Let´s Go Humans

The glow of a flashlight and the sound of my roommate´s backpack zipper served as my alarm last Thursday. It was too early for sunshine, too early for any sound above whisper.  Yet it was almost as if we had slept in, despite someone informing me that it was 4:30 in the morning; the day before we had awaken even earlier, at three—dead time—the hour when Peruvian legend says ghosts and spirits lurk among the living.

Halfway up: the view of our starting place

Colca Canyon

The reason for my early rising both mornings was to trek through Colca Canyon, which plunges some 13,648 feet from peak to valley, ranking it one of the deepest canyons in the world, second only to a neighboring Peruvian canyon, Cotahausi.  The first day, my fellow trekkers and I had done the ¨easy¨ part of the hike: six hours from the top down and through some of the canyon´s village communities.  The second day, we were set to trek three hours straight up the canyon, with an arrival time projected shortly after 8 AM.

After a cup of mate de coca (used ubiquitously as a cure for altitude sickness in the Andes), we began our climb. Other tour groups had begun to ascend the mountain ahead of us, so as we raised our heads to gauge the canyon, we could see their flashlights snaking along the path of switchbacks. They were groups from all over the world—the States, Germany, Australia—who´d come to trace the footsteps of the Collaguas and Cabanas cultures from pre-Incan to the present. Except trekking has never been an occasion for people who live in the Colca Valley, rather a part of everyday life.  Some of them, our guide Carlitos informed us, can make this journey from top to bottom and back up in 2 hours and 17 minutes—making our total trek time almost five times slower than the natives´.

Considering this, my fellow trekkers and I marveled at how ridiculous we looked, dressed in our hiking gear, armed with water bottles, and panting uncontrollably. Against the backdrop of the canyon, we seemed like infants, our footing wobbly and uncertain, without the benefit of years of practice. 

Though I wanted to enjoy the view of the canyon—the plunging brown and gray rock cliffs, the cacti and tufts of grass clinging determinedly to patches of dusted earth, where no other vegetation dared to grow—I found my thoughts consumed by the placement of each footstep: how I could boost myself to the next rock, how I could avoid mule droppings while continuing to climb. There was no space for musings, for mind games, for triviality.  The canyon demanded my full attention.

Carlitos, our guide

Carlitos led the way, a Peruvian flag tucked into his yellow knapsack like a red and white cape. When we lingered too long at the viewpoints to gulp our water or snack on apples and trail mix, he´d lower his voice and say: ¨Let´s go humans.¨ The reference to Transformers is fitting because compared to us, Carlitos is a marvel, a machine: he estimates that he´s hiked Colca Canyon six hundred times.

The pace was slow and the sun was hot. By 7AM, we´d stripped down from heavy sweaters to T-Shirts.  Moments seemed to go on for hours; each one of us was pushed close to our physical limits.  But when we took those final steps —jelly-legged and sweaty—to reveal the view of the condor exactly three hours later, there were high-fives all around. And, most importantly, there was the promise of a hearty breakfast ahead.