And on the third day...

After a grueling Day 2, we were all ready for the easy part. Just kidding. What easy part? Unbeknownst to the whole group, the third day possessed an Incan staircase known fondly amongst the locals as "the Gringo Killer". We had 1000M (about 3000 ft in altitude) of steep, straight decent. My basketball-beaten ankles and knees were in for a real treat. 

 

However, that gem of an experience would have to wait until after lunch. The total hike today was the longest leg of the trip, 15K (or about 10 miles).

The morning started with a straight incline. Unlike the previous day, today would be filled with "Inka flat" trail, which mostly means up and then down and then up and then down. We've come to know that there is no such this as "flat" when a Peruvian person describes a trail and the best you can hope for with "flat" is limited stairs.

We would climb to summits two and three today, but thanks to the aforementioned Gringo killer, we had a net downhill for the day.

The previous night and this morning may honestly be the coldest I've ever spent outdoors. We were warned to wear two pairs of socks, even inside our zero degree bags, and suit up in our warmest hats and gloves. This was not overkill. When Marco, our assistant guide, arrived at 5:30am with steaming hot coffee at our tent, it was almost too much to reach my hands out and mutter a "Gracias". Bless Marco and that wake up tent service. If only I could be stirred each morning with a hot cup of joe in real life....

Anyhow, once we'd eaten breakfast, we were off. The first hill wasn't as daunting as it had looked. When my toes reached the first step into the sunlight, I could almost feel them again. We wound our way up yet another set of granite stairs and into a set of ruins that served as a break during our climb.

 

Juan explained that all around us, there were Incan trails that we could not see. The last Inka (Manco) fled from the Spaniards into the mountains in this area and both created many decoy trails and also destroyed almost all paths that could lead the invaders to his people. The real paths were yet to be fully discovered. Many paths led to nowhere and had this been overgrown again. Therefore, we couldn't see these trail, but trusted our guide that they were there.

After this break, we resumed our climb to the second summit. While seemingly brutal, it was nothing compared to the day before, and we'd been informed that this was the last great climb of our journey. That made it all theory bearable. Reaching the top of summit two was incredible. One way, we could peer across at the 14,000 monster we'd scaled yesterday, and the other way was sweeping jungle valley. It was breath taking.

 

We began our descent into the "cloud forest" or high jungle of Peru. It was beautiful and very different than the Amazon basin we visited earlier in our travels. The air was still crisp and fresh, not humid and heavy. We wandered downward in search of our lunch camp, stopping at another beautiful set of ruins along the way.

 

Lunch was, you guessed it, filling and fabulous. After lunch, we would wind out way through a path of slight inclines and declines to reach the third summit of the trip. I think this was everyone's favorite part of the trek . We were hiking on some mostly flat trail high in the Andean peaks. The views were humbling, awe-inspiring, and sometimes downright terrifying along the way. The path could be narrow at times, slick from the most, and passed through more than one tunnel/cave rock formation that was pitch dark to walk through. It was rad.

 

When we reached a spot just before the last little climb to the third summit, we paused to really admire the view. We could see in the distance, Aguas Calientes, the town at Machu Picchu. It was a point that we could grasp in time and place. We were making so much progress.

 

We reached summit three and paused for a bit because we all knew what lie ahead- the Gringo killer. It would take two hours to get down from there to a fork in the road. If we reached this fork before 5pm, we were instructed to go left. If we were slow, we were supposed to go right and head straight to camp. The path left led to another set of ruins. Allegedly, this was our guides favorite thing to see along the trail and encouraged us to giddy-up. It was 3:10. Off we went.

 

I cannot begin to recreate the strong string of colorful expletives I developed for the Incan people this afternoon. The most family-friendly started with "those Incan assholes...". The spiral downward was the most brutal for me. Jeff didn't seem to have too much trouble, but after a while, every step was painful. My feet and calves were attempting to make up for my tired ankles and knees, which resulted in a hot, hard-headed mess. I, of course, both refused to slow down or to take breaks. You see, while I was cursing the entire culture, I knew Jeff would like to see the other recommended ruins. I was confident in that moment that I never wanted to see another Inka creation ever again, but I sure as shit didn't want to be the reason that Jeff didn't see it.

 

It was quite interesting to learn on this journey that while Jeff excels at the downhill, I do not. While most would agree that down is far better than climbing up, going up is way more my thing. We were opposites, go figure! However, the views were breath-taking and I was determined.

