"How hard can it be?" I said to Tash as our bus slowly wound its way up the steep sides of the Central Andes, on our way to the town of Huaraz. I was trying to persuade her to come on a 4 day trek through some of the most breathtaking terrain in Peru. The problem is that the trek - known as Santa Cruz - involves scaling a mountain pass 4750 metres above sea level. Being keen walkers, but not mountaineers, Tash at last (grudgingly) agreed.
One reason I was so keen to do this trek is that I tried it 6 years ago, and failed. On the very first day my head was punding, every step was agony, and then, facing a steep incline, I threw up and collapsed. Crushed, I let my friends continue, and a very kind Peruvian farmer guided me back to the main road, semi conscious on the back of a very grumpy burro (donkey)
Now, 6 years later, I want to finish what I started. So, with our backpacks suitably packed with nuts, biscuits, fruit, noodles and other essential sustenance, we set off on our way.
To arrive at the trail head, we had to take a cramped combi (minibus) over a snow topped mountain. In Peru, minibuses are: 1 - Never full. There is always room for one more person, bag of chickens etc.
2 - Too small for gringos, even average height gringos such as myself.
3 - Driven by maniacs who are not in the least perturbed when driving 60mph on a road with a
200 metre drop mere inches to the right of the (nearly bald) tyre.
Then, arriving at the small town of Vaqueria in one piece, we turned left off the highway and struck out into the Peruvian countryside, for 4 days of pleasant strolling. Or so we thought.
Day 1 - The walk was easy enough, ambling between farmhouses that became more and more sparse, until we left all signs of human civilization behind. Clouds obscured the view beyond the lush green valley we were walking up. We had just passed a young campesina (peasant girl) when she told us, ominously, that rain was on the way. We picked up our pace.
Unfortunately, we were still hours from the campsite when the downpour came. It was a torrential mess, and despite our backpacks having rain covers, the contents were drenched within minutes. We marched through paths and fields that had become quagmires of mud, feeling cold and depressed. My shoulders ached and I wanted a burro again!
Then, 10 minutes from camp, two horsemen rounded a corner behind us and kindly gave us each a draught of Pisco, a strong Peruvian grape brandy. Warmed up and energised, we set off on our way, and mercifully the rain stopped just long enough for us to pitch our tent.
The night was cold, and after an unsatisfying supper of noodles, we went to sleep, shivering and wondering what the next day, the hardest by far of the trek, would bring.
Day 2 - Up at 6am, and on the road by 6:30. The dreary drenching of the day before was forgotten as we slipped into fresh, dry socks and clothes, and were greeted to a view of the enormous peaks that surrounded our camp, wreathed in cloud and glowing a fiery red in the cold dawn sun. We set off along the trail, which soon, at the head of the valley, swung left and began to climb. I stuffed my cheeks with coca leaves but the ascent was still tough, and every 5 minutes or so I had to stop to regain my breath.At about midday, we thought we were making excellent progress, when we rounded a bend and saw our destination towering above us. Punta Union - 4750 metres high, a gap in a jagged snow topped ridge like a missing tooth. It was at least another 2 hours away, all uphill, and a daunting prospect.
We had no guide on this trek. The trail was well worn and well marked, but in some places was dubious, and we had to pick a path and hope for the best. However, earlier that morning a group of trekkers who were blessed with mules and guides overtook us, unladen with backpacks as they were.
We tried our best to keep them in sight and so follow the best path up to the pass. However, when we were about 300 metres below, we found ourselves on a large expanse of rock, with no footprints to follow. Knowing the general direction, we headed that way, climbing over rock faces, when the fog came down and the hail stone began. It was a disaster. Tash fell and hurt her back, and I started to panic. She was in incredible pain, but we had to get over the pass. I shouldered what I could of her pack, but she still struggled, every step a labour, every breath a fight.
Thankfully, fortune smiled on us that day. The hail subsided after 10 very worrying minutes, and Tash, by some force of inner strength that she summoned from God knows where, forced herself to take step after agonising step until we were at Punta Union. Situated at the tip where two valleys meet, we stepped through the gash in the rock and came out on the other side to meet...the most spectacular view of our lives.
To our right was a wall of ice, a glacier groaning some kilometres away, and below it a teardrop lake of turquoise. To our left stood three spire like peaks, unhidden by cloud for mere moments, as though our arrival was cosmically timed. Straight ahead was our path; a meandering trail down a valley splashed with the blue of lakes.Tash wept with a bittersweet mixture of tears: relief at having climbed the path, awe at the beauty of the scene before us, and anger at me for dragging her up the bloody mountain! We could see our campsite, we just had to get down.
2 hours after reaching the pass we arrived at camp, exhausted but satisfied. The trip down was obviously much easier, and for the last few hundred metres we were practically sprinting. We did 9 hours of walking that day, and from now on climbing passes is something I will restrict to doing in the Lake District, where you can always breathe and are always within walking distance of a good pub!
Day 3 - We struck our tent and were out for 6:30 again, and as today was all downhill, we felt certain we would make good progress. Straight down the valley, past one campsite, to a second camp, leaving a mere 4 hours of walking for the final day.
Well, the best laid plans oft go awry! Within two hours of setting off we stumbled upon two trekkers who had overtaken us the day before. They had lost their guide! We were discussing what to do when he came around the corner, looking none too pleased. We decided to tag along with these trekkers, which was a very fortuitous decision, for all of a sudden the guide turned from the path when we reached a flat plain between the valley sides. "The bridge is out if you carry on that way," he said cheerily.
We finally reached the river that was thundering down the plain, when our adopted guide began to take his shoes off. "We cross here," he said, "The bridge is out!" So, after much deliberation, I took the plunge, and icy water swirled around my booted feet as I waded across. I kept my boots on because I needed balance. The last thing I wanted was for my backpack to go in the river, tent and all. I´d rather have wet shoes! So we got to the other side, and then abandoned our guide. We were lucky to meet him, as later on we bumped into a few people who were not aware the bridge was out, and walked futilely in circles for hours.
The trouble was we had crossed from the path into wild land, and next stumbled into a dense patch of thorny bushes. This is where calamity befell us again. Like the graceless bull I am, I was charging through the trees when I heard Tash scream. Like in a comedy film, a branch had snapped back and caught her right in the eye. Unlike in a comedy film, it wasn´t funny. Once again, I was miles from help with an injured wife. Well, I married a woman with an immense amount of fuerza (strength). Sporting sunglasses and a walking pole, she hobbled down the valley, winking all the way.
Worried about Tash´s eye, we summoned the last of our strength and by the end of the third day had not only reached the second campsite, but the end of the valley itself. We got a bus back to Huaraz, and our lovely hostel owner tended to Tash´s poorly eye. It was a long, fast-paced march through beautiful scenery, but when you´ve been rained on, hailed on, attacked by branches, slept in wet clothes, waded across ice cold rivers and got lost in a marsh, sometimes you just want a nice warm bed.
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