Tag Archive Hiking

There has been a belief, held by many civilizations through the eons, in the spiritual significance of high places. Those words were from my good friend Carl Campbell, upon hearing of my plans to hike Nepal’s Annapurna Circuit. Once I arrived in Kathmandu, I realized how right he was.

I had already encountered this essence of spirituality at high altitude, having cycled over the Rockies at Monarch Pass, and hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu in Peru. But my visit to Kathmandu and Nepal brought the indeterminate theory to a whole other level.

Before heading eastwards, I had briefly flirted with the idea of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, made famous by Cheryl Strayed’s book Wild, or the Snowman Trek through Bhutan, but both require a significant time commitment. More pertinently, neither trail appealed to me in a spiritual sense, so for a time I was in a state of trekking limbo. Then, quite by chance, I stumbled upon a travel memoir by a Canadian man called Andrew Stevenson, who flew to Kathmandu and hiked the Annapurna Circuit back in the early 1990’s. The more I read, the more fascinated I became with the Annapurna region of Nepal. The mountains had finally called to me, and I had to go. So, on a cold and overcast first day of December, I left New York City on a Qatar Airways flight out of JFK, heading to a far off land, with expectations of a tough adventure challenge, and the opportunity to further explore mindfulness and meditation for personal development and peak performance.

The twelve and a half hour flight to Doha afforded ample opportunity to read about, and mentally prepare for what would be an epic trek. After a brief layover in Qatar, I was in the air again for the final leg of the long journey to Nepal. For most New Yorkers, travel represents an opportunity to escape the congestion and intensity of living in one of the world’s busiest cities. It was therefore something of a disappointment to discover that Kathmandu is even more chaotic, and certainly a lot smoggier, than the Big Apple.

All manner of decrepit, smoke-belching vehicles, jostle for position on narrow dusty streets which are shared with motorcyclists, pedestrians, cyclists, and scores of cows, goats, chickens and dogs. Truth be told, given the hectic street life in the city, I was counting down the hours until I could escape Nepal’s capital for the high ledges and trails of the Annapurna Circuit. But one spot of sightseeing unexpectedly changed my experience and perception of Kathmandu.

On a single afternoon, I visited all of the noteworthy temples, stupas and spiritually significant sites that the city has to offer. The ‘Monkey Temple’, Boudhanath Stupa and Durbar Square at what was once the royal palace of the Kingdom of Nepal, were all interesting. Then, I arrived somewhat blindly at Pashupatinath Temple. It was simply another stop on the tourist trail to me; a way of passing the time before my trek could begin. But once I had paid my admission and entered the large site, I quickly realized that I had stumbled upon a very interesting place.

Unsure of where to begin to explore the site, I approached a long wall, rested my arms on it, and peered over to survey the surroundings. On the other side of the wall, a terrace of concrete steps ran down to Bagmati River which the entire temple complex straddles for a stretch of about four hundred meters. But my view was still slightly obscured, by what I thought was yet more of Kathmandu’s infamous smog. On closer examination, I discovered that the haze was in fact smoke.

A concrete plinth in the foreground, supported a neatly stacked pile of bamboo and kindling, which was burning slowly but surely, while being stoked periodically by an attendant. At the center of the fire, I could see a solid object, and when my eyes had focused sufficiently, I discovered that what I was looking at was a head. A human head! It transpired that I was no more than ten feet away from where a cremation was taking place.

“This particular man went to work this morning”, a guide told me. “He died suddenly, and by two o’clock his body was brought here, to be cleansed and cremated. By six o’clock, he will be in ashes, which will then be swept into the river.”   

This very public funeral pyre, sitting aside the sacred Bagmati River, which in turn flows into the even more sacred Ganges, serves as a poignant reminder of the often close relationship between life and death in Nepal. In total there were perhaps six or seven pyres in a line along the river; those further upstream reserved for the upper echelons of society. Hindus believe that the river’s origin is in the footsteps of Lord Shiva, high above Kathmandu in the Himalayas, therefore anywhere upstream is more sacred.

To see a body burned in full public gaze, while locals and visitors shuffle through the temple complex taking pictures, is perhaps a shock to westerners. It certainly was to me initially. But it perfectly represents how Hindus and Buddhists view life and death, and the relationship between them.

