Suddenly it starts to snow. It is not the first time that day that the weather suddenly changes. A few hours before, light hail has already fallen from the sky. I am sitting at the foot of my last pass before my camp for today, meditating. The sun is shining in my face. All my things – the tent, the sleeping bag, my jacket – are spread out to get rid of the humidity of the previous night. It doesn’t take long and everything is dry.

Mind trained not to give too much space to unwelcome thoughts, I pack my things in the usual order and set off again. The sun’s rays are now invited by occasional clouds to a little dance of light and shadow. Passing three lagoons fed by the surrounding glaciers, I find a stream where I fill up my water bottle. Still 200 vertical meters to the saddle. Shortly before the highest point it starts to snow. With each step the precipitation seems to become stronger. I put another layer on myself and my backpack to protect us from the wetness.

The snow doesn’t seem to want to let up. I can no longer see the trail. The cold snow penetrates my skin. The visibility gets worse and worse. I decide to find a flat spot and pitch my protective tent to escape the adversity. Before I have even hammered all the pegs into the ground, the color of my tent changes from neon green to white. I am able to save myself and my gear reasonably dry inside Nemo.

I slip into my sleeping bag and quickly make myself some soup to warm up. Warmed from the inside and outside, the situation becomes much more bearable. Again and again I knock on the tent wall from the inside. The soft snow falls to the ground in swaths. A kind of wall forms around my hostel. The next day it turns out that my decision not to go further was right. The descent on the other side of the pass would have been a slippery slope. Also a suitable place to sleep would have been several kilometers away.

Everybody wants my money

Here in Huayhuash, the various communities of indigenous people have found in us gringos (every foreigner is a gringo) a good source of income by charging road tolls every few kilometers. Even before I reach the actual trail with my four cab companions, three Brits and a Frenchman, the bus is stopped twice and we become poorer by about €20 per person. Not that we hadn’t been ripped off by the bus driver before. As it turns out during the hike, it seems that every few kilometers, in every valley so to speak, there is another community that wants a piece of the gringo pie.

Unfortunately, the whole thing is very opaque. Somewhere out in the sticks, a male will suddenly approach you with a small receipt pad and ask for an undetermined amount of money. No one can really tell you what you’re actually paying for and what area the charge then applies to. When I tried to negotiate, I was assured that this ticket is now valid for the next valley. Unfortunately, only the good man in the next valley knew nothing about it.

He also did not have long legs after I simply left him standing with the indication that I do not let myself be lied to here constantly. Anyway, he didn’t call the police after his threat either. I would have liked to see how they would have found me here in the mountains.

Later I explained to another guard of the way that I have no more cash, because his colleagues have already taken everything out of my pocket. With a lot of grumbling and the initial request to turn back, he finally let me pass. What else could he have done?

I understand only too well that everyone here tries to get through somehow. I also have no problem paying entrance fees for the national park. What bothered me is that seemingly everyone who comes up with the idea of buying a bill pad stands and holds out their hand without providing any real added value.

Hot Springs

As always, I only have a rough plan. Basically there are two routes that go around Huayhuash, the traditional, more moderate route and the Alpine route. I try to stay on the Alpine route as much as possible because it offers the better views. But on the second day, the thermal springs of Viconga beckoned me like sirens. It was just too tempting to recover my battered body after a rather chilly day in naturally hot water. Add to that a beer and dinner was prepared for me by the owner. Here I found the 20 soles entrance fee for the equivalent of the hot water absolutely justified.

The next day I decided to return to the alpine route. I had still talked to the guide of the Israelis camped at the hot springs about whether the upcoming traverse, which looked like a glacier on the map, was possible without equipment such as crampons and ice tools. He said that with a little caution it shouldn’t be a problem. As it turned out, he had no idea.