoos taking our lives in their hands, I was hesitant but not nervous. We drove over an hour from Cusco to the jump site: a small mountain capped with several radio towers.
We were told the women would jump first due to the lighter winds, and that we had to be very patient since it may possibly take all day to jump. Time went by. When my wife jumped from the mountain, it was exciting as they soared high into the air. None of us had seen this before in person. Hiding in the “thermals” they rose higher and higher into the sky.
When they returned, it was time for another to jump. Then another. Each experience was different. Then it was my turn. We were told we were going to “try” to go further this time, the final flight of the day. We switched launch sides and as the moment came closer, that was when I became nervous. Before I knew it, we were airborne, and I let out a loud hoot “whoooooo!”
We worked the “thermals” up into the sky until they would “break” and we would start gliding downward before catching another. Up and up we climbed until we started our journey “further.” Working the air currents over and over again, we ultimately landed just outside the nearest town in a field — greeted by some very confused sheep. We had traveled nearly 20km from the jump site, that collection of radio towers on the hill barely visible in the distance. Time in the air: over an hour. My hands were freezing but very alive. Possibly more alive than I had been for some time.
That night was the tour briefing, and learning what would happen for the next four days of hiking. I wish we had got all of that information months sooner than we did. Many scrambled to town to get needed items last minute, like gloves for our hands for the chilly nights, along with other unexpected necessities. Sleep was tough to come by that night at the hostel. It was Friday: a bartender and DJ were on site with loud music and TV until late.
Morning came very early, by 3:45am we may have caught three hours of sleep. Maybe.
Way to Die #7: Bus crash
Onto the bus and for the three-hour drive to kilometer 82, the start of the famous “Inca Trail.” As I watched out the window, it was frightening to see the bus was often precariously close to the edge of the road at many points in the journey. The consequences of a mistake here would be high as the river lay below, and at times it would be quite the crash to the bottom.
Our driver was proof that there is a lot of trust in the culture — at least on the roads. And a lot of patience. The street and highway signs, things like speed limits and dividers were more of a suggestion than the rule of law. In retrospect, I don’t recall seeing a single police car outside of Cusco.
Even if we faced a potentially gruesome bus crash or not, it was impossible to sleep on the bus. There was much worse going on inside the bus than there was outside. The time of reckoning had come for our two travelers who had consumed the local water.
Both had become very sick overnight, and it continued into the morning. One wretched as she vomited into a ziplock bag in the seat behind me. Both women shared a color in their faces and were truly green — a haunting shade rarely seen amongst the living. Luckily with so many doctors in our group (1 doctor, 3 PAs, and 2 nurses), there was no shortage of advice or medications. Ultimately, the course of action was to try to stop the vomiting by suppository. That was not precisely the fondest of thoughts before venturing off on the hike of a lifetime. For them, it would become a struggle to complete the journey, as well as just to stay alive. Surely, this was the result of something waterborne, as they had come into contact with something the rest of us had not (yet).
Breakfast was elementary: Bread, jam, avocado, and Coca leaves for tea. As the food disappeared, it seemed odd to start such a monster hike with such a low-calorie meal. Regardless, before long we were on the trail. For several miles, the hike was flat and easy. Mules passed by, easily able to guide themselves without aid. In some cases such as loads of alcohol bottles, they were packed so tightly that it left little to the imagination what was being ported. Carrying or “porting” is a lucrative business in these remote regions. It wasn’t until later that the grueling and painful hours of climbing stairs were filled with endless thoughts of “why the hell are we doing this?”
We were huffing and puffing for breath in Peru because of a Halloween party that previous October. While intoxicated from who knows how many drinks, a good friend asked: “Hey, do you two want to come to Machu Picchu?”
I exclaimed “Yes! That’s on our wish list. We’re in!” As one of the Wonders of the World, it was one of those once-in-a-lifetime trips. It was not until about a week later that we discovered that we were not merely boarding the train up the mountain. Instead, it would be a 4-day hike over the mountains covering more than 26 miles (over 40km). Agreeing to that hiking trip was indeed the worse hangover from that party. Through partial pride and perhaps ignorance, I kept my word to join in the trek with this crew of friends.