I later asked my guide if he would be cremated in this public manner at Pashupatinath, and if he was happy about this arrangement. “Yes. And we absolutely need to see and accept the cremation – and the creation. Without death, there can be no life.”

And therein lies the key as to why Hindu’s in particular seem to have a higher acceptance of death. Their belief in reincarnation is such, that the burning of the human body is simply the destruction of the physical vessel that the soul has last occupied. A death is merely seen as the liberation of the soul, allowing it to continue it’s journey through life.

The quality of life which the Hindu soul passes into next, depends upon the righteousness of the life they have most recently lived. In Hinduism, a soulful being must live through many incarnations, some in the form of animals, before the soul can be said to be of sufficient wisdom and purity to be sent forth to meet Yama, the God of death and final decider on the destination of souls. Perhaps it is this transient nature of the soul which brings a greater acceptance of death in the east. It is also interesting to note that Hindu’s have 33 million Gods and deities, which have very specific roles to play throughout the many incarnations of a soul.

As I watched the burning man who had shown up to work just a few hours previously, I briefly contemplated the deep and complex subjects of life and death, before deciding that life, in whatever form it takes, is precious, and so every second of it should be enjoyed.

Later, I crossed a low bridge over the Bagmati river, to the far bank which is used primarily for prayer and reflection. I then looked back to where I had come from with a new perspective. A little further upstream from where I had stood by the cremation, a terraced hospice served as another link between life and death. Terminally ill patients arrive into wards on the higher steps, and as their condition inevitably deteriorates, they are moved down a tier, until they eventually lay in a bed next to the river awaiting their fate. At least in a physical sense. Further upstream still, caves cut into the rocky river bank are used as meditation retreats by holy men. As I continued to explore the temple, I met some of those holy men, which in turn brought about an unexpected treat.

In the courtyard of a nearby ashram, I met a trio of sadhu gurus – men who give up their worldly possessions and devote their life to the pursuit of spiritual wisdom. After posing for obligatory tourist photographs, I fell into conversation with one of the sadhus. Key to this lengthier than usual audience was the fact that I had asked the guru about the relationship between meditation, karma and wisdom. “Do you meditate?” the sadhu asked. When I told him I use mantra-based meditation twice daily, he led me into a room in the ashram, for a meeting which lasted over two hours.

While the guru matter of factly answered all of my questions about Shiva, the lord of life who has mastered all levels of incarnation, and for whom the temple serves as a shrine, it was only when I pressed him on his own personal beliefs that the conversation became extra special. The smiling, agreeable holy man only once interrupted my questioning. Having spent almost thirty years in devotion at Pashupatinath, I assumed he would have some pearls of wisdom to share in terms of his beliefs.

“I believe in nothing”, he told me assuredly. “Beliefs are dangerous. They are opinions, and opinions often have a volatile and incompatible relationship with truth. We cannot fully know. We can only be.”

After processing this unique insight, I then asked the guru how long he would remain at the temple. “I am here now”, he answered, smiling and nodding. “And so are you. We are here now, and only now.  But to answer the question you would like answered, I will probably be here for the rest of my lives.”

Rather ignorantly, I again pushed for what knowledge or wisdom he would have gained at the end of his lives of devotion at Pashupatinath. “If we seek more, we have less. Often, when we stop looking for things, we find them. Wisdom is incorrectly associated with knowledge, but knowledge is thought; and this can mean we are thinking too much. This is distracting. All good karma, wisdom and beauty exists only in the now. Would you like to experience it?”

“Yes”, I replied immediately and definitely.

“Ok, so let’s meditate together”, the sadhu told me with a warm smile.

And that’s exactly what we did. Right there, amid the burning corpses and the hoards of tourists and plumes of smoke and fumes, we sat facing each other and meditated for thirty blissful minutes.

When hugging me to say goodbye, the sadhu whispered in my ear: “You already know everything you need to know. Now I give you good karma and a happy life to enjoy it.”

As I crossed back over the bridge to leave Pashupatinath, I took a mini tour of the remaining buildings of significance; one of which was a small square room with an open doorway on each side, the cornerstones of which were stained with dried blood, and the dye from flower petals. “Animal sacrifice”, the guide told me. “Mostly water buffalo.” (The cow is revered in the Hindu world, but it’s poor cousin, the water buffalo, often exists only to be slain sacrificially.) There are also strong rumors of children having been sacrificed in the past, which only adds to the legend of a temple which is shrouded in mystery and controversy.

