,,,Or the day we paid 150 soles to walk two horses up and down the mountain… take your pick.
The trek to
the Laguna Huampata
Valley in Mendoza that I described in my last post was the #1 recommended thing to do
when visiting. My plan to take the
shorter and easier route had also included using a horse to help these old, tired
bones safely up the path was incorrectly translated and put me on the most
physically challenging climb up and over two mountain ridges.
All of my
limited physical resources were spent getting to the valley, as described in my
last post. Having already blogged the first leg
of my descent this entry will be based on my limited
recollections of the next few hours.
So let’s see… after a brief stop at a shaded
rest station I had donned my “big girl panties”, stood myself back up on feet that felt like
hot coals and hobbled gingerly back to the rocks and mud waiting on the continuation of the
hazardous trail’s descent, under a full, blistering, sweltering, unrelenting
tropical sun.
We could
just leave it that I came pretty close to my last call, but what would a blog be without details?
Sunhat on
and sunscreen re-applied I began the last leg of the trek feeling like my legs
were working oddly, feet dragging and knees not receiving the message to
bend.
It took only
minutes for a terrible thirst to take hold, and dehydration began to impact
both my strength and thought process. My mantra
after each excruciating step became “you made it through the Inca Trail, you
can do this” over and over.
The “Guide” seemed as though he had no idea what to do with me.
The “Guide” seemed as though he had no idea what to do with me.
So much
pain. If a step was big I held on to a
wall for support as I placed a foot ever so gently and moved one more stair. When the stairs got too big to even try, I
leveraged myself down and sat on my bum and pulled my self forward and
down. I had sent everyone ahead not
wanting them to stop, wait and watch.
They didn’t go too far, usually they were sitting there patiently
when I finally made it around a bend or two.
And the
heat. It not only pounded down from the
sun, but also radiated up from the stone and walls of the snaking trail. Sometimes the muddy areas were replaced by a fine white sand that reflected heat at
me.
It got so
that I was trying to keep from crying out each time my foot had to take any
step, steep or not. Praying for shade,
but not an iota. So. Damn. Thirsty.
I sat and
cried for a while, and didn’t care that people were waiting for me.
I pulled
myself together and up onto my feet and went back to one foot at a time,
balancing against the sides of the trail which now seemed to keep the path
company.
My physical state continued to deteriorate, I was dizzy, and alternately hot or
icy cold. My tongue felt swollen. My feet, ankles and hands were swollen. My eyes were dry when I blinked. The thirst was clawing at me.
Knowing
that the others were at least two switchbacks ahead of me, I began taking the
“shortcuts” that were almost vertical, but were easier to slide down on my bum,
or turn around and work backward. Both
of which still hurt but anything to get me the #%$@ of this mountain. I didn’t even care that I was in prime
spider, snake, scorpion or whatever territory.
Just held on for dear life where needed.
At one point I collapsed
at the side of the trail where I sat for long moments trying to decide if I should
just lie down and go to sleep, or to try and find it in me to keep going. I thought about my kids, and the friends and
people who love me, and I rolled over to get up on my hands and knees, and
slowly gained my feet. I leaned against
the wall and waiting for the spots and dizziness to end. One foot after the other, slowly, ever so
gently, I turned a corner to find and found my waiting party. And another steep shortcut. I indicated to the guide that I was taking
the shortcut, and he warned me that it was very steep. I slid almost the entire way on my butt, and
at one point had to turn over and slide on my stomach to make a particularly out of reach step.
Even the
shortcuts had me slower than everyone else, although they too seemed to be
finding the walking difficult by this point.
I found myself rejoining the main path just in time to see the guide and horses
disappear around the bend and down the trail in front of me.
Time had
marched on, and as the sun shifted slightly to the west there were small inches
of shade to curl up in for moments at a time if the rock wall was high enough
and the curve of the path allowed. If I
found such a spot I curled up into it and removed my sunhat to try and cool my
head for a few moments.
I caught up to the guide as he took a break in one such spot, and collapsed, chest heaving,
shivering and having difficulty speaking.
The guide offered me some of the water he had taken from the river,
and I gulped it down knowing that the danger I was in right then was far worse
than any problems a water bourn illess might cause in the future. This gained
me a few moments of sweet relief.
The others
and the horses moved on, but I told them I needed the shade for a while longer
before I could continue. I was sitting
on a large rock slab, which suddenly seemed a great place to lie down for a
while. Once I felt more collected, and
my heart rate and breathing seemed improved, I sat up with the intention of
standing. And had to lie down as stars,
spots and dizziness hit.
Not Good.
I tried it
again and managed to get up. And my
downhill adventure continued, in a
much diminished capacity (I know, sounds like it could not be possible
right?). Getting disoriented, my thought
process was slowing down, and I began to misstep and slip. Which of course hurt like hell. I was leaning against walls for support
between steps, and sitting in the shade patches that grew bigger as time passed.