It was really happening, we were really doing it. We started ascending the first peak several hours into the hike. Soon we were scaling hundreds of stairs at altitude, and it was by far the hardest thing I had ever done in my entire life. I wished I had someone carrying me at that point. Despite my many years as an endurance mountain bike racer, I was out of shape and no match for the thin air.
We drank boiled water every day during the hike. The insane amount of energy needed that day was incredible, my Fitbit showed over 3,800 calories burned.
During that time, the sickness pulling down our two hikers had not gotten worse, but it had not improved, either. They trudged onward like zombies, and it seemed miraculous they were able to continue at all. They had not been able to take in any new calories. The clean water they were trying to force down would not stay down for the most part, either.
Way to Die #8: Dehydration or Malnutrition
The symptoms of severe dehydration were absent — no confusion or light-headedness. However, as the day progressed, it would continue to get harder to continue. Our guides and other people in the group kept encouraging them, but it was apparent they were suffering. Despite the difficulty, they carried on. Nobody else had come down with the mystery illness.
Slowly making our way through the Peruvian mountains, my heart rate was soaring, and it was a struggle for every breath of precious oxygen. By lunchtime when we reached camp ready to eat, my heart rate was steady at 120 — while at rest.
Way to Die #9: Heart Attack or Stroke
Even after lying down in the field for a short nap to try to bring it down, my heart rate remained railed above 100 bpm. I was concerned that something was happening to my body. Rapid heart rate was one of the symptoms of altitude sickness, and I had long since stopped taking the pills. It was unlikely at my age that I would be at risk of a heart attack. Of course, the fact of knowing that my BPM was much higher than usual, was enough to create anxiety that continued to freak me out and keep my heart rate elevated. I hoped that the most obvious explanation was also the correct one — that I had just never done anything harder in my life. Ever.
No matter the various strains on members of our group, we ventured onward in the face of the multiple risks and dangers. The trail seemed endless. Time stood still, and I fell into a rhythmic cycle of climbing a dozen stairs and then waiting 30 seconds to catch my breath. Over and over again. More than once I almost fell backward on the stairs while ascending. All of us struggled.
At the sight of the red flag from our camp (signaling the end of our first day), we were exhausted but relieved. We had completed over 10 miles that day. Words like “agony” might describe it.
Years ago when I was much younger, I had seen videos of people climbing Mount Everest. I thought that they had to be in such poor shape, and I wondered why these people would try to climb the world’s tallest mountain. After that first day on the trail in the mountains of Peru, the reality hit me, and I understood. Those climbers were going very slow not because their legs could not handle it, but because their lungs would not allow it. The majority of hikers ascending to the top of the world carried supplemental oxygen for that very reason.
A pre-dinner snack of tea with crackers and popcorn was presented before us. Yum! Probably the best damn popcorn I had tasted in my entire life. A fantastic dinner followed before the cold of the night started to set it. The stars were brighter than you usually ever see them — with no light pollution. You could hear llamas humming nearby at a private home. A night of well-deserved sleep was interrupted at least once by the cold, but we rested well.
I thought our guide was joking the night before, but we were indeed awakened by “room service” at our tents the following morning. The hot drinks cut through the bristly morning cold. Definitely a full-service tour.
Day two would be the hardest day (a terrifying and mind-boggling thought after the difficulty of day one). Mango crepes (they called them pancakes) were an amazing cooking feat at altitude. Immediately after breakfast, we started ascending towards the top of Abra Warmiwanusca, better known as the infamous “Dead Woman’s Pass.” We efficiently and consistently reached the top at over 13,779 feet in altitude (4,215m), and it came much faster than thought. A whirlwind of epic photos unfolded. Sacrificial fluids for the Earth and a good spot for a drink. It felt great — the highest climb was behind us.