Many of the buildings at Pashupatinath date back to the 4th century, putting them at 1,600 years old. Some studies go further, estimating that Pashupatinath has been active since pre-vedic times; meaning the site has had spiritual significance for over 8,000 years, particularly as a shrine to the lingam of Lord Shiva.

As I left Pashupatinath and Kathmandu to begin the arduous bus journey to Besisahar to begin my trek on the Annapurna Circuit, I did so with much to contemplate about life, death, devotion and varying belief systems.

Growing up in the north of Ireland, I have seen first hand how two very similar Christian religions can differ so greatly. Now living in New York, I have a good understanding of Judaism. When I cycled across America, I met and conversed with people from many different faiths, including Native Americans, Mormons, Amish and a range of smaller new age religions. My local supermarket in Queens New York is Sikh owned. And the further into the Annapurna range I trekked, the more Tibetan influence I encountered, which mostly revolved around strong Buddhist traditions.

What I have taken away from all of this, is that we as people of the world have hugely different interpretations of where we have come from, why we are here, and where we are going (if anywhere) when we die. But I cannot help but draw the conclusion that my friend the sadhguru is right – we just don’t know. We have beliefs, and our trust in what we believe in is built on faith as opposed to knowledge. Maybe it is better that we do not know for sure.

But one thing is for certain: we are here right now, in this present moment. That is the only certainty. Our existence can come to an end at any point in the future, when life and death collide. Visiting Nepal brought this fragility of existence into sharp focus, particularly while watching a man burn who had been at work just a few hours earlier. This served as a poignant reminder of just how important it is to live fully in each individual moment. What comes next is beyond our comprehension and control. But we can certainly learn to live in the now. My sadhguru friend may have claimed to know and believe in nothing, but by encouraging me to enjoy the now, he demonstrated all the wisdom we will ever need.

The Gringo Killer

Dead Woman’s Pass on Day 2 of the Inca Trail had been extreme. I had suffered altitude sickness near the summit at 14,000 feet, so to sleep that night at the ‘lower’ elevation of 11,000 feet was such a relief.

I had been unable to eat either lunch or dinner, which bizarrely, had been served within an hour of each other after we had arrived into camp. Our guide, Margot, was instead plying me with coca tea, to ward off further sickness. All I really wanted to do was to rest and recover. Sleep would come, but like everything else on the Inca Trail, it would come on the mountain’s terms.

A huge thunderstorm erupted shortly after we climbed into our tents, unleashing torrents of rain which pelted the flysheet. Shaun tossed and turned on his yellow inflatable mattress; each small movement causing a series of plasticy squeaks. Between the cracks of lightening, thunder, torrential rain, the squeaks, and eventually the snores, it was difficult to fall asleep. A little meditation finally nudged me off towards dreamland.

Clouds lingering on the morning of day 3 on the Inca Trail.

Day 3 on the Inca Trail dawned in much the same way as the previous day. The rain had stopped, but a thick blanket of cloud hung over camp. My appetite had returned with vigor, so I devoured all that was set in front of me at breakfast. Thirty minutes later, we were once again setting out on the trail. It came as very little surprise that our trajectory was upwards.

A misty start to day 3 on the Inca Trail.

Narrow stone steps once again snaked uphill, flanked on one side by the Andean grass of the mountainside, and on the other by huge vertical drop-offs. Down in the depths of the valley, the overnight cloud was lingering. But as the temperature rose, a strange phenomenon began to unfold. Rivers of cloud began flowing upwards out of the valleys, clinging to the mountainside as they rose up and over the trail in a display of misty mysticism.

While pausing in search of breath, I turned to look back out over the rising clouds and the trail. Far in the distance, Dead Woman’s Pass hauntingly reemerged from the clouds. It was surreal to think that I had hiked over such a monstrosity just a day beforehand. When I turned to resume climbing, I saw that Margot had stopped up ahead, and had our group gathered around her. We had reached Runkurakay; the first of several Inca ruins we would encounter on day three.

