Cordillera Huayhuash Meditation (Day IV)
Around 2 o’clock in the morning, I stumble out of my tent, not being able any longer to contain my urge to pee. The camp has been pitched in the middle of a wide, flat valley at 4,100 metres, and as I ungracefully untangle myself out of the tent, I expect to see a starry sky. There is none. Heavy, dark clouds are hanging over us, somewhere high up. It is pitch black. I turn my headlamp on and venture towards an outhouse, about 100 metres from the tent, trying to avoid falling into the nearby creek. As I walk, I hear a terrible roar and realise three shepherd dogs are galloping towards me. Overcome with fear, I turn around and ran in the direction of my tent. The bark subsides. I decide to pee four steps from my tent, relinquishing all decorum I was used to and not caring if anyone can hear me. Falling asleep takes a long time.
I feel tired waking up and sprinkle some freezing water from the creek onto my face as I pack and clear the tent up, part of our everyday hiking ritual. I notice that the three independent hikers, who tagged along for three days, have given their loads to our porters and look contentedly as the stuff is being loaded onto the mules. The altitude and the long treks have taken their toll on them. Today we are to cover a distance of about 11 kilometres from the Huayhuash camp to the Elefante camp, but with the elevation difference of over 1,200 metres, reaching its peak at around 5,150 metres.
Endless hours of ascent. After about three hours, I feel I am on autopilot, engulfed in total silence, attent of the wind sweeping these high Andean plains, my thoughts going back to the unresolved moments of my life.
Where does the fascination with the mountains come from? Is it the meditative pace of long walks, fresh mountain air that purifies and elevates one’s soul or incredible views that paint a different picture of the horizon from the one known to urban dwellers? Is it the proximity to sky and stars, primeval elements, primitive instincts, gods and demons? Is it the license to think about my dead mother and the fearlessness in the pursuit of freedom she has taught me?
Upon reaching the pass at 5,115 metres I allow myself to eat some chocolate while observing the snowcapped peaks nearby. It would probably take us 2–3 hours to scale them, as the difference at that point is only 350 metres but our trek leads to other marvels and we lack ice picks. Onwards and downwards, meandering through the dry, arid slopes, I turn every so often just to marvel again at the high peaks of Jurau and Carnicero at 5,960 metres. This stretch is dotted with passes, like Paso del Tapecio, points where the landscape changes from arid, desolate beautiful slopes into the grassy, more undulating ridges,
and back again to the scree-covered descents which force me to be completely in the present, concentrated and poised so as not to slip down and injure myself.
We walk and slide down all the way to the pristine lake below the Nevado Puscantrurpa. I sit by the lake, thinking about nothing, realising I had absolutely no thoughts about the past or the future anymore. I listen to my heart beat and my breath heaving and deflating my chest. Oh, what a glorious moment.
As I descend to the camp in the valley, I feel immense gratitude for life in all its aspects and I love each and every trial and tribulation of it.
