Setting out on the Inca Trail
The 4:30am alarm woke me with a jolt. It was then such a struggle to push back the layers of warm alpaca blankets to face the chilly Andean morning. After a quick shower and breakfast, I ventured out onto the steep streets of Cusco, Peru. The mists of another cold night at altitude were just beginning to dissipate under the relative warmth of the rising sun. This was the day that I would set out to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu.
Six bleary eyed hikers were gathering near Plaza di Armis – the colonial era square at the center of town, for a dawn rendezvous. I was still very unsure what I was letting myself in for on the Inca Trail, but I knew that it was going to be epic. I took a deep breath and told myself I was going to try to enjoy the adventure, come what may.
Shaun, Andreh, Carolina, Davide, Tanya and I setting out to hike the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu
Among the hikers was another Irishman. I already knew his heritage, given the remnants of ginger in his predominantly grey beard, the smell of last nights beer on his breath, and his introductory remark of “Hi, I’m Shaun. Has anyone got any water?”
As our guide Margot showed up, my mind wandered back to when I first thought about this, the world’s most famous hiking trail. Three years previously, on August 14th 2015, I had been rendered motionless by vertigo, while attempting to climb Machu Picchu mountain. As I sat on a narrow stone ledge, waiting for my wife Yesi to come back down from the summit, I stared out over the lost city of the Inca’s to the high snow-capped peaks of the Urubamba mountain range. I thought those peaks were beyond me. A bridge too far. But now, in December 2018, I was clambering aboard a bus, backpack laden with supplies, setting out to hike the Inca Trail; a trail which would go to those very peaks, and which I knew would seriously challenge my fear of heights.
As the bus trundled across the high plateau between Cusco and Ollantaytambo, near the traditional Peruvian town of Chinchero, smalltalk ensued among the passengers as to our home countries and occupations. Davide was Swiss, which obviously gave him an advantage with the altitude. His German girlfriend Tanya was also an avid hiker/climber. My fellow Irishman was originally from Connecticut, but had moved to Montana via Colorado and Oregon; inspired to take emergency room nursing jobs wherever there are mountains and snow. The couple at the front of the bus remained silent. The girl was Latina, and her companion remained largely hidden behind dark Ray Ban sunglasses and a slouch hat.
At Ollantaytambo we picked up a couple of porters; local men who would carry the tents and prepare meals. The six eclectic hikers used the stop to purchase all manner of drinks, energy bars and coca leaves – the age old antidote for altitude sickness. These leafs may even have helped the Inca’s build such intricate structures at high altitudes. I took the opportunity to buy a spare rain poncho and some toilet paper. Those would prove to be inspired decisions.
After leaving town, our bus turned onto a dirt road which ran alongside the train tracks and followed the Urubamba River downstream towards Machu Picchu. The further into the river valley we ventured, the higher the mountains rose. My heart raced every time I thought about what the Inca Trail may involve. But I repeatedly reminded myself that the challenge was going to be an adventure.
We came to a stop in a parking lot at Kilometer 82, where all of the gear was laid out on a plastic tarp. A sleeping bag and ground sheet were placed beside each bag. My green backpack, generously loaned by my cousin Eileen, who had hiked the Camino de Santiago that summer, already looked incredible bulky. When I attached the sleeping bag and mattress, the total weight was a mind numbing 15 kilos (33lbs). I already knew what that would mean physically while out on the trail.
Two years previously, when I had cycled across America, I had decided against regimental training. But back then I was in better shape. All I really needed to do was to prepare mentally, and I had done just that, to great affect. But now, after two years of life in New York, I was showing all the signs of my love affairs with pizza, bagels, and Dunkin Donuts.
At kilometer 82 – the outset of the Inca Trail
As everyone got their gear together, Tanya snapped me against the backdrop of the glacial-capped Mt Veronica. I hadn’t yet hiked a yard of the Inca Trail, but I was already loving the spectacular mountain views.
The sun was by now well up in the sky; it’s strength all too obvious on my skin. At altitude, the temperature may not rise very high, but given the clear skies and thin air, the impact of the rays can be punishing. It was by now time to swing my green backpack onto one shoulder. Doing so almost knocked me off my feet. It was an almighty weight. As I staggered off after those who had already departed, I closed my eyes in a moment of conscious gratitude that my adventure on the Inca Trail had finally begun.