Runkurakay was used in Incan times in much the same way that we used it in 2018, albeit without the roof. The small circular structure which overlooked the valley far below (or in our case the shifting clouds), provided  sanctuary for those hiking the Inca Trail. Margot gave an in-depth lecture on the ruins, but I was distracted. I slipped off to the periphery of the group, where I could find a little space to breathe.

Runkurakay Ruins nestled into the hillside.

With altitude sickness still on my mind, I now looked up with some trepidation toward Runkurakay Pass; the latest mountain of the Urubamba range to stand in our way. Although Runkurakay is around 850 feet lower than Dead Woman’s Pass, the 13,123 feet summit is still cause for concern to a hiker with altitude sickness. But when I did my little self-check, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I felt reasonably well.

With the history lesson complete, and my mindful moment giving me newfound confidence, we once again set off on the never-ending stone steps of the Inca Trail. We hiked up and around two little lakes, which looked pretty but wafted of rotting vegetation and stale water. With each step now, I was mindful to focus on that particular moment, and to become consciously aware of all the sensory inputs. I cast all other thoughts off to oblivion with the rising clouds. In time the stone staircase flattened back to trail. Without much noticeable effort, I had reached the summit of Runkurakay, where all of the rising cloud now seemed to have gathered. Visibility was at less that twenty feet, adding a heavenly feel to the mountain top.

Pretty lakes – but also pretty stinky!

The group paused on the summit to snack, talk and reorganize our packs. Margot then broke the uplifting news that we had scaled the last major climb of the entire trail. This perked us all up no end. The descent, while initially very steep, was ultimately more gradual and less demanding than Dead Woman’s Pass. As the trail narrowed and sheer drops opened up to our right hand side, we filtered into single file. I was in a trio with Davide and Andreh, to whom who I had given one of my hiking poles. This gifting served a dual purpose. Andreh really appreciated the pole on the descent and I was happy to have only one pole for myself. Hiking with both poles had been counter-intuitive I learned. With no free hands, I had to stop every time I wanted to take my camera out of my pocket or to have a drink or snack.

We discussed soccer. Davide was an avid Hoffenheim supporter. Andreh enjoyed the watching English Premier League without partisanship. And I of course shared my love for Tottenham. We chatted for around a mile, until it occurred to me that I had more energy than I was using. Furthermore, talking in single file too often involved turning around to face the other guys. So, not wanting to waste my new found energy, I broke away from the conversation and steamed ahead on the trail. Pretty soon I had overtaken Tanya and was then hiking behind Shaun.

After several miles of enjoyable hiking, we came to a fork; one set of steps led upwards into the clouds, the other dropped off into jungle. Neither Shaun nor I knew which path to take, so we sat on the steps and waited for the others. It transpired (from the knowledgeable Margot of course) that the upper trail was the entrance to another Inca ruins. Given the option of exploring or continuing, we all opted to see the ruins. So we proceeded to clamber up 98 very steep and slippery steps.

Sayacmarca Ruins. Not very photogenic in the mist.

Arriving at Sayacmarca on the Inca Trail is like rising up through the floors of the world, crawling into the attic space, and then climbing out through a skylight to sit on the ridge tiles. It felt as if we had reached the roof of South America itself. The tightly clustered buildings huddled together on a rocky outcrop, bordered on all sides by sheer drops and offered a panoramic view out over the entire Urubamba range. Shaun and I had been resting just yards away from the foundations of this archeological marvel, but had no idea what lay above the mists. I wondered if this served as a metaphor for how many experiences in life we are so close to enjoying, but cannot see due to the foggy thinking.

After descended the steps onto the trail once again, I was the first to set out on the trail. For two days I had lagged behind the others, mostly due to sickness. But now I felt completely reinvigorated, and had developed an unquenchable thirst for exploring on what was an increasingly interesting hike.

The further into day 3 I hiked, the more the landscaped turned to tropical cloud forest.

Sayacmarca had been strategically placed. It is perhaps the point where one Peru meets another; a frontier which experts think may have inspired the Inca’s to build Machu Picchu where they did. As I carefully hiked on the narrow trail which now seemed to traverse a jagged and exposed mountain ridge, I noticed that the surroundings were changing dramatically. The barren windswept and sun-dried mountainsides of Warmiwañusca were now but a distant memory, as the evergreen fauna of the tropical cloud forest now predominated. As I edged ever closer to Machu Picchu, I was crossing the frontier between Peru’s arid upland and it’s more exotic Amazonian jungle. Some say Machu Picchu was to be used as an outpost for the Cusco-based Inca’s to venture into and conquer the Amazon.

