Over the top - the Inca trail
Trip Start
Nov 03, 2004
1
42
165
Trip End
Nov 23, 2006
Cusco,
Peru
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
obviously by June I'd be ready to take on the ancient Inca Trail.
They drop you at Kilometre 82 and you walk, through three mountain
passes (one at 4,200m and comfortingly called Dead Woman's Pass),
descend "staircases" of up to 1,000 steps, and then climb again to
the Gate of the Sun at the entrance to Machupicchu at Kilometre 111.
I now believe I might actually have gone mad sometime since we left
home.
A pack twice his height - Inca trail porter
We were picked up at 5:30am on July 16. Our group was 14 (4
Americans, 4 English, a Spaniard, a Norwegian and 2 Quebecois (not
France and Melanie) and us. There'd been no breakfast and no
coffee: we didn't speak much - that was probably best.
Because the Inca Trail is the most "romantic" or "authentic" trail in
South America the authorities have moved to limit the numbers of
people doing the trail. This follows international concern that the
trail and Machupicchu itself were being damaged by uncontrolled use.
You can no longer walk the trail independently. You must use a
guiding company and places book up months in advance. Even so, we
were 14 officially "using" the trail with our entourage of 16
porters, a cook and 2 guides. All very Dr Livingstone, and a bit
embarrassing really.
Our first stop was Piskacucho. This is a town which clearly does all
its business - selling breakfasts, trail food, walking poles,
chocolate, silly hats, water - between 7:30am and 8:30am
Ascent to Dead woman's pass
. The townwas a madness of buses, hungry, bleary (in my case, ratty) hikers,
some dazedly carrying their packs in circles or purposefully trialing
walking poles, porters, cooks, supply trucks and hopeful, ecstatic
dogs. Coffee and breakfast had (for most of us) things were a little
more civil and we headed for Kilometre 82.
At Kilometre 80 things became a little interesting. The local
village was building a new bridge. Despite the fact that every
morning 10 buses carrying Inca Trail hikers come through the village,
the most sensible place to deposit the displaced boulders was,
apparently, the middle of the road. "No hay problema" - all the
porters piled off the bus and began manhandling boulders. This they
did with no concern about using their backs like cranes, and
substantial concern on the part of those of us who had hired porters
that we might yet have to carry our own stuff
Macchi Picchu sunrise
. After muchmaneuvering and the final intervention of a lever, one boulder was
moved sufficiently that the bus was able to skirt around through a
ditch that threatened to overturn it. Three minutes down the road a
ditch had been dug across the road.
"No hay problema", everybody out of the bus, we'll pack up here and
walk the extra distance! The porters are allowed to carry 8kgs of
gear for each of those who hire half portage, 4kgs of gear for the
trekking company and 5kgs of gear for their own requirements - a total
of 25kgs (this is controlled by the park authorities and checked at
the entrance). The 4kgs company gear includes a dining tent, dining
table and chairs, full gas bottle, twin gas rings, a portable oven,
food for 33 for three days, tents and sleeping mats for all of us
No hay problema - road clearance
.They don't carry back packs, they simply tie everything into a
bundle, make some shoulder straps and get going. Most porters are
about 5'4" or a little over, they weigh about 55 or 60 kilos, they
are behind us to break down the camp and will pass us on the way to
setting up the next, they do the trail in sandals made of tire treads
and no socks, they don't use walking poles and have no technical
thermal gear, they make S/150 (NZD 75.00 plus food and lodging of
sorts) for the four days work. We will walk four days to get to the
Gate of the Sun. Every year the porters race the distance - the
record is three hours, twenty-five minutes!
We arrived at the Kilometre 82 entrance half an hour later in time to
see the cheats cruising past on the train
Ruins of Runkurakay
. Then it was down thefirst of many, many steps, prove we were who we said we were, cross
the swing bridge and feet on the trail. The first half day's walking
was pleasant enough - bit of a stroll really. We traveled along the
Sacred Valley floor, chatting, swinging our walking poles, bird
watching and nibbling fruit. The landscape was dramatic but not yet
breathtaking, high valley sides, tussock, cactus, blah, blah, usual
stuff for 2600 metres.
The lunch stop, beside a bubbling brook, was horrifying. Not only
were the porters carrying most of my gear (and David's sleeping bag
and clothes although it was my name on the "too lazy to carry own
gear" list) but then they laid on this lunch. Outside the dining
tent were bowls of warm water, Protex soap and towels to freshen up.
Pre-lunch they circulated with jugs of juice to ensure we were
properly hydrated and coddled. Lunch consisted of avocado stuffed
with a medley of fresh vegetables, followed by maize soup with fresh
vegetables and chicken, finished with grilled trout, stir-fried
vegetables and rice and accompanied by an assortment of teas. After
lunch we abandoned them to the dishes and continued on our way secure
in the knowledge that we would arrive at a campsite already set up
and tea magically awaiting us.