Once we reached the bottom of the spiral staircase the Incan people so considerately dropped in the MIDDLE OF THE JUNGLE, we reached flatter ground and finally reached the fork in the road. It was only 4:48.

 

 

We opted for the route left. Here, I really picked up speed. After a few minutes, I realized Jeff wasn't even in sight behind me. I was glowingly increasingly uncomfortable with the level of darkness that was falling. Jeff and I fell back into our rhythm and made it to the ruins in 15 minutes. I have never been more mistaken about the need to visit this detour from the trail. This was the most humungous set of heaping terraces there ever was. It was incredible to see.

 

 

Far below we could make out the camps and even farther in the distance, the river that winds to Machu Picchu. We stopped for a few minutes to take it all in, but not for too long. We had to make it to camp before dark, and dusk falls early in these parts.

As we started to curl down the path to the bottom of these terraces, I emerged from a wooded area slightly ahead of Jeff. I was greeted by a black Alpaca, grazing away about 20 feet ahead. He looked up as I barreled out of the trees. He was looking right at me! I turned back the single track trail to whisper at Jeff for the camera. I stopped. Jeff reached me and also saw the alpaca, who had taken a few steps our way, still staring right at us. He continued towards us. All at once, I start to envision us being attacked by a wild alpaca. Do they even have real teeth? They eat plants! He kept coming, and we managed to snap this photo:

 

He shimmied right passed us, as we both pressed ourselves to the mountainside of the narrow trail, and kept on lumbering up the trail. Good luck to the next hikers he meets.

 

We continued downward and about 30 minutes later, we reached our final campsite. Taking off my boots had never felt so good.

On a side note, I love my Merrell hiking boots. The trip to Peru was their maiden voyage, and I suffered not a single blister or irritation. #winning.

We ate an early dinner and crawled into our tents as quickly as possible. The wake up call for Saturday was 3:30am. We needed to hike the last 5k (3 miles) to Machu Picchu before sunrise.

Someone saw a snake in camp, and that was enough for me to ask Jeff to check our tent three more times before I locked myself inside until morning. It was a blissful slumber, for the next 6.5 hours.

My 30th Birthday, or The Most Physically Demanding Day of My Life

The second day of the Inca Trail is known to be the most difficult, for us it also happened to be my 30th birthday.
We woke at a leisurely 6:30 am to tent service. Marco woke us up and brought hot tea or coffee to our tent door. My altitude sickness was getting better, but I still wasn’t feeling 100%. Day one had proved more difficult than either of us had expected, so we decided hiring a “local” (unofficial) porter for the day would be a good idea. We packed our sleeping bags and everything we thought we could live without for the day into my backpack. The local porter would carry my backpack over the highest pass to the next day’s camp, about 12 km away (7.5 miles) where he would leave it with our group porters. He would then return 12km back to his home. The cost for this service is 120 soles, about $42. Kate’s backpack carried just rain jackets, water, and snacks, we would take turns carrying this backpack, each for half of the day.
After a delicious breakfast, we were introduced to our groups porters and cook. To support the 15 of us hiking and two guides, there were 19 porters, a chef, and a sous chef. We went around the circle introducing ourselves. Each trekker said their name and where they were from, Juan (seemingly) jokingly asked each girl who wasn’t obviously with her significant other if she was single. After he asked this 5 times, it got a little creepy. The porters were largely shy, but told us their names, where they were from, and what they were carrying. It was a bit humbling that one man’s sole job for 4 days is to carry the chairs we sit on at meals. Another porter carried the propane for cooking, another the cook tent, another the vegetables, etc.

Our local porter was still eating breakfast with his family we we departed camp, but Marco stayed behind to make sure our bag started it’s journey to the next camp. The Irish couple, Stephen and Laura, also hired a local porter to carry one of their bags with both of their sleeping bags. We probably weren’t on the trail more than an hour before I saw my backpack pass us. Too heavy for me to carry, the local had managed to strap some extra things to it before shouldering it up and practically running passed us.

Everywhere you looked it was either amazing views of jagged peaks…

… Or stairs.

We were firmly planted at the back of the group for the majority of the trip. Kelsey, the girl from Chicago who’s mom had to turn around on day 1 was right there with us. She had an ankle injury from competitive dancing years ago which decided to flare up at the worst possible time. It was obvious she was in pain, but she pushed through it.

At lunch, Marco and Juan took up a collection for a bottle of rum so that the cook could make us a cocktail later that night. It would be very cold where we were camping, nobody hesitated to pitch 5 soles (~$2) for a liter of rum.
 