Alas, the spread of the Inca Empire would be halted not by the lush vegetation and tropical species of the Amazon, but by the arrival of Europeans on South America’s north eastern shores. Who knows, if the Inca’s had spanned the Andes into the Amazon basin and beyond, the native people of South America may well have united, and been able to resist the European invasion. All such theories are now but mysteries of conjecture, left for the guides of Machu Picchu to unravel.

Feeling good, and enjoying day 3 on the Inca Trail.

Staying true to it’s climatic classification, the trail now edged through a thick cloud, which became increasingly menacing the further I ventured. I could tell that on either side now, great drops of thousands of feet lay in wait for any errant footstep. But the full repercussions of any theoretical falls remained concealed beneath the clouds. It was now also incredibly quiet; the thick moist air dampening the sounds of nature. After hiking solo for around a mile, the moisture in the air turned to rain, slowing my progress as the stones had become even more slippery. And then a sudden noise stopped me in my sodden tracks. I knew instantly what it was, but it was what it meant that startled me. The beacon was from the trains which run between Ollantaytambo and Agaus Calientes, the base town for Machu Picchu. I looked out over the edge of the trail in the hopes of seeing Machu Picchu, but it was hopelessly lost in the clouds. But I now knew we were close. Somewhere, below those clouds, was the lost city of the Inca’s. While contemplating this geographic revelation, I sat on a rock to wait for the others. Had I hiked for two minutes more, I would have been waiting for them in the shelter of camp. But I wasn’t to know.

The trail was now going through tropical cloud forest.

Lunch on that third day was a real treat. The heaviest rain fell while we were under the cover of the dining tent, sampling all manner of local energy-producing foods. After reemerging to drizzle, we watched several llama’s wander through camp, and then struggled to put on our rain ponchos. Tanya and Davide had the strangest technique. Davide, not wanting to wear his poncho, but needing shelter from the drizzle until we were ready to set off, took cover under Tanya’s poncho. The pair of them looked like a German-Swiss pantomime costume that was putting the cart before the horse.

Tanya and Davide performing their Swiss-German back-to-front pantomime horse trick

One of several llama to wander through our lunch camp!

While setting off again, I spoke with Andreh, and told him about how magical Machu Picchu was going to be. I shared with him the memory of the day, three years previously when I had climbed Machu Picchu with Yesi, then got on one knee and proposed when we had returned to the ruins. Andreh had a smirk on his face throughout my recollection of the event.

“Actually”, he said with his Australian twang, “I’m going to ask Carolina’s father for his blessing to marry his daughter once we get back to Lima.”

Carolina and Andreh.

This of course gave Andreh and I much to discuss, as we were both from other continents and proposing to Peruvian ladies in their homeland. Andreh shared the words he had planned for his future father-in-law, and I have to say, I rated his chances of a positive response at almost perfect. With Andreh and I chit-chatting about proposals, an hour passed on the trail. We remained blanketed in cloud through this time, hugging the jagged mountain ridge. Then, the trail literally plunged into a black hole.

“This can’t be the trail can it?”, I asked as I ventured into the unknown.

It was the Inca Tunnel, yet another marvel of ancient engineering. We slithered down into a dark passageway, which cut right through the rock, before reemerging about 25 yards further ahead. The gradient and jaggedness of the ridge had become so extreme that there was no other way of continuing the trail other than to cut through the mountain. Those Inca’s certainly were determined, ingenious and resourceful.

And then, as Andreh and I discussed how difficult it must have been to cut through rock all of six hundred years ago, quite suddenly, we arrived at probably the most spectacular view either of us had ever seen. We arrived on a bald rocky mountain top just as the heavy cloud was moving off, revealing a magnificent view of the Urubamba peaks, most of them clad in snow. Cloud lingered in the valleys, but the mountain peak panorama was breath-taking.

Ruins and beautiful views on day 3 of the Inca Trail.

View from the Inca Trail on day 3.

My phone pictures just don’t do the panoramas the justice they deserve.