After lunch there was a bit of climbing but not too much. It is
really hard to remember that you are NOT being pathetically unfit ?
you are operating at high altitude, the atmosphere is much, much
thinner and the sun much more intense. I think most people spent the
first day and a half beating themselves up about the staggering,
gasping, pushing on for 100m before needing a rest, style of trekking
they had taken up. Frankly, though, the first day of the trek was a
breeze ? so much so that, after the next couple of days, it?s pretty
hard to remember the first day ? it?s just faded into background, low
grade activity.
We started to see the remnants of Inca terracing and stonework
straight after lunch. Much of the trail we will walk over the next
few days is actually not the original Inca Trail. It often passes on
the other side of the valley. We did pass one small Inca
agricultural settlement, Willikarakay, below us in the valley. It
was the trail of these small settlements that ultimately led Hiram
Bingham to Machupicchu in 1911 (although he was looking for the last
Inca stronghold, Vilcabamba, at the time). There were also small
modern agricultural settlements dotted up and down the valley sides.
The men work the fields, the women wait patiently by the trail on the
off-chance they might sell you some PowerAid or water or a woolly
llama or, at least, the use of their bano, and the dogs wait patiently
for some museli bar or chocolate crumbs.
Establishing an appropriate pace for me was very difficult and David
had to jolly me along the last part of the track. My base walking
speed (even when window shopping) is faster than most Peruvians run
and I just couldn't slow down even though I was reeling along the
track gasping, and had completely exhausted myself. The campsite was
beautiful (through exhausted eyes). We camped the night at
Wayllabamba in a small village, the last on the trail (although that
didn't mean the ladies with stuff to sell dried up further on). The
tents were already pitched, tea with popcorn and biscuits was
waiting. The ablution facilities were amusing as long as you didn't
mind a freezing shower, either in the shower or due to the rather
unusual plumbing of the toilet flush facilities. Dinner was
vegetable soup, grilled chicken with potato gratin and stir-fried
green vegetables, rice pudding with peaches and an assortment of
teas: it remained at this standard and quantity throughout the trek.
I spent some time showing Luis, our head guide, postcards of New
Zealand mountains. He simply didn't believe our highest mountain was
only 3750m and had snow from 1000m. We were relaxing in my tent at
3100m and there was no snow to be seen anywhere in the vicinity.
We slept like the dead having first taken the opportunity to wonder
at the stars without light pollution and see the Southern Cross
beaming down protectively at us.
At 6:00am start the next morning meant clearing the camp site by
about 7:15am - not bad given the exponential increase in stuffing
around caused by a large group of people. Another checkpoint for
tickets, only ten minutes uphill away, and I was wondering how the
hell I was going to make it to 8:00am let alone Dead Woman's Pass
1200m (pretty sure that's straight up) away. Fortunately a
checkpoint means a bottleneck of trekkers. David and I managed to
get caught up behind a group whose minimum entry requirements seemed
to be one heart or lung transplant and at least one artificial limb.
They were shuffling up the track like disabled contemplative monks.
It wasn't funny, it wasn't clever and it bloody well worked! At that
pace you took on the tortoise and hare philosophy - well, except for
the winning bit. But you did cover an awful lot of uphill ground and
you didn't need to stop for rest breaks. This part was very
satisfying as you kept passing groups who had charged past you 20
minutes ago, now splayed all over the track, sucking back water like
it was oxygen, panting like winded Derby winners and mumbling about
paying for torture.
At the first official rest break (a quarter of the way up the pass)
the ladies had reappeared with all sorts of trekkers' treats. You
can make friends with a donkey with a mandarin and Oreos. I had to
spend some time convincing our guide I wasn't struggling and about to
expire but had simply found a pace that worked for me. He was
particularly concerned because we were now past the point where, if I
couldn't go on, they simply packed me off with the assistant guide to
catch the train up to Machupicchu to meet up with the group. If I
decided at any point after this I couldn?t go on the porters had to
carry me!
Leaving the shuffling monks behind we set off again. This section of
the trail was the most difficult. Although we were now starting to
pass through some of the most beautiful country we would walk, moving
into the rain forest with its rushing streams and relieving, emerald
shade, its delicate orchids and darting exotic birds, it was also the
section of the track where the stairs started. I would never have
believed that pacing yourself up stairs would be so difficult or that
walking up a 15o inclined section of relatively clear path would
represent a rest break.
By the second official break, on a plateau half way to the pass, I
thought it was over. About 200m ago we had moved above the tree
line, the sun was unrelenting and you had no choice but to look up
and see how far you still had to climb. David had to forcibly drag
me to the plateau edge and try and point out the campsite in the far,
low distance to reinforce how far up the mountain we had already
dragged ourselves and point out the porter carrying the pack twice
his height and not a day bag with only water, snacks and some
rainwear (never needed).