More bum
descents. Next was crawling. But there came a point I thought I WAS
finished. Done. Rescue me or not, but I
was done. The mountain and sun had won
So I lay
down and closed my eyes, knowing the dizziness and heat would have their way
and I would pass out.
And then,
as I was letting go, a niggle at the back of my brain pictured a first aide
kit. And I remembered through the fog that I had put a first aide kit in my backpack on a whim, containing packets of
electrolyte powder. Slowly the questions formed in my mind: How
would I get it? How would I take it? We
don’t have a cup… but didn’t the guide have a cup he used at lunch?
I took a
deep breath and called out as loudly as I could manage, and somebody answered
from the trail below. I took another deep breath and asked if the guide was there with his
horse carrying the backpacks? Yes came
the answer. Fight the dizziness to ask,
did he still have water? Did the lunch
supply pack have a cup?
Thankfully
yes to all three. Suddenly I had hope that this sucker wouldn’t kill me.
I called
down that I needed them and while waiting I tried to sit up. Took two tries but I managed.
I gulped
down the solution once it was mixed, and (after it must have finally occurred to him that there was serious trouble) a few minutes later the guide appeared
with the black horse. It took some time, but I managed to be helped up on my feet.
To my
incredible relief I had apparently, miraculously, made it to a point in the
trail where it was mostly safe for the hot / tired horse to manage to carry a
rider. With a great deal of dizziness
and help I was lifted into the saddle,
and held on and stayed in the saddle as I was led the rest of the way
back to town, with only a few sections of frightening and difficult passages
for the horse. The guide had called ahead and there was help waiting to for transport from the end of the trail back to the hostal.
It was then that it was revealed that this was our guides first solo run, and that he was really there to make sure the horses were ok. On hindsight that explains why he had no real understanding about sunstroke or heat exhaustion, or what he should have done to help me… totally out of his depth.
It was then that it was revealed that this was our guides first solo run, and that he was really there to make sure the horses were ok. On hindsight that explains why he had no real understanding about sunstroke or heat exhaustion, or what he should have done to help me… totally out of his depth.
Come to
think of it now, it must have also been the reason he did no real “guiding”… no
talking about trees, plants, animals, birds, the history of the trail. I am not sure he averaged more than 3 sentences
an hour.
All in all, an eleven hour nightmare.
All in all, an eleven hour nightmare.
Anyhow,
back to the hostal for: 1) More Gastrolyte 2)
Badly needed shower 3) Pain Meds
in a rainbow of colour. 4) More water… lots. 5) Bed. All
within minutes of me walking through the door..
Put my legs
/ feet on the wall for a little while as I rested, the coolness of the walls seemed to calm the bottom of my swollen feet. Or the pain meds kicked in. More Gastrolyte and then I slept for 16
hours. Crawed out of bed, and one of the
hostal owners daughters was a kind guide to a place where breakfast and coffee
could be found. Wasn’t particularly
hungry, but I knew I had to eat.
Alfonzo
appeared and an invitation was offered.
We debriefed about the trek.
Pretty sure he felt bad. Me, I
was just glad to be alive. I had my
doubts several times on the way down.
During
breakfast I mentioned the view of the local market out of my rooms' window, and that I wished I could buy some local coffee
to take home.
He seemed
eager to please, and as the market was only around the corner it was an easy, albeit slow and tender
wander. And what a fantastic market it was. Huge, with the largest assortment of fruits and vegetables that I had ever
seen. Lots of other stuff as well. Managed to buy a huge red pineapple and a
couple of other local fruits I had never seen before, both just inside the market doors with no more than a few steps needed.
Very small town, and it was only two blocks to a local
missionary who sells organic coffee, the proceeds of which are distributed
among local childrens charities he supports.
I bought 10 lbs worth at a reasonable (not cheap) price, and felt good
about doing it.
This lovely
couple make and sell cakes to support themselves, and also apparently have a
thriving business selling green smoothies to a large clientele first thing in
the morning, every morning. It was a
short but pleasant visit as both he and his wife spoke good English. Nice People.
With A
glass of “Sweet Lemon” (very different) juice, and a green smoothy under
my belt, it was time to say goodbye.
Still dizzy
and weak, but slightly revived by breakfast and the smoothy, we took motor transport for a small
jaunt about town before I asked to go back to rest before my bus back to
Chachapoyas. Sound asleep as soon as I
was horizontal. Reluctantly I roused in time to get to
the depot for the hairy bus ride home where I was either a) sleeping, b) asking to be
let off to use a bano along route, or c) hanging on for dear life.
Took almost a week for me to feel normal again, and my friends teased me about all the "siestas" I took.
Took almost a week for me to feel normal again, and my friends teased me about all the "siestas" I took.
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