Making Four Days Two: The Santa Cruz Trek

As the crowded bus I caught to the start of the Santa Cruz Trek wound its way through the steep mountain passes, the view of the lakes I passed the day before were spectacular.

 

         I woke up shivering and brushed the ice off my tent, promising myself I was going to get out as soon as the sun was warm enough to allow me to dress without dipping into hypothermia. I finally willed myself out to break camp and head out. I relegated breakfast to a granola bar as I hiked double time back to the road, worrying a bit that my reluctance to brave the icy temperatures had made me miss the ONE buss that went by a day. Luckily I got the chance to change out of my cold weather base layers and crack open a granola bar before I heard the clackety rumbling of an old beat up minivan coming up the rough road.
       I stuck the remainder of my granola bar in my mouth and threw out my arms, successfully waving the driver down. I tossed my bag up top with a quick prayer that it was secured enough that it would manage to be there when I departed, and hopped in amongst some sleepy looking locals. I looked a bit rough, probably with a smell to match, and no one seemed in the mood to converse so I kept to myself. The bus wound its way along the winding dirt roads and over the pass with only one casualty: a flat tire.
       Considering the state of the "road" and the speed of the driver, I felt lucky when they dropped me off with my now dusty bag in an equally dusty little village. I headed off down the trail, making my way through several little hamlets strung along the steep sides of the valley. The weather stayed beautiful long enough for me to make my way well past the normal campsites for trekkers. I wanted a good start on the pass, but as it started to sprinkle the terrain around me had become increasingly steep and un-campable (not a real word, but I'm taking artistic license on this one). Not wanting to give up the precious height I had gained, I pressed on with the hope that there was better terrain ahead.
          Light was starting to fade, so I found a narrow little semi-flat spot on the side of a hill and started to break out my tent. Halfway through, I decided that it was worth a bit of extra effort to dash up the trail a bit and scout out ANYTHING better. Sure enough, just ahead was a large open space with thick spongey moss carpeting the ground and a few scattered boulders to hide my annoyingly orange tent. I moved my home and threw my tent out, cutting some hay to make a nice 2 inch thick matt underneath me to stave off the cold, and delicately made my way across the bog to a small waterfall where I replenished my rapidly dwindling supplies of fresh water.
         I choked down a hearty dinner of two sardine sandwiches then hopped into the warmth of my bag. After another long cold night, I got up with the sun and broke camp quickly so I could make the top of the pass in good weather. I hiked at a good pace and made it to the pass well before mid day. I was a little crushed when I saw that someone else had made it to the top before me, until I realized that it was a couple of cooks for a group expedition coming from the other end, and that I was still the first TREKKER up to the top. I joined them as we all took in the spectacular views on both sides of the spiny ridge, enjoying a short respite in a long day.
       After the quick break, I grabbed my rucksack and headed down towards the line of valleys that stretched before me. As I walked I found myself debating whether or not I wanted to try and finish the hike in a cool 2 days, or if I should slow down the pace and enjoy the sights as I went. I zipped down to a grassy area with a cool stream running through it where I broke for lunch. The debate was still raging in my head when I went to take a bite of yet another, in fact the sixth in a row, tuna/sardine sandwich. I looked down at my incredibly un-appetizing meal, and decided that I was going to go for speed on this hike. God help me but I think I that point I would have needed to be near starvation to choke down another of my culinary delights.
     With the kind of newfound determination that only comes from eating the same horrible food for several days straight, I threw on my pack and headed out in the direction of real food. I zipped down the lush valley, until I hit a barren area that had been cleared by a massive landslide in the recent past. It was easy to forget I wasn't back home picking my way through the Mojave, but in the lush Andes, as I tried to find a viable route through the dusty gravel. I crossed the stream a few times, each one getting more difficult to leap across, until I finally was forced to shuck my boots and roll up my pants to wade through the icy blue waters two more times. Eventually I made it to past the desert land and onto a path the wound around the edge of yet another shock blue lake.
      I picked up my pace, reaching the typical camping point at Llamacorral by about four. The sign said that it was a short 10k until the town which marked my end point (not mentioning if that was by land or as the crow flies, mind you). Looking at the sun, I decided to run for it, figuring that I had generally held a 5k/hr speed when I clocked myself a few days earlier on the road to Lago 69. It was going to be tight since the sun set almost exactly at 7pm, and I needed to get to the town before then if I wanted to catch a bus back to Huaraz and civilization. That gave me about 2 hours.
     I raced along the canyon, ignoring growing hotspots on my feet, trying to keep up with a rapidly shrinking sun. At one point, it looked like I wasn't going to make it. However, my luck held and I got to the little town just in time for dusk! I had done a 3-4 day hike in a smooth 31 hours flat, so I was feeling pretty good about myself, even when I found out that there were no more busses for the day and that I would be camping outside of town of Cashapampa at a local hacienda. I wasn't overly bothered since, after 11 hours straight of marching with a pack, I was too tired to want to eat.
      As soon as my tent was up, I was curled inside my sleeping bag and knocked out until the first rays light broke the hills around me in the morning. I got up, still not hungry enough to whip up another sandwich, and got on the first bus out I could find. It was a long two hour ride along more narrow cliff roads until I got back to Huaraz. Once there, I took my first shower in four days, ate 2 lunch specials at a local cafe, bought my ticket back to Lima for that night, and conked out on the couch of my hostel. It had been an intense few days, struggling up not one, but two 3000ft gains in four days had been quite a challenge. But, despite my sore muscles and aching blisters I was feeling on top of the world because not only had I done it, I did it faster than anyone I knew. Now that will help you sleep well at night!

