In my defence, note, as you read this post, that I made three miscalculations:

• I expected some company
• I expected a total hiking time of 8 hours
• I thought I’d packed enough food

The rest is fair to judge as reckless decision making.

I am very grateful to be alive.

To the Trailhead

I arrived at the town of Wilcahuain at 7:30 sharp. The ride with the collectivo was more comfortable than I’d been expecting, so I didn’t have a headache. I was also thrilled that my Spanish was good enough to get me there.

At around 3400 meters, with the sun blasting but the weather cool, it was a lovely start to my hike.

To Radian

I was excited for the hike as I was going to touch 5000 for the first time. I felt quite strong coming off the hike to Laguna Churup the day before, which went up to 4500. I was also happy to be solo again.

But for a very brief moment I felt quite alone. All the friends I’d made from the hostel had left Huaraz, and I wondered to myself if this life is worth it: what’s the point of experiences in nature if they are not shared with anyone else?

However, those thoughts disappeared as soon as I got into the first stretch of the hike. It was a serene gentle climb through the woods, starkly different to the other Andean hikes I’d been on up to that point. I felt reconnected with my body, and could feel all the feel good hormones flowing through my veins.

I kept rising gently through a few villages. I met a peaceful construction worker called Agustin who was working on a local dam. He lauded me on the challenge, and I admit that it felt very good to be lauded on my hodgepodge Spanish.

Soon after, I saw my first view of the mountains: a beautiful bold black rock standing menacingly in front of me. I kept staring at it and it kept still. And its stillness kept me staring more. At this very moment I felt for the first time what my dad had warned me about: the arrogance of man in the mountains. I was thinking that it would be so easy to climb to the top: It looks so close, and I’m so strong and fit!

Strong and fit maybe, but I needed some energy so I dipped into the snacks I had gotten with me. The Churup hike from the day before had me experience bonking for the first time, so in preparation for this hike I had bought myself a truckload of dried fruit from the mercado central. All sorts of goodies like dried pineapples, dried coconuts and even Peruvian dates which have a flavor unlike any that I’ve tasted before!

But it wasn’t just my stomach complaining. The mundane views reminded me of the big questions of life: what is my purpose here? Is there any real joy to doing this alone?

And immediately those thoughts would evaporate at sight of the snow capped peaks. They may look so-so given my lackluster photography skills, but you can be sure that I had a beaming smile looking at them in person: this is life, and I’m living it, was the only thought in my mind.

I kept walking on through flora and fauna that was becoming more interesting until I arrived at Radian.

It was a magical sight and I felt triumphant. I had made it to 3900 by 9:40. I felt strong for the day and wanted to see more.

I met a bunch of Peruvians who were camping at the site. We exchanged some words and some food: I lost half my chocolate loaf and in return got a mandarin and a mint biscuit.

They were the last humans I saw on the trail.

To Mulluca

The path curved away from the peaks, and at some point, I was overlooking the valley. I wanted to stand on a rock to capture the whole thing. I got on it, and my legs started to tremble. It was my body’s survival instinct protecting me from myself.

But I pushed through it.

I believe that pushing through the restrictions your body places on you can be a good thing, especially when you are in control. The risk is that we humans are arrogant, and we enjoy too much the highs of victories. It is therefore no surprise that accidents happen most frequently just before them, when we most anticipate the high, or right after them, when we are intoxicated by them. I almost slipped to my demise while going down, and this was a warning that the devil was lurking in the mountains ahead.

The scenery towards Mulluca was more stunning than I could have imagined. Despite having now hiked Huayhuash, what is said to be the most beautiful thing the Andes have to offer, nothing comes close to capturing the magical nature of the valley I was climbing on my way to Mulluca.

For the majority of it I was in the shade, below towering mountains that looked down on me. My path followed the stream running down from the peaks. There were so many trees, and the flora and fauna was magical.

Every couple hundred meters of walking I’d look back at the valley below and stare in awe. I took so many photos but none of them truly capture how majestic it was.

For a good while there was no sign of life.

I was realizing that I was completely alone, so took liberty to voicing out loud the strange thoughts in my head, and singing.

I was feeling so strong, and all the negative thoughts of being alone had evaporated. I felt invigorated by the nature.

This was until I was hit by altitude sickness around 4070. It took me greatly by surprise, given that I had soared to 4500 the day before without any difficulty.

It was bad.

I felt my eyes constricting due to the swelling of my eyelids. I had a terrible headache that was preventing me from thinking straight. I kept looking back at the valley below, half the time still at awe, and the other half thinking to myself: “what if I could just jump all the way down there? Would it relieve my headache?”

To combat this, I remembered the words of the natives: tranquilo. So I respected tradition and slowed down. I was so in my head that I was muttering, with every heaving breath, tranquilo.

Half the time I felt like I would die, and the other half, instead of the survivor kicking in and forcing me to go down, the arrogant took the lead and said: you can push through this.

And so, I accepted the first dance with the devil.

