Camping in Huascaran, checkmate, freezing mountain air

3/6/09

Freezing in Huaraz! We step off the bus, dodging taxi drivers and hostel advertizers and sales folk, watching breath fog. Where the hell are we?
The bus has dropped us off inside a brick-walled courtyard at 6am. As we step out onto the street, dodging even more persistent taxi drivers, the first green light of dawn glows over the mountains
Spencer and I each buy a pair of gloves from opportunistic locals making the most of the cold and the arrival of unprepared tourists. Ignoring the more aggrtessive taxi drivers, we walk toward the town square, following the directions of...someone.
"How cold is this?"
"God, I don´t know. Really cold."
"It´s not just not warm. Or cool."
"No. It´s actually goddamn cold."
We sit huddled on a bench in the square waiting for the information office to open at 8. It´s 6:45.
"Is this how it gets in Michigan in the winter?"
I snort.
"No, California boy, it gets much colder. Snow everywhere and all that shit. You´d die."
But it is cold here. The coldest I´ve felt so far in South America (excepting of course, on top of Cotopaxi).
I jump around, putting on all my clothes and trying to stay warm--lamenting the loss of my warm clothes and suddenly realizing I was also without a sleeping bag. Dangerous in this climate. Yet another cost of the theft.
We find a restaurant just beginning to open and sit inside enjoying empanadas, piña juice and soup. Much nicer than shivering on a bench.
Afterward we spend some time grocery shopping and inquiring about Huascarán National Park. Tour groups offer four-day adventures which sound spectacular until we hear the price. Nope.
Just rent me a sleeping bag and we´ll pitch our tent where we can.
We also start playing chess--adres--which Spencer is much better at. It´s a great game, and I wonder why I have not gotten more into it.

The hiking is difficult in the altitude, and the sun has come out in full equatorial thin-atmospheric glory. To top off the sweaty sunburned shuffling, our equipment is hardly up to the task. My Peruvian-knit knapsack has shoulder-slicing straps whose threads seem bound to break at any moment. It´s full to brimming with all my worldly possessions, topped off with cans of food and a rented sleeping pad (oh how I miss my good ThermaRest!) and tied off because the buckle doesn´t reach. Across my chest thumps my shoulderbag with books and other temporarily useless sundries. In my hand is a sleeping bag stuffed in a compression sack weighted down with 5L of water whose nylon straps threaten to cut through my fingers. On my feet, a flat-soled pair of Chuck Taylors. A far cry from the passing hikers decked out in the latest REI fashion with hiking boots and poles.
We eventually stop in a field to pitch our tent and relax for the rest of the afternoon. Locals pass by with mules and cattle, heading for Huaraz. One lady offers us some Quetchua corn. Ignoring paranoia about tresspassing, we set up camp, squatting in this field--owned by someone--surrounded by mountains, fresh air, and eventually, no people.

The next morning finds us waking up at...some time, eating dried fruit, nuts, and yogurt, and breaking camp in a bit of a rush: a farmer has already wandered over to bid us buenos dias (but happily, no more).
We hike on toward Pitec, arriving around 9, according to the camera clock. Pitec, it turns out, is one couple´s vacation dwelling--built and bought, the doña tells me, as a spot for travelers to rest, and as a checkpoint for lost wanderers. She and her husband Donato live in Lima (where he teaches bible school) but traveled to Jerusalem and met many Israelis (who make up a majority of world travelers), so they built their house and we4lcome people to camp out front for free.
Very strange and lovely--an oasis--in a place where even the babies are taught to be opportunistic and seek a dime whenever possible. Something gratis? Have we died and gone to heaven?

The next morning we stow our bags in the Palominos´ house and set off hiking up the mountains toward Laguna Churup. Though tough, the hiking is less strenuous than I expected, perhaps because we were free of the fearsome burden of our detritus, or maybe we just have lots of happy energy after discovering this place.
The sun isn´t too bad on my roasted flesh (I´ve borrowed Spencer´s sunscreen) as it illuminates the green hills and sparkles off the snowcaps. In no kind of rush, we stop every now and then for water and chess--Spencer always wins--and ruminate on some dried coca leaves which help with the altitude and energy. Beats RedBull any day, and tastes more or less like chewing tea. After about an hour:
The lake must be right above that waterfall, we both agree. Our steps get a bit more pepped as we scramble up mossy rocks and around mud puddles.
Finally the lake, surrounded by cliffs and backdropped by a snowy peak. Gorgeous. Crystal-clear, calm, and empty of people. We lunch on soon-stale bread and salami and play more chess.
Checkmate. I win!
For the first time, I´ve caught him. My strategic sense is awakening. All I need is practice. We stretch out in the sun, which eventually gets uncomfortable underneath my alpaca sweater, donned to protect my fair skin, and I decide to swim. Up the hill on the other side of the lake, maybe 300m from where we lie, is a field of alpine snow. The water is likely frigid. But hell, I´ll regret it if I don´t, right? Buy the ticket; take the ride. Plus it´s a lake, my professed favorite geographical feature. I´ve got to dive in.
I inform Spencer of my intentions and strip, handing him my camera. I tiptoe to the rock edge. Three feet below the water glitters, clear and inviting. No dangerous rocks below.
Okay. No hesitation. Here we go.
Step up. Swing my naked arms in the sun. One step forward...this is it...
I reach the point of no return and hover in the air for a split second before crashing through the surface. My muscles seize, my lungs freeze, and then I recover my senses and scramble for shore. Goosebumps prickle and teeth chatter, but I´m so glad I dove in. I drip dry for all of two seconds before deciding to put on my clothes over wet skin. Hell, I´ll dry in the sun. But the breeze kills!
We head back down to Pitec, ready to chill on our last night here, our last night together before Spencer heads home to the States, and I head south to continue the Journey.