We started descending. I was feeling good and moving fast — both hiking poles plugging away. My newlywed wife was further ahead as I had paused to take several panoramic photos of the valley ahead. Perhaps I was moving too fast (yes, I was definitely moving too fast). That’s when my hiking pole slipped, and simultaneously my foot rolled to the left on a rock until I heard a pop.
Way to Die #10: Hiking Injury
Nobody was with me the moment it happened, and nobody else heard that sound. That feeling and the sound the bones in my foot made will haunt me forever. The thought of it makes my stomach turn to this day.
Hiking accidents including falls and broken bones are frequent, and they are the leading cause of injury and death hiking anywhere in the world. For this reason (and many others) tourists are not permitted to hike the Inca trails to Machu Picchu without a certified guide. It is a serious profession in Peru, where it requires four years of higher education. Even with that safeguard, people die every year on the Inca Trail.
I rose to my feet and put weight on it, delusional in hoping that perhaps it was mildly injured and just needed a moment to pass. I stumbled my way down to the group who had stopped to watch a chinchilla, but my mind was elsewhere. With a dramatic shift in my demeanor from just a few minutes ago, my wife knew something was wrong as I sat down. Indeed, something was very wrong.
The ER doctor took a quick look at my foot. Initially, he thought it was a sprain due to how well I was still moving on foot. Surely if it were broken, I would be in a lot more pain and not able to walk as well as I had been. He bandaged me up, and I was on my way. Our guides had stopped at the pass for only a few minutes, but it wasn’t long until they were advised that I was hurt.
Our guides made it clear there was a serious problem with that injury up there on the mountain. They seemed gravely concerned. I walked for several more kilometers and learned how to place weight on the back of my foot without too much pain. However, as the pain grew it was not long until I was being helped down the mountain by both our guides.
The stretcher showed up just before the lunch stop. I was upset and not enthusiastic to see it. Both my ego and pride fought with reality. Already disheartened by my hike being (most likely) over, the arrival of the stretcher made it more obvious what the situation really was. After arriving at lunch, it was my wife, a physician’s assistant (PA) who examined my foot more closely and made the diagnosis that it had to be a fracture. Walking even more than I had could cause permanent damage.
My dream hike was done, and there would be no bragging rights of completing the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Tears not from pain, but from defeat, flowed and I covered my face in shame. My wife and I ate quietly outside the meal tent, alone and with a distinct somber undertone. Her loving gaze and supportive words reassured me that even though things looked really bad at that moment, that it was going to be okay and this was not the end.
Without a cellular signal and definitely no WiFi signal, our guide pulled out a radio that we were previously unaware of. He made the call for more help. Being over Dead Woman’s Pass meant that we would continue forward rather than going back. For the next two days, I would experience the Inca Trail much differently than the rest of our group. A team of porters and rescue workers would carry me over many miles of treacherous trail and over two more lower mountain passes (Abra Runkurakay at 12,956ft/3950m and Abra Phuyupatamarca at 12,037ft/3670m).
To me, the most impressive thing was not the swiftness of the porters and how quickly they carried me, but the strength and determination of my loyal wife. Even without a heavy pack, she struggled to keep up with the Peruvian porters who excelled at both carrying heavy loads and were well acclimatized to the higher elevations and thin oxygen. She traveled alongside and was able to keep up somehow. Truly — love conquers all.
Way to Die #11: Rescue Accident
My precarious perch was on the shoulders of two porters at a time. They were in generally high spirits and enthusiastic as they took turns carrying the heavy 175-pound load (also known as my heavy ass). This scenario was concerning and potentially dangerous.
As much as I enjoyed being strapped to a board and carried unable to move, it was a little unnerving. More than once I was carried backward and sometimes upside down and head first down into and through dark tunnels. I was strapped in for a wild stretcher ride through the wilderness.
The first climb out was over a 400m elevation gain to the next pass. I could see waterfalls, ruins, and the clouds — we were above them. Surely, if they had dropped me, it would hurt and potentially kill me. It required a lot of trust in them, but I was not in a position of choice.