Something else caught my eye. A cell phone tower! I took out my phone, called Yesi, and was delighted to hear the ringtone in New York. I had not had coverage for almost 50 hours, and I knew she would be worried. With Yesi pacified, I then called my mother in Ireland. And finally, I was able to see that Christian Eriksen had just scored a last-minute goal as Tottenham kept up their title push. An altogether productive and satisfying few minutes. But then, after taking some pictures and videos, I put my phone away and consciously breathed in the fresh mountain air as I savored the spectacular views. I really am a lucky man to have seen these wonders.

Shaun, who was disinterested in scenery throughout, had already set off on the final section of the trail. It was a decision he would later regret. As the clouds continued to roll back, revealing yet more wondrous views, Margot, Carolina, Andreh and I remained on the mountain top.

One of the many ruins on day 3 of the Inca Trail.

Once we started hiking onwards, we discovered that very quickly, the trail suddenly fell away down the mountainside in a series of spiraling steps. Vertigo raised it’s head, and I had a job keeping him at bay. A more tangible problem was the strain these incredibly steep steps were putting on the knees and hips.

“Meet the Gringo Killer”, Margot said with a sly grin. “Two more hours of steps.”

Carolina immediately struggled with the downward staircase. Myself and Adreh were not fairing much better. The couple and I had by now become good friends, and even if I had been able to descend faster, I would have stayed with Andreh to help and support Carolina. Flight after flight of sharply falling steps came into view below our feet. Thankfully, the lush vegetation which now included beautifully colored orchids, distracted us while we stopped to rest. At one particular spot, where the trail fell deeply around to the right, I made the mistake of looking into the drop. The closest relatively flat terrain was an estimated three thousand feet beneath us. It was enough to take a man’s breath away – if he had any breath!

As treacherous as the Gringo Killer steps were, the experience was quite enjoyable. We were literally descending into the jungle, on the last leg of our adventure on the Inca Trail. Day 4 promised to be a short day, when we would hike a short distance to the Sun Gate overlooking Machu Picchu. But day three wasn’t done with it’s revelations just yet. An hour into the Gringo Killer, the trail leveled out to cross one of the dozens of terraces on Into Pata (Sunny Slope); an Inca ruin of gigantic proportions, which cascaded down the steep mountainside. From the terrace we could once again pick out the Urubamba River, and the trains puffing alongside it as they hauled the less adventurous Machu Picchu explorers to and from the ancient city. Again, the views were spectacular.

Groups hiking the Inca Trail normally pose here for a group photo. But most of our group had already hiked ahead!

Andreh admiring the mountain scenery.

The last ruin we encountered that day was Wiñay Wayna. When Margot translated the Quechua name as ‘Forever Young’ I was delighted with it’s symbolism. Arrival at this complex settlement from the Inca days heralded the end of the third day – a hike of 24km through the Andes on difficult terrain. Reaching the end of the day was effectively completing the most challenging sections of the Inca Trail. As the oldest member of our group, the satisfaction brought by treading through Wiñay Wayna was immense. The difference with this ruin was that we had to like down through the terraces to get to our overnight camp. I led the way on what was without doubt the longest flight of steeps I have ever descended.

So many ruins on day 3 of the Inca Trail.

The final ruins of the day. It may not look it, but the steps down through those terraces were very long and very steep!

At the bottom, we regrouped and rested, before hiking through one final section of jungle and arriving into camp. We were greeted by Shaun, who was in an even more neurotically cranky mood than usual. His mission to get to camp quickly had worked. In fact, it had worked so well that he had arrived before camp had been set up, and had to stand waiting in the rain for our tent to be erected. He was wet, cold and hungry. Somehow, I was the brunt of his displeasure.

“Well,” he blurted out, “as long as you got to talk to your wife and mother that totally helps me to dry my clothes!”

It was bizarre. My phone calls had little to do with his plight. Had he remained with us longer on the mountain top, not only could he have got to experience the best of the views when the clouds had rolled back, but he would also have arrived into a dry camp. There was little point in trying to explain this to him.