After lunch was the most challenging climb of the trek. Juan strongly suggested we move at our own pace and try to enjoy it. I’m guessing our guides were napping after lunch to avoid rushing us up the pass.

The pass, by the way, is named Dead Woman’s Pass, but not because of any tragic events; there is a rock formation that resembles a dead woman. Here’s a picture of Kate and I at 4215m (13,829ft). For comparison, the summit of Mount Whitney is 4421m (14,505ft) above sea level.

For me, the uphill sections were the challenging parts. I felt as though I could never catch my breath, even after sitting for a few minutes, I was just a few steps from being out of breath again. I don’t know if it was the lack of oxygen at this altitude, or the grade of the trail (probably both); but trekking over this pass was the most physically demanding thing I have ever done.
Many people said the downhill sections were just as difficult. They were a little more taxing on my legs, but I could breathe, and take more than 15 steps without sitting down. Between the Diamox, coca leaves, Ibuprofen, and water, I was actually feeling better. My headache and altitude sickness had gone away. I think the decent down to camp was the best I had felt in weeks.

At the second camp, there were no locals selling beer, but we had each bough a few beers from the last vendor on the trail, before the pass. The fact that we had to carry these beers over nearly 14,000 feet made them taste particularly great.

It was starting to get dark, and we hadn’t seen Juan and Marco all afternoon. One of the porters came to where we were reflecting on the day and told us it was time for tea. We gathered in the dining tent for tea and then were surprised by a real treat. Benny, the chef, had made me a birthday cake. Kate didn’t tell Juan that it was my birthday until we had already started the trek, so Benny must have improvised with what they had already packed in order to prepare this amazing cake. It was still warm and spongy as I sliced into it, and it tasted delicious.

It was about this time that Juan and Marco appeared. After we left lunch they tried to buy a bottle of rum, but the ladies selling water and soda on the side of the the trail were all out. Our guides had traveled all the way back to the start of the trail to buy a bottle of rum for my birthday. They also brought some wine for us.

The rum was in a squirt top water bottle, when we asked Marco why, he reminded us that glass bottles were heavy, so he had transferred it into a plastic bottle for the journey. When Juan and Marco left the tent to get ready for dinner, we started passing the bottle around the table. I don’t think that was Juan’s intention, he was surprised when he returned to a half full bottle, and promptly took it away from us.

After dinner Juan produced a pitcher of what he referred to as Macho Tea, and proceeded to dump the remaining 1/2 liter of rum into it. It was warm and pretty tasty, a few of us remained at the table until it was gone.
As I type this, I still can’t believe how much effort people I barely knew put into making my birthday great.

When in Peru, do as the Incas do

Day one, hour one: we are waiting in the hostel lobby at 5:20am. The tour picks us up and we are off. There is no turning back. It’s still dark out, but there is no way I can sleep anymore. I’m filled with a mixture of excitement and sheer anxiety. We have a two hour bus ride to the trail head.

We realize quickly that everyone on the bus is speaking English. This comes as a relief. Attempting Spanish all the time gets exhausting! We come to learn that our group includes a group of 4 girls from Montana and Oregon, 1 Australian, an Irish couple, a mom and daughter duo from Chicago, a Swiss couple, and the biggest surprise, a couple from San Mateo (which is less than an hour from Santa Cruz towards San Francisco). Including Jeff and I, we make a group of 15. We are introduced to our guide, Juan, and assistant guide, Marco and we are off.

Juan starts to run through the pre-trail check for documentation, gear, and passports.

Everyone tries to settle down and rest because after the two hour ride, we will be on the trail for 4 days.

We arrive at KM 82, the iconic starting point for the Classic Inca trail. We all disembark the bus and start to organize our packs. I put mine on and try to mentally prepare for the fact that it’s about 20 lbs and will be strapped to me for the next 26 miles (42k).

We have to pass through a control point and get our documentation checked before we start the trail. As we are walking to the control booth, we walk next to the train that takes people who don’t choose to hike the trail to Machu Picchu. They are waving at us like a bunch of tourists. Our guide, Juan, smiles and waves back and turns to us and says “Ok, guys. Wave at all the lazy people”. So, we did.

We get through the checkpoint and take our first “family photo” and then we are off.

This is the awesome group that we will spend 4 days with. This is the only time we can stand this close without smelling terrible.

We have 7 miles today, and it’s supposed to be a warm-up day.

The only trekking picture with my hair and clothes passably clean. This was the bridge to the trailhead.