The porters took breaks and often placed me in advantageous viewing positions until we eventually arrived at camp far ahead of our group. They were still enjoying the full experience complete with guided tours of all the ruins we had passed by. That night with the help of friends, I was able to hobble over to the dinner tent so we could eat dinner and talk as a group. It would be the last time we ate dinner together on the trail. It goes without saying that all of the usual every day things became much more complicated like the simple act of changing into pajamas for another cold night. Other things that were already tricky due to being on the trail (like going to the bathroom) were extra challenging with the injury. That evening and night were somewhat magical with the clouds wisping around us.
The next morning, both of the sick hikers had started to eat and drink more and were feeling much better. One was an experienced traveler and hiker, she provided the opportunity to use her satellite phone to text my family, who had not heard from us in many days. From the top of a mountain pass, I let my parents know that something had gone wrong but reassured that everything was okay.
At the gate of the UNESCO World Heritage site of Machu Picchu, our team of porters who had carried me for two days was relieved by the official rescue team from the park. I will forever be indebted to all of them, despite the sizeable wad of cash I gave them as a sign of our gratitude.
As I was carried closer towards the ancient ruins, we suddenly stopped and were placed at the edge of an overlook. We had arrived at the Sun Gate, where we captured our first view of the mysterious 15th-century citadel of Machu Picchu (7,872 feet, 2400m).
You could see it on their faces — People were shocked and visibly concerned as we made our way into the ruins. Many would ask what had happened as I was carried above the heads of the rescue team — like the Inca King would have been transported centuries ago. As we got closer, the view from the stretcher was spectacular. Back then, a broken foot on those trails might have meant death, but through the efforts of dozens of people, I made it safely to Aguas Calientes, the small tourist town at the base of the mountain.
Aguas Calientes is what you would expect from a tourist town near ancient ruins that people from around the world come to see — overpriced drinks and food, local delicacies, and lots of tourist crap to buy.
As we arrived by bus, the medical clinic had thoughtfully sent a wheelchair, and we were able to speak with a doctor through a mixture of broken English and Spanish. Luckily, we were able to buy what was probably the last pair of crutches in that little town. They urged us to catch the train back to Cusco immediately. Stubborn, and now with crutches in hand, I had other plans.
The next morning our hiking group arrived early, and we were there to greet them at the entry gate to Machu Picchu. We would not miss the two-hour private guided tour of the most renowned cultural attraction in the entire country of Peru. Hands and armpits were aching from the crutches, I struggled up and down hundreds of stairs and kept up with the group. One young traveler passing by looked me up and down and just said “Good for you!” Our tour guides were equally impressed with the dedication.
The following day we would return once again, and our group hiked to the top of Huayna Picchu. My wife and I wandered around the main Machu Picchu site and took our last photographic opportunities. I only fell a few times. My ego was bruised, but not my enjoyment of the people and places of Peru. We embarked by train back to Cusco.
Both of the strong women who fell to the mystery illness would make a full recovery. By the fourth day, they had almost fully recovered. It is remarkable that they were able to continue for nearly three days with little to no food and water.
Years later, the one who provided the satellite phone was in the audience at the “Route 91” Las Vegas shooting in 2017. She narrowly escaped with her life and was injured while fleeing the scene. Over 851 people were injured that night, and 58 people died. She went on to hike all the way to Mount Everest Base Camp the following year.
Once back in the United States, a quick X-ray at Urgent Care revealed that I had suffered an avulsion fracture of the 5th metatarsal. This was the exact injury my loving wife had diagnosed on the trail. When my foot had pulled to the left, the tendon had been pulled so hard it broke the bone on the very outside of my foot.
I bought a fresh pair of crutches and strapped on a brand new walking boot cast. My newlywed wife and I had started our honeymoon off on the wrong foot, but we continued on to Italy for four weeks. We were in Ireland six weeks later when I was able to take the boot off my foot and start walking again. It was difficult at times, but what an adventure.
While we had prepared and worried about so many possible scenarios in preparation for the Machu Picchu hike, it was one thoughtless misstep that changed the journey. Like most things in life, it’s the things that we least expect that make the most significant impact on our lives.
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