On
the second morning we were awakened by chaskeys outside our tent with hot tea.
We quickly packed our belongings back in our bags, and left everything in there
for them to pick up and take up to our next camp site. Not a bad way to
travel.
Breakfast was quiet in the tent as we ate quinoa porridge with
cinnamon. It had milk in it, which I eyed thoughtfully, and then decided
that since it was heated it might not carry disease. Good thing, because
it was the most amazing breakfast food I have ever been handed.
Breakfast was over by dawn and we were off again on the trail,
this time a straight uninterrupted ascent through Dead Woman's Pass. The
name Dead Woman's Pass gave certain among us a Terrible Feeling of Dread as we
hiked, but I was constantly reassured that the pass got its name from the shape
of the mountains forming it. Again and again the head, waist, and breasts
were pointed out to me, but I remain convinced that this was all bullshit made
up on the spot to keep the more nervous of the tourists from suing for
emotional damages.
A few km into the day, a little boy ran past us with a backpack.
"Where are you going?" asked the guide.
"School!" the boy called over his shoulder.
"Where is school?"
"Ollantaytambo!" the boy shouted back, before
continuing down the mountain at a run.
Please remember that this is the town we started in, the day
before, 13 hours of hiking earlier.
This is how chaskeys are made.
Much of the pathway was made of stone steps we climbed one by
one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by one by
one.......forty million times. I quickly fell behind my own friends and
turned to another fellow hiker who became my 2nd Day Best Friend.
After a good 8 hours of struggle and friend making, people
started to reach the top. My friends reached it long before I did, along
with a few of the Chinese group. My New Friend I were behind the of half
of Chinese, and behind us were the rest of her family and then finally the two
Canadians in the back. The first guide was somewhere not too far ahead, The
second guide was up at the top. The third guide was midway between us and
the summit, when a Chinese girl passed
out and her eyes rolled back in her head. Running up the mountain at
14,000 ft above sea level after throwing away half your water supply is widely
looked down on, because what happens is you pass out and your eyes roll back in
your head and things don't look so good for you.
I was too far behind to see this actually happen. All we heard
was the closest guide’s shouts up to the one midway: "OXIGENO!!!
OXIGENO!!!" The next guide then tried passing the shouts along up
the mountain to third and farthest, who was the one carrying the oxygen tank,
but unlike in 101 Dalmatians, this chain of communication did not work as quickly
or effectively as the girl needed to continue not having brain damage. Guide2
had to race up the rest of the mountain at a run, a distance and pace which
were not negligible. We could see the top from our position, but that was
because the mountain was steep, not because the summit was especially close.
I was effectively moving forward at approximate one step per 20 minutes,
and there was probably a good 1.5 km left. As Guide2 ran he shouted,
"OXIGENO!!" Soon the call was taken up and down the mountain as
hikers started picking up on it, and eventually it reached Guide3 who started
running down the mountain to meet Guide2 on his way up. They passed off
the tank and Guide2 took off right back down the slope.
It was a pretty dramatic time.
I would also like to take this moment out of the dramatic action
to point out that I WAS NOT THE RECIPIENT OF THE OXYGEN. I reached the top of
Dead Woman's Pass on the strength of my own legs and lungs.
Back to the story. New Friend and I continued onwards, passing
the unconscious girl in Guide1’s arms, with the oxygen mask over her
face. After brutal efforts, I summitted and lay down in the dirt and
prayed for an easy death while everyone took photos and rejoiced as we waited
for the others, who numbered about 6.
DO YOU SEE HOW FAR FROM LAST I WAS?
Once everyone had reached the top, we were told we had to climb
a nearby hill, at which point my soul died without fanfare or
recognition.
At the top of this hill, we piled up some stones, took out some
coca leaves and blew on them, and made wishes. I wished never to feel
that way again, but the gods did not see fit to grant my wish because very soon
we were on our way back down the mountain, which proved to be far, far
worse.
As you are mostly aware, I suffered some severe knee trauma last
March which seems to have caused me permanent damage. Many of you
received the narrative involving the bloody massacre that was my trek down the
Arenal volcano in Costa Rica. This was not quite as intense, but it was
much longer, and at only halfway my knees went from wobbly to completely
dysfunctional and I could no longer put any weight on them at all. They
didn't hurt, exactly. They just no longer supported me. If I put a
foot down, I just fell right over. Luckily I had my hiking poles, which I
used essentially as crutches, using them to hold all of my weight step by step.
This was extremely slow going, and I soon found myself in the same predicament
I did on that volcano in Costa Rica--total darkness.
Luckily, I had a fantastic and stylish headlamp right in my
easily accessible bag unlike some other n00bs on the trail. Also luckily,
I was not alone. M was with me the entire way, and J1 and J2 for large
parts.