We took a longer break than the others but they'd been there longer
anyway and then headed on. Incidentally, as an added incentive,
lunch was being served some 600m (straight down) on the other side of
the pass. Eddison, the assistant guide, jollied me along by pointing
out the interesting plants by the track side. He spoke limited
English and had even less comprehension, but when it came to plants
you couldn't shut him up. That's how he entertained himself waiting
for us to catch him up - studying the Andean flora textbook he
carried just for fun. Our steps weren't much bigger than a foot
length and my world had become concentrated on the step in front,
plodding along donkey pace. The path was littered with trekkers
hunched on rocks studying their feet and blowing like bellows - many
of them looked in much better physical shape than me.
At 4000m we took a break with a German girl who was practically being
carried by her guide. She apparently felt fine but had lost all
feeling in her legs. She had a very good command of some rather
choice Anglo-Saxon. We plodded on creepingly, agonizingly seeing the
people already at the pass turn from stick figures or trees, to
figures, to figures with discernable movement, to figures in
recognizable colours, to recognizable figures, to figures from our
group cheering when we took the last, triumphant stair. They had
waited for us, never of course believing I wouldn't make it (as David
had every step of our torturous way), to have the conquering heroes
photo standing on the Dead Woman with Andean mountains and Andean
history as our backdrop.
Lunch was an hour and a half away. Having just climbed all the way
up here we waited fifteen minutes and started down the other side.
The path was very steep and involved "steps" or piles of rocks you
stepped down. Protesting knees made David's way more difficult now.
You could hear young people who still had cartilage coming down the
mountain behind us - thud, thud, thud - indestructible and frustrated
at our granny pace! We had more energy and more interest in pausing
now to admire a landscape that plunged away from us in steep, tussock
clad drama and jagged stone. And to wonder at little about the will
of Inca pilgrims who made their way here, traveling to Machupicchu,
every step a step on the face of their mountain gods, in sandals and
hand-woven woolen tunics with no sprung walking poles or little
chocolate high energy bars.
Our magical camp was waiting for us: after lunch, dehydrated, I took
to our tent for 14 hours sleep.
Another 6:00am start began the best day of the trek. Today we would
climb two passes (inspiringly called Second Pass and Third Pass at
3950m and 3670m respectively) and have the most amazing walk through
incredible landscape. We adopted the same donkey pace as yesterday
to attack the first pass - a quarter of yesterday's height but a
steeper path. We had the energy to make fun of Eddison for his lake
(or puddle) half way to the first pass. We arrived late at
Runkuarkay, a partially reconstructed Inca customs point for
the pilgrims trudging to Machupicchu.
The Incas used a system of chuski or runners to carry messages
between their settlements (a tradition carried on in the stamina of
the porters). When they heard of the invasion of the Spanish and
their destruction of Inca sacred sites and artifacts, settlements
like Runkuarkay and Sayaqmarka (further down the trail) were
abandoned, the inhabitants withdrawing first to Machupicchu and later
to Vilcabamba. The abandonment of these sites meant that the Spanish
were never able to follow the trail and never entered Machupicchu.
And then onward and up, up, up to the second pass. After that we
walked along a narrow path (supported by original Inca stonework)
clinging to the vertical inside of the bowl of mountains. Our view
stretched miles to the other side of the valley. Occasionally we
slipped beneath a massive rock slab, precariously hanging or balanced
on one inadequate corner, forming a tunnel on the path. The
vegetation was familiar, like New Zealand temperate rainforest,
although the lichen was pink, there was flax, fern and bracken, even
sparrows. Snow capped mountains finally appeared lording over our
valley. Astonishingly, (there are 400 official users every day on
each section of the trail plus entourage) we walked alone without
even the sound of others. The walking was easier, almost leisurely
(although still up hill), the setting was lush and dramatic, our mood
was tranquil and not a little euphoric after yesterday's trial. This
was how I'd imagined it would be walking to the Inca's sacred home.
After lunch, lush tropical rainforest and almost vertical stairs
plunging down almost to the valley floor. Yesterday's descent was a
cake walk - some of the stairs were rock piles you picked your way
through and some actual steps but of varying height and width steps.
We started fresher than yesterday and, although a trial on knees and
nerves, arriving at the camp site was much more rewarding. It hadn't
been a slog today, it had been a beautiful, challenging walk through
a land of fable and myth. Even in the chaos of a full campsite as
people tore boots off and massaged feet, unpacked packs, searched for
lost stuff, showered, there was a serenity and a peacefulness.
Everyone had the space to consider their personal achievements over
the last few days and yet still be dwarfed by a landscape we had not
conquered merely passed through. From our tent door our day ended
with a view of the mountain Machupicchu and a chain of snow frosted
mountains wrapped with apricot tinged cloud.
The following morning began at 4:00am. The checkpoint opened at
5:30am, the walk to the Gate of the Sun was one and a half hours and
everyone wanted to be there for sun rise. The pace was punishing and
we dropped back to our donkey shuffle. We didn't see the sun rise
from the Gatekeeper's House or the Temple of the Sun. At the Gate of
the Sun we watched the sun's first rays into the valley turn the
massive rock cliffs behind Machupicchu gold and glorious, then spread
across the city as the Inca (son of the sun) promised they would
every day.
