The most difficult day — Sliding down into the Abyss (Huayhuash trek, Peru, Day V)
I finally slept well. At these altitudes, and I am at 4,500 metres, sleep is not always easy to find. Tumbling out of the tent, I see a few mules and, further down, some horses standing placidly against a sharp backdrop of the rock ridges that ring our base camp in the meadow, grazing the grass. I am tempted to bathe in the nearby creek but the early morning temperatures are low and the meadow is still not warmed by the sun, approaching slowly from the left. It is 6 a.m., our usual departure time but my head is still not completely clear, as it sometimes happens when one finally gets rest after a few nights of awaken-at-every-sound sleep.
We are to climb the San Antonio Pass of the Cordillera Huayhuash, an ascent of about 9 degrees to 5,050 metres. Nothing too difficult, I think. As I start walking, I feel my stomach slightly churning: it is not exactly haute cuisine we have been served along the trek for the past four days, and sometimes the dishwashing is not completely thorough. The sun is rather strong today and I start sweating for the first time on the trek. I realise I have been completely wrong: the 9-degree incline is difficult because of the reduced level of oxygen at these altitudes, coupled with a scree-covered trail that has to be trod carefully. An occasional boulder provides respite from the sun and my stomach is adamant so I need to make a pit stop, feeling a bit sick. I fall to the end of the column, as I emerge behind the boulder.
My leg calves are getting tired being constantly flexed for over an hour, as I tiptoe and finally reach the col of the ridge, catching up with the rest of the group. Paso San Antonio provides amazing views on both sides with Juraucocha (Lake Jurau) glistening below us at 4,232 metres.
There are two other hiking parties already at the pass. We all need to reach the village of Huayllapa by the nightfall. The two groups turn and go back down the same way we all came up. They will trek this mountain massif from the valley stretching between the Elefante camp, rounding the massif and walking into the Huayhalpa. We, on the other hand, will not.
As usual, I am in the group that opts for the near-death experience. We descend the San Antonio Pass from the other side by sliding down a 24-degree slope covered with scree and providing only occasional dents in the soil where one can stop. The first few meters of the descent are so steep and so slippery that we form a column and hold each other by the hand, lest we slip and tumble down 600 metres to the nearest bottom of the ravine.
I trust my trekking shoes, as they have excellent grip, but some of my trekking pals are not so sure and the descent to the first few boulders is slow, as people feel with their shoes whether it is safe to put more weight on a particular point. After the boulders, the incline is such that practically the only option is to dry ski until encountering a semblance of the path and using its slightly raised ridge to break and stop. I slide down using my trekking poles until the speed gets so high that I need to jump and change direction every few metres.
By now we are rather scattered out, allowing each other time and space to manoeuvre this face of the mountain. The descent is both fast and slow, as we ponder the best route to reach one slightly flatter spot on which to rest. This side of the mountain is completely bare, there is no vegetation. It is practically a moraine, a relic from the melting glaciers, a very slippery slope, and my whole body is completely calm and fully tensed as I realise it is a dangerous situation requiring complete concentration. I like such moments in time as they permit me to fully enter the here and the now, every atom of my body feeling alive.
Finally there is a small flat spot between two sloping stretches and we rest and have some snacks. From there, the trail is still steep but not as barren and there are crags and rocks on which to sit and observe the godly beauty of this part of the Andes.
Juraucocha’s turquoise colour provides a tranquillising sight after the adrenaline-packed slide. There is now even grass and a distinctive path that must be navigated with care as it is uneven and narrow. The worst one can do is to think the worst is over and relax. Then accidents happen. Until we reach the valley, I am constantly alert and utterly concentrated not to trip or fall down.
Finally, after gliding, sliding and whizzing down for an hour and a half, we reach the Huayllapa rivulet valley and drop down among the bushes of purple and yellow chocho flowers, completely exhausted from the descent from 5,050 metres. We are now at around 4,000 metres and the air is immediately more mellow and easier to breath in. My nose feels like a ton of bricks and there are bags under my eyes, something I never had before. I would become afraid of my beauty completely fading were it not for the majestic mountains on which I rest my eyes and forget about myself and my little worries.
The guide allows us an unusually long rest, then informs us we have another 13 kilometres to go. I blink and think I must have understood him wrong. 13 kilometres! But there is no way out except following the rivulet along one insanely elongated valley between two high mountain massifs.
So we clamber up to our feet and slowly resume our hiking pace. I feel like not talking to anybody, just admiring the clouds. Less than two hours later, we make a lunch break among the boulders scattered in the meadow where a herd of wild donkeys graze. They are meek creatures and come sniffing towards us but never completely approach us. It starts to rain slightly and I crouch under a boulder amid the dung of the quadrupeds.
The rain is but a light shower that passes after 15 minutes, and we resume our trek, constantly sloping downwards in a steady, fine incline. By now, the rivulet has started breathing and developed into a creek with rapids, happily sprinkling its shores. The play of the water takes my mind off the tedious hours of walking until we pass a wooden gate, a sign of the civilisation approaching. I feel like jumping into the water but the creek is not too deep and I follow the others, oftentimes stopping to admire flowers and violet mountain ridges until I realise I am completely alone and lost my way.
Very soon, two villagers with a dog pass me by and I skimp after them. They will surely know how to reach the village of Huaylappa. They take me up, to the grassy flatlands above the creek, past solitary horses and down rocky enclosures, walking fast and talking all the way. Finally they turn and point the path to the village to me. I greet them and descend to the creek, very soon meeting other members of my group who took a parallel but lower path next to the creek.
Huaylappa is the first permanent human settlement at 3,488 metres that we encounter in 5 days. Local buses stop in the village every day and people commute to and fro. As I enter it, I see nothing but coarse house facades and enclosures of the local football pitch where we are to sleep. Everything is grey and uneven as the river mud is used to protect the houses from sharp external weather conditions.
Our tents are not yet up and I somehow hear that the villagers are offering rooms with beds to sleep in. A couple of us venture into Huaylappa’s downtown and soon decide to take the beds and enjoy a proper shower. Our porters nod and put our tents and bags aside.
Our accommodation for the night is a village house with several wings and an inviting little inner courtyard full of potted plants behind a huge iron gate. I share my room with two other girls who decide to sit outside in plastic chairs and play with a German shepherd dog guarding the house. The village of Huaylappa is extremely rustic, and as the dusk approaches, tinges of violet and mystery descend its streets, making it a perfect stage for one of Tarantino’s movies. My Brazilian companion turns to me and tells me he is quitting the trek. “It is enough for me. I am happy I have done the first five days but I see no point in torturing me further.” If I had not had the acclimatisation weeks before, at the mountains around Arequipa, I might feel the same way. So far, the trek has been very strenuous but also so beautiful and exciting that, for me, there is no quitting.
