Into thin Andean air
- Jun 23, 2019
- 6 min read
The dirt track twists and winds its way up the face of the mountain and into the clouds. I am climbing higher and higher into the thin Andean air of Peru. When biting wind gusts occasionally break up the misty white, the sheer drop down to the valley below appears like an apparition.
It is a tempestuous day on the roof of the Cordillera Blanca. A hungry and rumbling storm front sweeps in and swallows the patches of blue sky. But the weather changes quickly in the mountains and soon the late morning sun emerges along with swathes of blue sky.
The old dirt road over 4900-metres-high Punta Olimpica Pass is abandoned. It has been left to slowly erode and disappear back into the mountain from where it was once cut. A modern tunnel and sealed road has now been hewn through the mountain. Landslides and rock falls are making it harder and increasingly more dangerous to ride the famous switchbacks over the highest reaches of the pass. In time the abandoned road will be lost and become a small scar on the face of the mountain.
The gap at Punta Olimpica is one of the few passageways breaching the South American continental divide and has been used by travellers to traverse in the great Andes chain since pre Incan times. In modern times these mountains and valleys have become renowned for adventure activities including tramping, mountaineering, climbing, mountainbiking, and horse riding.
I had rolled out of Huaraz at dawn on my motorcycle. The bustling town is used as a staging post for hikers, mountaineers, cyclists and bikers exploring the Cordillera Blanca – one of the most impressive mountain ranges in the world.
Stretching for almost 180 kilometres with countless snow-capped peaks the "white mountain range" is one of the most concentrated collections of big peaks in the Western Hemisphere, with 33 summits topping 5400m.
Between the soaring peaks, the valleys are dotted with glacial lakes. They shine and glimmer, reflecting the mountains on their turquoise surfaces.
Trekking is by far the most popular way to explore the Cordillera Blanca that sits mostly in the Unesco protected Huascaran National Park. Most treks follow the valleys, which run west to east through the mountains. Hikers can choose several routes ranging from three to 10 days. An abundance of tour operators in Huaraz can organise the logistics for those who are not confident of setting out alone.
The most popular is the four or five-day Santa Cruz Trek. This route passes beneath many of the most famous peaks in the Cordillera Blanca. It is considered by many as one of the best hiking routes in the world. The 50km trail takes you through open valleys, passes beneath high snow-capped mountain peaks and along rivers and the shores of brightly coloured lagoons.
More than a decade ago, I spent five days in the Andean wilderness with a former girlfriend, an amiable guide named Jose and belligerent mule named Julio. It was an unforgettable experience that started with a bang when the gas cylinder strapped to Julio's rump blew a gasket. The mule bolted, propelled by the hissing and dissipating gas. Jose was soon in hot pursuit leaving my ex and I alone and wide-eyed while in the process of still adjusting our backpacks.
When we eventually caught up with the duo both looked a little shell-shocked. Jose was soon back to his friendly smiling self but from the belligerent look in Julio's eyes – lasting for the rest of the expedition – I didn't think the poor ass would ever fully recover from the ordeal.
Having lost most of our gas for cooking, we dined on crunchy pasta, lukewarm tea and cold porridge for five days. However, the Cordillera Blanca has remained imprinted in my mind ever since. I recall struggling for each breath while crossing high passes, being dwarfed and hemmed in by majestic walls of rock, the crackle of a small fire fighting the biting chill of the night and smoke rising and dissolving into the big starry sky.
Twelve years later, I am back in the longest continental mountain range in the world. This time, a girlfriend, guide or crotchety mule do not accompany me. I am alone on my trusty steed – a150cc Honda motorcycle and 25,000km into my journey from Tierra del Fuego to Texas.
The wind whistles through my open helmet, my fingers tingle in the frosty air and my breath fogs out in jagged puffs. It's a wonderful feeling riding in the clouds. The snowy peaks of Huascaran and Chopicalqui watch down on me. Eventually around another tight twist the road slices between the rocky walls. I have breached Punta Olimpica Pass.
The descent provides its own challenges. The motorcycle slides in the snow, ice and scree while toppled boulders often block the way. Decayed and faded signs lie in the snow and mud. "Toque Claxon" (Sound your Horn), "Peligroso" (Danger) are symbols of past safety messages.
It's late afternoon and the sun and temperature are both dropping. I descend down to 4600m where the old dirt road swings above a small emerald lake. There is a flat grassy patch amidst the scrubby and rocky terrain. I roll the motorcycle off the road and set up camp.
With a warm cup of coffee and a slug of single malt whisky I watch the sky turn from royal blue to plum purple. The last embers of the day reflect off the ring of white peaks. I am blanketed by beauty and a profoundly deep silence.
When I wake in the freezing cold light of dawn and open my eyes, the ceiling of my tent is touching my nose and the sides are caving in. I open the flap and snow comes tumbling in. I have been partially buried in an overnight blizzard. My bladder is bursting so I burrow my way out like a groundhog. My motorcycle is a great big white sugar lump and my tent a snow cave. But I am in a magical white wonderland.
My second night in the Cordillera Blanca is slightly warmer. I find lodging with a local family who rent out a room for travellers passing through this way. I am a constant source of amusement for the owners' two young girls. They can't control or hide their giggles every time I try talking to them in Spanish. I do however come into my own when I help them with their English homework – carrot, egg, dog, flower and elephant.
Early morning fog and drizzle hide the curves in the potholed and puddled road creeping its way up the eastern side of Parque Nacional Huasacaran. When I reach Portachuelo Pass (4767m) the mid-morning sun finally burns off swathes of the lingering mist. A window opens to the Llanganuco Valley far below. The valley's two glacial lakes shimmer and shine in the distance. It's like looking into two dazzling emerald mirrors.
The road coils down into the Llanganuco Valley. In an 8.5km-long section, there are 28 hairpin turns and it falls 527m. I descend and pitch my tent on a flat expanse of grassland below the snowline on the shore of one of the Llanganuco Lakes.
The next morning, the sun's first rays start nibbling away at the shadows and frost in the valley. I crawl out of my sleeping bag and slip into my hiking boots. I've decided to use two legs instead of two wheels to explore more of the awe-inspiring Cordillera Blanca.
Laguna 69 is a lake nestled beneath the base of the peaks of Pisco and Chacraraju. I follow the trail, rock-hopping small streams before steep switchbacks lead me above a waterfall and into a hanging valley. I stop and gather my breath. As I suck in the oxygen-depleted air the sun finally chases away the clouds loitering about some of the surrounding mountains. Fresh snow blankets the twin peaks of Huascaran and they piece the clouds like two fangs.
With the morning growing longer it's once more time to punish the lungs and legs. The final stretch is a rugged climb over rocky terrain. A viscacha – a furry long-eared rodent – sitting on a boulder cocks its head to one side and flashes me with a patronising smile. Determined to show this weird looking rabbit "who is boss" I wobble boldly onwards.
Laguna 69 comes into view. The milky aquamarine hues are hypnotising and alluring. Snowy mountain peaks, jagged rocks and trickling waterfalls, hug the small lake. I find a large rock to sit on at the water's edge and begin to absorb the sun's warmth and my surroundings.
Lost staring into the crystal clear water I am startled by a rustle and then the scuttle of a few stones. I turn to find a furry long-eared rodent staring at me. It cocks its head to one side and gives me a smile. It's a toothy grin filled with pride at my feat of endurance. Or maybe it's just a sarcastic smirk reminding me I have a long hike back down to camp before I can get back on my motorcycle and roll on using two wheels instead of two boots.
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