This map will give you a general idea of the trek I did... Just reverse the order its telling you and account for the trek I added to the start, to Lago 69. So yes, I did do three nights of trekking, but the 3-4 day Santa Cruz trek was completed in just 31 long hours! (about 15 hours of walking).

The road that leads up and over the pass towards the town of Vaqueria is full of hair pin turns and hair raising drops to oblivion.

The dusty little town where the van dumped me to start my trek.

In the mountains, many homes are still simple mud and straw structures, sometimes incorporating rock.

Meat hanging in the sun in a town I passed through... You know, because nothing says good cooking like line dried meat. If its good enough for your socks, its good enough for your food!

Ahhh... Coca-Cola is EVERYWHERE. Tip of the hat, you guys spread faster and further than the Spanish Flu.  I am told its also more enjoyable than the Spanish Flu.

Two old fashioned wooden plows, resting in the shade as their owners take a siesta inside.

Off to the pass of Punta Union!

Now that view is quite a daunting hint of whats to come...

Men work the fields built into the steep hillsides in the strong sun.

Women sit below in the valley sorting potatoes and eating lunch in small groups.

A cuy farm along the way, providing sustenance and taste all the way up here. Nothing is quite as satisfying as a bit of roast guinea pig after a long day's work.

A beautiful bluebird along the trail.

I finally found a good place to camp about halfway up the pass, giving me excellent views, access to freshwater, and a flat place to sleep for the night.

I'm always impressed by how well my tent blends in with its surroundings! I called this Camp Stone... It was fairly magnificent.

If you look to the far left of this picture you will see a little waterfall coming down where I figured, "hey I can get some fresh water to slake my thirst a bit!" Fun fact: EVERTHING in between is a marshy bogland that wanted to swallow me whole. I worked hard for that water!

A victim of the marshy bogs near my Camp Stone

The way the light hits those peaks and the mottled sky behind it was really cool to me.

The peak is a flash of gold on a dark horizon, with the clouds forming a halo around it as if to allow it access to the heavens.

Right before sunset, the entire sky lights up in the most intense pink hue. Its like something catching fire, and it only lasts a few minutes before burning out and leaving me in the cold and dark of night.

First thing in the morning I meet these two neighbors, enjoying the day before the ultra strong sun hits.

This guy hung around and let me get in really really close for some stunning shots

They know how to pose in an epic fashion

Seriously?! Thanks for that awesome shot bird!

The secret to Camp Stone's success was the 2 inch matt of hay I cut from the bog before bed... It saved me the trouble I had the night before of nearly going into hypothermia despite a 0 degree fahrenheit bag and base layers.

The pools along the pass are crystal clear

Another regal bird soaring by.

Looking back along my way up at all the lakes... Camp Stone is right below that ridge where the trail ends.

A subtle reminder that in the real world, failure oftentimes means death.

Two mules headed down the pass, carrying the equipment used by a guided trek coming from the other direction.

The high point of the trek,  about 1500m up from my start point.

The way home is down that valley.

Below the pass, the waters that started as a trickle now begin to roar through the valley, picking up the blue color and streaked with red from iron deposites.

A landslide area transformed the ecosystem to a completely barren wasteland for a few kilometers.

Like something out of a bad western film, as hawks circled overhead...

Along the left side of the picture, along the very edge of the boulder was apparently the trail. Ummm, no thanks, I will just ford the stream a few times. I prefer not to fall to my death and be impaled on a log with no help for days.

Two waterfalls join to tear down the face of the canyon walls above.

Streaks of iron stained water reach the shores of another turquoise lake.

The colors of the water, the rocks, the grass, and the algae make a beautiful collage.