Setting out on the Inca Trail
The little group of intrepid hikers slithered single file down onto the railway tracks, then crossed a precarious footbridge over the Urubamba River and onto the Inca Trail. For the first couple of hours I took up the rear. The porters were long since gone, hastily making progress so that they would have time to set up camp for lunch. To the fore was Shaun, seemingly on a mission to blaze a trail to Machu Picchu. He was closely followed by Davide and Tanya. In the middle of the procession, Margot, issued instructions about “taking it easy” and pointed out the local landmarks and fauna. Following Margot were the couple whom I now knew to be Carolina, a Peruvian law graduate living in Sydney, and her Australian boyfriend Andreh. They would turn out to be a lovely couple who I became great friends with. Being in their company made the arduous hike a whole lot more enjoyable. But for now, I deliberately lagged even further behind, wanting to soak up the experience without words.
The trail, for a few miles at least, was very conducive to the mindful meditative process. As we followed the river downstream, the path rose only marginally onto the hillside. The views were beautiful; the atmosphere tranquil. During those first few hours I admired the fauna which overhung the path, including all manner of bizarrely shaped cacti. I also used this time to motivate myself by repeating mantra’s. I knew that the Inca Trail, with it’s many perils and hardships, would only be conquered using a mind over matter approach.
A Cactus along the Inca Trail
With the sun now directly overhead, we slowly began to turn uphill onto the mountainside. Up ahead, the others had come to a stop. Margot was pointing down to the river bank far below, where the first Inca ruin of the trail was to be seen snuggled against the foot of the mountain. From our vantage point, the ancient ruin almost looked like a Lego model. After we had restarted the hike, I once again lagged behind. I was busy working on my mindful strategy.
At around 1pm we began for the first time to seriously climb onto the mountain. A little stream of crystal clear snowmelt water flowed down the mountainside, destined to join the Urubamba, which was by now far below us.
After another hour of contemplative uphill hiking, we reached a little grassy patch where we had lunch. The cooking and dining tents were already set up; the welcome aroma of hot soup wafting through the thin air. Truth be told, on the final ascent to the lunch camp, I had begun to struggle under the weight of my backpack and the unrelenting sun. I was thankful for the food and the opportunity to rest.
Our lunch camp on day one of the Inca Trail
Lunch, while simple, was delicious and the perfect fuel for hiking at altitude. It was supplemented by fresh bread and hot coca tea. With our break over, the porters quickly packed away the make-shift cafeteria and were once again out on the trail ahead of us, scurrying off to set up our second and final camp of the day.
As the afternoon wore on, the gradient increased. So too did my discomfort. With each added degree, my progress slowed. Now, I lagged behind the others more out of circumstance than choice. The most worrying thing about day one on the Inca Trail was that any information I had seen, showed day one to be relatively flat. Relatively, because virtually nothing in Peru is flat. If this was the flat day, I shuddered to think what the notoriously difficult days two and three would bring. While contemplating this unnecessary and unmindful quandary, the dusty trail suddenly gave way to a series of stone steps, which seemingly rose up into the clouds. Given their irregular surfaces and heights, the steps represented an added challenge. And still we climbed.
Rising into the Urubamba Mountains on the Inca Trail
Late in the afternoon, we again came alongside the mountain stream. The pace of the water had quickened, evidence that we were by now on sharper gradients. After following the stream uphill for a time, we crossed over it on a rickety bridge, and arrived in to a little hamlet which sat nestled into a crevice in the mountainside. Behind the simple farm laborers cottages, our tents awaited our arrival, already set up on a grassy shelf. Given that there were two couples among the six hikers, I would be sharing a tent with Shaun. How strange I thought, to share a tent with someone I had only met earlier that morning.
After a delicious supper and a pep talk from Margot, we brushed our teeth, had a wet-wipes shower, and prepared our beds for the night. As we did so, the skies darkened overhead. It was the beginning of rainy season in the Cusco region, and the first deluge now seemed imminent. We watched as heavy slow moving clouds hung over Dead Woman’s Pass – the 14,000ft mountain which lay in wait for us on day two. Thankfully, we got lucky. The rain held off until we were safely in our tents. Wet gear at the start of a hike does not easily dry, if at all.
A mongrel pup, who at first appeared friendly, but who quickly became annoying, was obviously the self-appointed camp guard. As darkness fell on the mountain, he proceeded to bark out incessant warnings to any as yet unseen raiders of the night.
Shaun tossed and turned and complained about the noise, his new mattress and how much he regretted getting drunk on the night before the hike. I rolled my fleece into an improvised pillow, zipped up my sleeping bag and within a minute was headed for sleep. The first day was over, and it had left me physically drained. But as I dozed off to sleep, I silently congratulated myself for making it through day one on the Inca Trail. I also congratulated myself for being able to enjoy the experience.