The temperatures have dropped to the freezing point again, as they did on my hike last week. What just kept me warm on my last tour were my two jackets, which I forgot this time with my other stuff in Huaraz. With my old sleeping bag, however, I would not have survived this time either. Fortunately, I now have a new sleeping bag that keeps me cozy warm down to -7 degrees, too warm that I can only use it as a blanket so as not to stew in my own juice. On this hike, I no longer let anyone tell me that I freeze at night.

It seems almost like an impossibility to describe how impressive the landscape is that is thrown in front of my feet every day here Peru in the Cordillera Blanca, near Huaraz. I have never experienced anything like it in my life. It is almost surreal how often I am amazed while hiking here. Every few kilometers I see a new spectacle that I can hardly put into words. Every day anew I pitch my tent in a new paradise.

Catan

First, I pass fields that look as if they came straight out of “The Settlers of Catan”. From Cashapampa it is only about 15 kilometers to my first sleeping place at the foot of the Alpamayo, right next to the village of Hualcallán. An older man speaks to me in a dialect that I can only understand as gibberish. Of course, this was only due to my ignorance of not having informed myself about my hiking route beforehand. Actually, he only wanted to know if I wanted to go to Alpamayo, the only place a gringo would go here. After some back and forth he explains me the way to the campground. I thank him and set off. It wasn’t so easy after all. How stupid of me to believe that there is a real campground here. After asking several times and being sent further and further up the mountain, I eventually settle down tired on a flat piece of grass.

Altitude training

As in the previous week, the altitude makes itself felt in my endurance. Especially when going steeply uphill, I have to stop again and again to catch my breath. But I already notice how I am gaining stamina and how my body is slowly adapting to the altitude. My destination today is a natural dam that rises massively in front of the Santa Cruz, the mountain that will be the center of my hike for the next few days, and closes off the Collicocha Lagoon. As my trail slowly winds along the rocky massif, I can’t describe what takes my breath away more, the physical exertion or the view. As soon as it gets even a little steeper, as soon as my path moves even the slightest bit toward the sky, my pulse and breathing quicken, as if I were participating in a race.

Rock Giants

The dam is a rock between two mountains on which a few houses are built. I can only guess what’s going on here when they are bustling with people, tourists brought here on donkeys to enjoy the view of the glacial lake. For me, though, it’s just a stopover, a lunch break. I make myself sandwiches, two mini kebab rolls that I fill with avocado, parsley, tomato and some hot bell pepper.

Meanwhile, I think about how the day should continue. After all, I still have a good three hours to find a suitable place to sleep in time and set up camp for the night. Around 17 o’clock the sun already disappears behind the mountains, at 18.30 o’clock it is already dark. With the disappearance of the rays, the sun sucks the heat out of the air like a sponge. The temperatures drop more than 20 degrees to freezing point in no time. By then, I’m desperate to see my pasta cooking and my sleeping bag ready to mummify me for the next 12 hours. I decide to cross two more peaks and descend into the valley. I see on the map that there is a river there that will provide me with fresh water and some flat spots where I can spread out.

First I have to go around the lagoon, up higher and higher. Again and again I have new views of the lake and the snow-covered mountains behind it. The environment now becomes a bit more rugged, no trace of plants. The cranite-like rock channels me away from the lake. On either side, the dark gray rocks pile up like a crowd of giants trying to show me the way. Their children, smaller rocks, play outside in the courtyard from which I now have a view of the 4700-meter pass that makes my descent into the valley difficult. With my last strength I reach the summit. Again and again I have to rest, catch my breath, go on.

Done, I see the valley, I see a little man coming towards me like a quadruped with his walking sticks. It is a Russian. The male does not let himself be stopped by a lot of smalltallk. We give each other tips for the stage ahead of us and we continue. We both realize how little time we have left. The cold wind that heralds the night is already gently stroking our battered calves. It calls us with its song.

Descending more than 1000 meters, I slowly realize that I have overestimated myself. I’m afraid I won’t find a place to sleep in time. Water, which I had hoped for on the way, is also not in sight. Just as the sun sets behind me, I find a spot just big enough to set up my green Nemo.Unfortunately, there is no water in sight and I don’t feel like looking for it anymore. With the one liter of water I still had in my bottle, I could just about cook myself some pasta. The night I would have to survive without further liquid supply.

Valley towards the sun

The next morning I find a small stream not a hundred meters away. I allow myself the cool wet and make myself gladly on the way in the direction of sunrise.

Even photos can only give an idea of how beautifully the mountains tower here in the Cordillera Blanca, what contrasts they cast on my canvas in the play of light and shadow. My hike takes me around the Alpamayo and Santa Cruz mountains. After each saddle I cross, I get a new view of the many glaciers that have accumulated on the peaks of the mountains. Masses of ice that give off a steady stream of almost invisible clear water. It is a mystery to me how it can be that the glaciers do not melt completely in the course of a season. Somehow it makes you realize how infinite the world around you is. Not to mention that even these glaciers will eventually fall victim to climate change.

Navigation expert

I roughly followed the GPS data I found on the internet. Roughly because they gave me direction rather than me following them every step of the way. This led to the fact that I waded not only once off a recognizable trail through brush or slid over a precipice, until I had solid ground under my feet again.

In the distance, I could already see a circus tent of sorts. As it turned out, it was the headquarters of a German-American named Johannes, who had the luxury of having all his equipment and lodging transported on four donkeys. Every day his food was prepared for him by a cook and his beds and tents were made up by the arriero, the donkey driver, before he arrived at camp. We chatted splendidly and exchanged stories about our past adventures. In the evening I enjoyed a multi-course meal.

Chance fills the stomach

There are certainly worse jobs than sitting at the lake all day making sure no one pollutes the lake or steals the trout from the farm. That’s exactly what the man who sits by my lake does. You could mistake the lake for one in Bavaria. Today I was lucky enough to be cooked by someone all day. In the morning I imagined myself sitting at a set table with someone making me breakfast. Shortly after, a woman working in a field approached me and promptly asked if I had eaten yet. I replied in the negative. She couldn’t wait to leave her work and jump down to me. She asked me if I was a believer. When I answered in the negative again, I had the subliminal feeling that she wanted to convert me, even set me up with a believing acquaintance. She must have come with harder bullets than to foist a woman on me in Lima.

Lor, that was the lady’s name, had told me about a trout farm in the valley I wanted to reach the same day. Interesting how such information can get you going. With nimble feet, I walked up the 1000 meters of elevation and down to the village of Ingenio. There was no trout there, but I had cheekily invited myself to the community lunch, rice with lentils. Compensation was unanimously refused by the whole community. At least they accepted some sweets for the children.

On the way to my laguna I had not completely given up my goal to eat a fish today. Shortly before I reach my destination I pass a farm. I ask the guys who are hanging around there how the trout are doing and especially if they are already big enough to eat. When they answer in the affirmative, I ask them to prepare three of these trout for me for dinner.

I can certainly improve at map reading. Instead of one pass followed by a leisurely descent down the valley, I ended up having to cross two passes to get to the Santa Cruz valley. Where I was almost the whole time alone on the road in the last days, the pass Punta Union was even flooded with people. I couldn’t get away from the tourists fast enough. At just under 30 kilometers, this was my longest day, and it took me less than 20 kilometers to get back to my starting point where I had started a week earlier.

Resources

The trail I roughly followed can be found here.