I stress, I am very grateful to be alive, and yes, you could play his advocate by arguing that I knew my limits: I know I knew when to go down, and I know I knew how I felt because of the constant monitoring, and I know I knew to slow down (I even attempted a nap on the trail), but the reality is that all the above worked because it was an easy day. Had it been a hard day, I’m not sure I’d be telling you this story today.

Soon after my attempted nap I saw the first sign on the trail: zona silvestra, and almost immediately after it the first sign of life: a bull gawking at me. I stared back, while I cautiously circled it, thinking to myself that he’s the asshole responsible for the shit on the trail.

I was moving lots but barely gaining altitude. At 4200 I had another 300 to go before reaching Mulluca. The route was becoming considerably steeper. This last stretch of the hike was snakelike – every time I arrived at a new bend I looked below at the valley and stared in awe, and every time I left I cursed myself and everything good in life for I was experiencing lots of pain. It felt endless and the awes of the views were having less and less of a therapeutic effect.

I then saw a rabbit like creature that made me smile. It reminded me that I am very lucky. I kept telling my mind to shut up about the pain and moved my legs forwards.

In this moment it was fascinating to learn that I am the biggest liar to myself: at every turn I promised myself a rest, but my eyes would immediately lock onto the next target and the rest would wait.

A good while later, I made it to Mulluca at 4596. I disturbed the tranquility of the glacial lake by dipping into it.

I deserved it.

Below are photos from the first photo of the valley up to Mulluca. I’ve captioned the bits that fit into the story. They don’t get close to capturing the real thing.

To Carhuac

I was ready to leave Mulluca by 2, and this is where the devil asked me for a second dance: to go a tiny kilometer further to see Carhuac.

Deep inside I knew that going back down was the safe, adult and responsible decision. But the arrogant inside me protested, and won: I’ve made it all the way here, I feel strong and Carhuac is so close. I’ll be back, worst case, in an hour.

The hike to Carhuac was immensely difficult, though admittedly very fun. Unlike all the other hikes I’d done thus far, this was super technical, requiring lots of balance, and sometimes steep climbing and descending. There was no marked path, so there was lots of thinking involved.

I was soon able to see the lake, but I was adamant to see it up close. So I kept going until I reached its edge. It was considerably colder than Mulluca, both due to being higher and shielded from the sun by the mountains. I knelt, stared at the glacier in front of me and prayed.

The first thoughts that came to mind were problems of my life. And I was tempted to pray for them to all go away. But a part of me felt so selfish doing that. My existence here was selfish. My arrogance was selfish. My privilege was selfish. I felt a great shame that turned into the deep gratitude that is perpetually fighting for a chance to show itself.

I asked the pale stone for those less fortunate than me to feel a fraction of the peace that I was feeling.

I heard no response then, but I can say today that the devil was listening carefully.

I spent no longer than 3 minutes at Carhuac, and rushed back to Mulluca. I arrived at 3:15, 15 minutes later than the worst case I had predicted.

Worst yet, I was almost out of food. It seemed that despite me packing more food than I thought I’d need, it was still not enough. I topped up water from the stream next to Mulluca, before deciding my next move.

To Ahuac

The survivor was audible, and I dithered before my next move: I really should go back down. I need to climb a good 500 meters to the pass, all at altitudes that I’ve never been at. And worse yet, there is still half the distance left, and a descent of around 1500 meters.

But the devil succeeded in inviting me to a third dance, with both the irrational and the arrogant colluding to drown the survivor: I want to hike to 5000, AND I want to see the next lake, AND I can hike 10 kilometers in less than 2 hours, to make it down by sunset.

Luckily, I had no issues with altitude going up to 5000, but it took me so long because it was over a kilometer. With every step I would feel sharp, heart-attack-like pain in my heart and would need to rest to catch my breath. It was painful, and it was during this section that my survival instincts really kicked in.

I saw a sign that warned “¡derrumbe!” (collapse) just after I had almost slipped to my death.

At some point I looked back at the two lakes below me, and to the glaciers just above them. It was a beautiful sight, but I was equally thinking, rationally, that I had lost all chances of saving myself. The safest way down was up.

With the familiar lies, and Hanybal’s Ballerlos blasting through my ears on repeat, I kept pushing on to the next rock until I reached the pass.

I felt proud that I made it, but not happy. Stupidly I look back at the middle finger I gave the pass when I passed it… when those curses should have all been directed at me.

However, a sense of relief soon followed. I had the pass as the hardest portion of the hike, and in the immediate seconds after I felt my chances of survival going up.

But this hope was interrupted by my hello kitty watch showing me that it was 4:30. My estimation was correct, but how the fuck was I going to hike 10 kilometers in less than 2 hours???

There was no time to enjoy the moment – my legs walked on. It was a strange state of flow to be in, because while my conscious thoughts were occupied by my sympathetic nervous system getting me down, my subconscious was really taking in the scenery. I hadn’t expected the scenery to get any better, but being on top of the mountains felt like I was on the roof of the world! I could see so much in front of me, and it seemed like the sun was almost at my level, gently caressing the red rocks that I walked on. It really was a magical sight, and much more magical than anything I was to later see at Huayhuash.