I won't go into full detail of the horror that was my body and
mind by the time I reached the bottom of the mountain because my mother is
reading this, but if you are not my mother, you should just try to imagine the
Total Despair I faced as I dragged my dead legs along on my fake crutches,
towards the dinner tent. If you are my mother, try imagining rainbows and
friendly hippos instead.
Dinner was a quiet and somber affair, as even people who were
not me were utterly exhausted and/or suffering broken ankles.
After dinner most people stuck around for drinks and ghost
stories, but I was having none of it. As dark had swept through the pass, a
bitter cold descended. We were high, high up now, even with the descent.
I could not stop shaking, and it wasn't just from the weak knees. On my way to
the “toilets,” I carefully crossed a wooden bridge over rushing water when my
knees gave out, possibly from the shivering, and I pitched sideways towards the
edge. I yelped in terror, sure that this was it, but luckily whoever had
constructed the bridge had accounted for tourists and also built little wood
rails which prevented me from tumbling into the water below. I made it to
the most disgusting bathroom we had yet come across on the trip (still did not
make my top 5 Worst Bathrooms list). Also the first bathroom which had
only holes rather than toilets. Not ideal in the cold and the dark, but
could have been worse.
Back in the tent I covered myself once again in Hot Hands but
unfortunately even that could not stop the violent shivering. The last time I
had suffered such cold was the Night of Impending Death in Bolivia so long ago.
I pulled out an emergency blanket Kate once gave me, but even that did
nothing and also crinkled at high volume any time I breathed. I lay awake
once again all night until 5 a.m. when the chaskeys brought our morning tea and
pulled us from our tents.
I was standing around praying once again for an easy death that
did not seem to be coming when I spotted A PILE OF OREOS. I heard angels
singing in my head. A soft halo glow emanated from the pile. I
tried to move towards them but I was frozen. Guide2 was handing them out
to hikers, a 4 pack to each of us. When he reached me I said, "I
will save this until evening. For as long as there is the possibility of
Oreos in my future, I will not succumb to death." He looked at me
hard for a few seconds, trying to determine whether this was a joke or a
decree. He seemed disturbed by what he saw in my eyes so he went back to
the pile, picked up four more packs, and hid them in my pockets.
"PLEASE do not die on this trip," he said. I can't
even imagine the paperwork and legal repercussions he might suffer in the event
of my death. Probably a lot, because after thinking for another few seconds, he
packed his own pockets with Oreos to save for later in case I seemed ready to
give in.
I was busy with my own suffering, but it must also be said that
J2 woke up this morning in a state. Not EVERYONE had properly examined all of
their food for Death Molecules the way I had! Despite the horrible illness that
has cut down lesser women, J2 STILL MADE THE 16 KM TREK CARRYING A PACK.
This day is blurry to me. The fatigue, the cold, the lack
of sleep, the knee swelling...it's hard to remember everything correctly.
But I'm sure I had a lot of fun.
Seriously though, this whole time that I have been describing
the depths of my pain and despair, everything around us was busy being the most
beautiful sight mankind can behold. Snow capped peaks, green and brown
mountains, trees and flowers and vines, clouds hanging just over our heads.
The air was thin but clean and the surrounding forestry was untouched by
trash or human markings. Every view was stunning.
The main takeaway from Day 3 was 16 km of ascending and
descending, J1, who had been at the head of the group most of the way, stayed
behind with me at the end of the evening as I came in second to last in the
dark to the final campsite, which was kind of difficult to find.
J2 lay down to die in our tent, and instead of being a good
friend and staying with her to deliver the last rites, I ran off nearly
immediately with a group of die-hards at a near run into the brush, swollen
knees ignored, lung pain dismissed as I struggled not to be left behind alone
in the dark in the woods. When I ran out into the clearing, the sun was
nearly set. The last rays of light shone on an Incan stone structure at the top
of a small mountain, directly in front of me. Below, stretching far, far
below, were terraces cut into the slope, one after the other reaching down like
steps into another world. The place was called Winay Wayna and if you
look up photos you'll see what I mean, but it won't look as beautiful to you
because there was something about being there just at the start of night after
the day and looking straight down into the valley that was pretty magical.
J2 continued to lay near death in the tent as the rest of us ate
dinner.. Eventually we all survived dinner and headed to our tents where we lay
for maybe 2 hours because we were all to be awakened at 3 a.m. to make the
final 7 km push onwards towards Machu Picchu.
Questions to ponder:
Do my knees recover or do I need to be carried into Machu
Picchu?
Does J2 die?
What exactly IS Machu Picchu?
Answers to these questions and more will come in Chapter
5.
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