The hike is quite nice. We meander along the river for a while, which is providing a life-altering breeze on this hot day.

The Urubamba river 

 

After a few hours of gradual rolling hills, we come to the wall of a canyon. Looking up the Incan staircase is practically like looking directly up at the sky. Our group is grumbling as we gather at the foot of the steps. Juan laughs at us and informs us that this is only the beginning, and that this measly climb is nothing. It will take us less than 5 minutes, and “see you at the top”. We realized then that Juan could almost afford to take a nap as he waits for us to complete difficult challenges before he starts to “bring up the rear”. As we climb, a few of us realize that we are missing the mother-daughter duo from Chicago. When we reconvene at the top, we can look down to see Juan running backwards along the river trail. He, too, must have noticed that we were two short. The Chi-town mom had been feeling a bit woozy at the last stop. You can hear the murmurs grow more and more worried as the minutes pass. Soon, we see Juan and the younger Chicagoan trudging up the hill, mom-less. We learn that Mom had to turn back. Our assistant guide was getting her a horse back to the trailhead and she would meet us at Machu Picchu in a few days. It was a bummer, but as the days unfolded, probably a blessing. She had an asthma attack and a severe case of altitude sickness. Those things combined would have made for a miserable trip. I couldn’t help but be a bit jealous that she both gets a leisurely horse ride AND doesn’t have to endure the demon-stairs we just scaled. But, when I turn back to the trail, I am greeted by one of the first breath-taking views of the hike. Down by the river on the other side of the valley is a fabulously preserved set of  Quechan ruins.

We take a seat in a circle at the edge of the cliff and Juan tells us the story of this village. We also learn that we are walking on the only remaining Inca trail that leads directly to Machu Picchu. While there are several other trails in the area, none lead directly to the majestic city. That’s all it takes to make us feel inspired.

Photo credit to our trail mate, Megan, who knew I would love this candid picture within 3 hours of knowing us.

We are on the trail again.

From here, we hike through some switchbacks to the river once again and across to our lunch spot.

We see our group of porters, marked by the trek company’s yellow gear and flags, and are greeted with a cool glass of juice. One of the porters has set out small tubs of water and is waiting for us to queue in front of him for some soap and a hand washing. We take our seats in the dining tent,  elbows touching in our first group mealtime huddle. None of us knew quite what to expect of the food. Chatting amongst ourselves, we all agreed that if left to our own devices, we may be eating cereal for every meal. The level of surprise was surpassed only by excitement as the waiter brings out the appetizers. Wait, appetizers? Score! We are served halved avocados stuffed with fresh salsa picante, and an avocado has never tasted so good. It was delicious. Next up was hot corn chowder (also scrumptious) and then cooked trout and veggies. Whatever doubts we had about the food quickly disappeared. This meal was one of the best we’d eaten in Peru yet. What a pleasant surprise. How do they do it, prepare such a decadent meal in the middle of nowhere? That question would prove to be a theme when it comes to the porter team on our adventure.

After a brief siesta, we are off on the trail again. We came about 7k (4.5mi) before lunch and had 5k (3.1mi) more to go before camp. Since we were a bit behind schedule, we needed to get a move on it to make it to camp by dark.

I think we all learned the first hard lesson of the trip on day one after lunch: just because the food is glorious, doesn’t mean we have to stuff our faces. The whole lot of us were a bit sluggish after our lavish lunch. Somewhere along the way, Jeff started feeling a but under the weather. He was getting a headache, despite drinking lots of water, and was growing a bit woozy. Our guide stopped us and let us know that we should think about hiring a local porter for our bags the next day, if we weren’t feeling well. It would be a grueling day of climbing to the first summit and then descending down into the next valley. We decided to take it slow for now, get to camp, and address our baggage in the morning.

When we finally made it to camp, dusk was just setting and the last 5 minutes were really steep. We arrived to find a little village of tents already set up for us. The porters are magicians. It’s really quite incredible the way they carry 50lbs of gear each, leave lunch camp after us and reach camp, set up, and start cooking dinner before we arrive.  It’s right about then that the second miracle happens. There is a little old man selling cold beers. I think every single person in our group cheered. Jeff decided to have a nap before dinner in hopes of feeling better. Don’t worry, I had no trouble finishing our beer for the team.

Dinner was, yet again, the best thing I’ve ever eaten and after dinner, the whole group practically fell comatose into our sleeping bags. Jeff took some Ibuprofen and Diamox and we both went to sleep.