I talked a lot of the devil thus far, but there really was no place for him on those mountains. The devil was in me, and in all the humans below me.

My body transported me to Ahuac. At 5:49, with 40 minutes left to sunset and 6 kilometers left to go, there was very little desire to see it up close. The lake was nice to behold, especially with the sun setting on to it.

I walked further as fast as my legs could take me. But the sun had set, and I quite no where near the trailhead.

To the Trailhead

Call it instinct or sheer luck, I had decided to pack my headlamp on that particular day. Strange as I hadn’t considered it for any of my other day hikes, and before leaving Huaraz I was expecting to be back by 4 pm at the latest. Perhaps the survivor in me knew that I would need it… or was it the arrogant knowing that I would choose to be reckless?

I was in the deepest state of flow imaginable descending in the dark. I supposedly had “Red Sun in the Sky” playing on repeat but I was not hearing a thing. I wasn’t thinking about going down – my legs were just moving how they were supposed to, but going down was the central thought occupying my mind, against a backdrop of the image of my parents.

I even fell a few times, but my body immediately got back up like a spring.

At some point a deep pang of hunger hit me and I had to take the final bite of the biscuits given to me by the Peruvian. Empty calories made my stomach feel even more hollow but the sugar must have helped me go on.

It was so rocky and sketchy on this descent, but it didn’t stop me.

At some point I heard some ruffles in the bushes and became super alert. I hadn’t considered the thought of wild animals. How reckless! I had my hiking stick ready for what I don’t know. I waited a minute that felt as long as the anticipating I felt hiking down before sunset.

Nothing came out of the bushes. I kept going and going.

It was 7:05 when the trail turned grassy and the descent gentle. My knees were happy to relax a bit and I immediately turned on my cellular and arranged for a cab to meet me at the trailhead by 8. I had some 2 kilometers left, but I wanted to relax a bit. I felt triumphant. I felt alive… really alive: Wow. I made it.

It’s fascinating how quickly your mind comes back in control, which in retrospect, shows me that the challenges I had faced up to that point were not traumatic enough to cause PTSD. I had but 10 minutes of peace before my next test: wild dogs.

Not one, not two but at least a dozen dogs barking in the distance, and then barking at each other’s barks.

It’s equally fascinating how quickly the sympathetic nervous system comes back in control. But unlike on the descent, where I was in a state of flow and unafraid, here I was in a state of panic and terrified.

I was walking through a sandy path leading to the village. On both sides the path was marked by bricks short enough that any dog could jump over them, and on my right, all I saw were glowing eyes in the distance, and all I heard was violent barking.

I stayed as close to the left edge as possible, hoping that no dogs would appear there, and I was crouch running as fast as I could. Then a section of the path to my right opened and two glowing eyes came very close, so close that I was able to make out the dog’s figure.

He stood there barking at me and I stood there terrified, with my hiking stick in front imagining that it was creating a force field between us. I slowed down to a careful crouch walk, slowly creating distance. As I gained some I started crouch jogging, until I had created more distance, and then I just ran.

I was running and running until I ran into a man. I was so afraid I almost had a heart attack, but immediately laughed to myself: how funny would it be if it was a jump scare that killed me and not the altitude induced heart aches?

The man didn’t even react. I wondered if I was seeing a ghost. I then looked at him and saw him squint from my violent headlamp: It was Agustin! He remembered me, but it was such a strange exchange because he was so calm and I was shivering from fear. My state of panic didn’t allow me to recognize the peace emanating from him. I said goodbye shortly after and continued running, as I could still hear the barking of the dogs.

This sense of danger didn’t improve when I arrived at the trailhead, at 7:46, despite a bunch of kind villagers pointing me to the path that would take me to the main road. I followed it briefly, and had to pass by a few barking wild dogs so decided to go back. I was not in a state to do more. I called the driver to tell him to meet me at my location.

It took him an extra 40 minutes to get there, in which I missed both a collectivo and another cab. Somehow even in that moment I wasn’t an asshole and didn’t want to cancel on my cab driver, but I was also in a state of shock and just wanted to sit and not do.

When I first sat down near the villagers I wanted to write to my family about what had happened, but I couldn’t muster the words. I was not able to go through those emotions again.

It took my sympathetic nervous system a good 3 hours to calm down, and while ravishing a rather salty lomo saltado I reflected on the experience. It was a monster of a hike, and leagues harder¹ than anything I later did in Huayhuash. The dances with the devil had got me flirting with death, and it was simply dumb luck, and some perseverance, that had gotten me down.

The last thing I wrote that night in my journal was:

It was the thought of my parents mostly that helped me get down. My siblings. Didi. My friends.

It’s always good to love. Life is too short to hate.

1. In the end, my moving time was 9:11 compared with what was suggested online of 8 hours. This makes sense given the extra hike to Carhuac. The total time was over 12 hours. I ascended 1772 meters over 29.88 kilometers. ↩︎