Trekking day 1 & 2

Got back last night from a 5 day/4 night trekking expedition in the Andes. In the absence of availability for the Inca Trail trek, I signed up for an alternative which heads towards Machu Picchu via Salkantay mountain. What a fantastic few days. After a 5am start on Saturday and a drive from Cusco along ever deteriorating roads, our group of 4 tourismos and our guide Edwin were dropped off, along with our cook Elias and his assistant Wilbur, at a spot deep in the mountains, at an altitude of over 3000m, around 52 miles from Machu Picchu. Here we met our caballero Fernando with his 3 mules, who were going to haul most of our stuff up and down mountains for the next few days, leaving us to worry about hauling ourselves up and down, which turned out to be a not insignificant concern let me tell you.

We started off with a trial run, a 2.5 hour hike up to this mountain lake, where I first laid eyes on a glacier. Fine big one too, or so I thought, but what do I know about glaciers? "Not a whole lot" says you, and you´d be right. Steep slopes at that altitude are an absolute killer (for reference, Carrauntoohill is just over 1000m, and the highest point in Britain is around 1300), especially after only 2 days acclimatising to the altitude in Cusco (3600m), so you end up gasping for oxygen after about 5 steps. But like every tough hike during the trek, the payoff at the end makes it worthwhile. Reminded me of our walk to a lake in the mountains in Asturias, on an even bigger scale and with added gut-wrenching, head-spinning, lung-bursting altitude.

After lunch (which was fantastic, even without considering that Elias was cooking up a storm with a gas stove in a tent using only what he could strap to the back of a mule), we hiked practically straight up around 900m to our highest campsite of the trek at 4200m. Let´s just say it wasn´t easy, and the Lord´s name was taken in vain on more than one occasion. The only thing keeping me going during the last hour was the certain knowledge that my options were continuing or doing my own version of Scott´s Welsh companion´s final words on their ill-fated Antarctic expedition: "I´m just stepping out, and I may be gone some time". By the time we got there it was raining and shockingly, mortally cold. Elias saved the day, as he did on more than one occasion, with hot chocolate, a good dinner, and a shot of pisco to warm the bones. Went to bed wearing everything I owned and with a 2 litre bottle full of roasting water tucked in between layers 3 and 4 (of 8), but still felt cold. During the night I heard what I convinced myself was just thunder but was actually a nearby avalanche. It´s a strangely calming feeling knowing that if tons of ice and snow are hurtling down on top of you, you are utterly powerless to do anything about it. Anyway, it transpired that our campsite was safe as houses, and we awoke to a relatively warm, sunny morning and a spectacular vista, 4 times higher up from sea level than any point in Ireland. Above is a shot of our campsite, with one of our mulas having his brekfast. Here´s what I saw when I opened the zips of my tent (successfully, I hasten to add, for anyone who is aware of my recent stormy relationship with zip technology). I believe the Lord´s name may have been taken in vain again.

That´s it for now, I´m getting hungry and there´s two little Peruvian girls beating seven shades of shite out of each other beside me over a computer game. Tune in next time, same Willie-time, same Willie-channel. Will Frenchie make it through the trek with his digestive dignity intact? Will the god of Salkantay mountain let the intrepid adventures through safely? How good are mountain children at football, and why do they always aim for your cajones when they shoot? All will be revealed amigos.......