In the Deep End

15 Sep 2002

Early on in my dreaming & scheming, I was intent on doing some trekking. The thing is, at that stage I had never actually done any overnight bushwalking! I did my first trip with Geoff to The Castle in the Budawangs only a few months before I left, by which time I had already invested in some of the camping gear. Foolhardy, naive, optimistic? Perhaps, but I was certainly right about it being my sort of thing!

So my second ever overnight walk was a solo trip, in a foreign country where I barely spoke the language, starting at high altitude and descending precipitously into what is claimed to be the deepest canyon in the world. But I was an invincible 21 year old - how hard could it be?!  It started at the Mirador Cruz del Condor, where Andean condors can reliably seen (along with a billion other gringos and touts). They are pretty ugly up close, but superbly graceful soaring on the thermals.

Andean condor

Mirador Cruz del Condor

Colca Canyon

 

The descent into the gorge was brutal, going from 3600m above sea level to 2200m in about a kilometre. I encountered a number of small aqueducts, carrying water from who knows where to fields unseen. The far side of the canyon was heavily terraced, but this side was a jumble of boulders and scrub, and I was lucky to see what I think was a mountain viscacha.

My route took me down the switchbacks, across the river up towards Tapay at the top right, then along to Malata & Cosnihua in the center, before dropping down to spend the night near the river at Sangalle

Mountain viscacha

 

At the bottom I crossed the river and found a nice spot to recuperate, looking back at the way I had come. There were two backpackers following behind and I idly watched them with my binoculars. From higher up I heard loud voices and a clatter of rocks - some local kids were running down the path, cutting corners so they were virtually coming straight down the cliff-face. I suspect they were on their daily communte from school! Suddenly they stopped and gathered together, considering something closely, then heaved a boulder off the path. My brain had long enough to realise that it was heading right for the backpackers below, but not long enough to actually do anything thing about it. All I could do is watch as it tumbled down, gathering pace. Thankfully the backpackers heard it coming and stopped in their tracks, letting it pass a few metres ahead. No damage was done, though they got quite a fright and had some pretty firm words for the kids when they caught up!

 

One lesson from the first day of walking was that I had to cut back on my pack weight. This was hammered home the next day when the walk out of the canyon took me eight hours instead of the expected three. Two of those were spent under an overhang avoiding the scorching sun, but also because I felt absolutely awful. I suspect I had altitude sickness, and possibly some underlying gastro. It would take me over a week to acclimatise to the elevation, and gastro would be a fickle companion for the next six weeks. I finally made it to town where I gratefully collapsed into bed, only to be awakened at dawn to the god-awful braying of a donkey right outside my window. 

From my email: "Ever noticed how donkeys sound like two humpback whales mating on a squeaky bed?"