Vamos a la playa: the treks of Huaraz
Let’s play a very abbreviated game of where in the world is Carmen Sandiego, except with me instead. The first clue is I’m still in the same continent I’ve been in this whole trip. The next clue is that the stereotype are llamas everywhere, though I have yet to see one. The third clue is that this city is where people go to trek.
Haven’t figured it out yet? The answer is Huaraz, Peru. Were you close? Good job! I am here (as is the case with most places on this trip) because someone told me to come here. I left Mancora with my friend Blair, and we got on the bus to Chimbote, to then get another bus to Huaraz. Turns out there’s another bus change in Trujillo, and my piece of advice is to always follow your bag. You don’t even need the language to follow wherever your bag is going.
After that adventure we finally made it and upon entering the hostel I had already started talking to people. Other than the following your bag advice, talking to people is the best thing. It just so happened that the people I was talking to had just finished the Santa Cruz trek without a guide. They gave me their map, some advice, and some other supplies they were leaving behind and they left. Their ability to do the trek solo gave Blair and I the confidence that we could too.
After some planning and equipment rental, we were off on a four day, 50 km, 4750 m peak trek. The trip to Vacaria (our starting point) was an adventure in itself. Two colectivos (junky cars that shove far too many people in them, for example 21 people in a 15 seated van full speed up the side of a mountain) and two flat tires later, they dropped us off and we started to walk, all our food and equipment on our backs.
And we walked. And walked. And walked. And then it started to rain.
Day 1
This is when I started to question my sanity. As someone with asthma, why was I doing this to myself. It wasn’t until the second day, when we were going up about 900 m over the course of an 8 hour hike that I figured it out. I realized that this wasn’t for the exercise, it wasn’t for the scenery (amazing as it was), and it wasn’t just to get out of a city. This was truly just for me. This was for my own feeling of accomplishment. A feeling of pride and joy that I clambered up that rock face, walked up the endless paths, and climbed up the never ending stairs (that I was sure were going to lead to Shelob’s lair), and managed to survive.
This was a challenge to myself. This was done, not to compare with how well others have done it, but to remind myself that I can do it, regardless of how slowly I move or how hard I find it. From that moment the trek continued, but had somehow been altered. I no longer questioned my reasoning (though my sanity is still up in the air), I just kept on walking.
It was on the third day when we made it to that night’s campsite before noon that we decided to try to finish the four day trek in three days.
My view from the tent the morning of day 3
So we powered forward, which essentially meant that I did lunges for six hours across a mountain to try to keep up with a much faster hiking partner. I also discovered that I am not great at keeping on a path, and tend to lose it and ending up on some sort of rock that I shouldn’t be on. Which is what happened on the last day when I apparently took the wrong path and ended up playing adrenaline filled cliff-side versions of the game ‘Where should I step next?’, a game in which you essentially have to decide which rock to step to next that won’t make you fall.
After what felt like an eternity walking on a slippery downhill path, and getting stuck behind two donkeys fighting on that path, we finally made it back to Huaraz and immediately went to have a huge celebratory meal. Little did I know that the sense of accomplishment that I felt after having successfully completed the Santa Cruz trek would be overshadowed very quickly.
After some well needed R&R, Blair and I (and a guide) set out to summit Vallunaraju, a mountain 5678 m above sea level. The idea was to get to base camp on the first day, then set out at 1 or 2 am to make it to the summit for sunrise. Well day 1 went according to plan, but when we were awoken the morning of day 2, it was already 4:30 am, because it had been snowing and hailing.
The late start didn’t deter us. We donned our fancy mountaineering equipment, packed our water and set off (our guide kept saying vamos a la playa).
The day involved some scampering up rocks, some ice climbing (ice axe and crampons and all), and some trudging through waist deep snow. There were points where I wasn’t sure we were going to make it to the summit, especially when the path we were taking was cut off by an ice bridge, and we spent almost an hour finding another path.
This is the we may not be able to go further picture
Luckily we were all attached by a rope, with me in the middle. It meant that towards the end when I had lost every ounce of energy I had, our guide kept going forward, which would pull me forward, whether I wanted to or not. By the end, I was literally crawling on my hands and knees, and swearing like a sailor with every step. But who cares how I did it, all that matters is I made it!
I celebrated too early. After 8 hours of climbing up, we still had to climb back down, but this time in a whiteout. So off we set, sinking waist deep in the snow with every step. I managed, by being me, to get my leg stuck in the snow twice and we had to dig it out. I also decided that ice climbing backwards down the mountain wasn’t for me, and that I was going to slide down parts of it on my bum (fully harnessed in and completely under control, of course). Three long hours of going down the mountain and we finally hit rock. This was probably one of the best feelings, knowing that I had conquered both the ascent and descent of that snow covered obstacle. When we finally got down to the road three hours later, I was so happy and proud of myself for not having given up (though I thought about it many times).
So what have I learnt from these treks? I’ve learnt that I can do it if I really try, and that I probably won’t be trying again for another few weeks. Unless someone convinces me to.