Shaun stomped around camp, muttering to himself, throwing dirty glances at the rest of the group, and generally being a disruption to what had been a wonderful day. For a moment I wanted to slap, and tell him to grow up. Then I glanced over towards Davide and Tanya, who had also hiked ahead to camp, and who were also wet and cold. But they were still smiling. In that moment, I realized the futility of allowing Shaun’s neuroticism to affect my own mood. Wherever we go, whether it be on the subway at Times Square, on a flight, at the movies or even to the top of the Andes, there will always be people like Shaun. I took a breath and made a conscious effort to ignore him, and to concentrate on enjoying the remainder of my Inca Trail experience.

Our excellent guide Margot – guide, medic, motivator and even peacekeeper!

With Shauns tantrum continuing and threatening to cast a thorny atmosphere over dinner, Margot stepped in to nullify the situation. In time, Shaun saw the error of his own ways, and so we all sat down to enjoy our meal with unity restored. As this was our last meal together, we chipped in money to a kitty to be presented to the porters as a tip to show our gratitude for their efforts. Those men are the heroes of the mountain; carrying tents, chairs, tables and cooking equipment on their backs for hours on end. Sometimes their burden weighs up to fifty pounds, but they charge ahead without complaining.

When dinner had ended, the porters introduced themselves one by one, thanking us for our generous tips. It was a nice way to round of the day, even though we all agreed that we felt a tinge of guilt. Our relatively small offering (by 1st world standards) of $50 each had meant so much to these local men and their families. We all speculated how much of the price we had paid to hike the Inca Trail would filter down to these men as wages. It seemed as though the tips constituted the majority of their income. I wished I had been able to give more.

After dinner, we quickly headed off to bed. Day 4, our final day on the Inca Trail, would begin with a 3am alarm call. But what a day it promised to be! We would complete the trail by hiking to the Sun Gate for a dawn entry, and then enter the lost city of Machu Picchu.

Dead Woman’s Pass

From dawn until dusk, day two on the Inca Trail represents a grueling challenge, even for the experienced hiker. It is where those who quit, quit.

“Buenos días, señors”, a porter called out.

Footsteps approached our tent. Then a stick came tapping at the flysheet. The reverberations sent droplets of condensation falling onto my face. I opened my eyes to discover that I was faced into the corner of the tent, where a pool of water had formed overnight. Turning to reach my sweater and hiking pants, I realized everything felt damp. After unzipping the tent and sticking my head outside, I understood why.

Thick cloud had descended overnight, and was now blanketing our camp against the first grey hues of dawn. It was hard to tell if it was raining or not. We had literally slept in a cloud. It was murky, cold and mysterious. All things considered, it was a soggy and bleak start to the day. However the conditions merely enhanced the feeling of mystical adventure that hiking the Inca Trail brings.

Our tents on a soggy second morning on the Inca Trail

Despite a long and uninterrupted sleep, I was still tired from the exertions of day one on the trail. Strong coffee and fresh local bread soon brought me around. We then fueled up with a breakfast intended to provide slow release energy. A tough day of hiking lay in store.

Within an hour, we had packed up and were slowly filtering out of our ten and a half thousand foot high camp. We immediately started climbing. Ahead of us was an elevation gain of 1,100 meters (3,600 feet). This would take us to an altitude of 4,215 meters (a few feet under 14,000) at notorious Warmiwañusca, AKA Dead Woman’s Pass.

Margot helping the trail rangers to log our details

After climbing for only fifteen minutes, we were presented with an opportunity to rest and shed some layers. We had started the day wearing our rain poncho’s for the first time. But now, the heavy overnight clouds had dissipated under the strengthening rays of the rising sun. The required stop was made at a little station, beyond the highest village on the mountain. Here, trail authorities stamped our passports and made a note of our names, nationalities and next of kin. Ominous, I thought. All too quickly, we were back underway, on yet more steps.

The view looking back down the trail

For an hour we climbed through jungle, on the irregular stone staircase as it snaked up the mountainside. Shade from the overhanging trees and the freshness of the snowmelt stream provided welcome relief from the sun, which had by now scaled even the highest peaks of the Urubamba range.

In a moment of self-doubt regarding my chances of completing the hike, I realized that I had forgotten something of great value at the overnight camp, far below. I had forgotten my mindfulness; the mental defense against the rigors of the mountain climb. As I rested midway up a series of near vertical steps, I took a deep breath and brought myself back into the present moment.

I listened to the passing water, gurgling as gravity pulled it over the rocks. I savored the aromas of the jungle and felt the warmth of the sunbeams which penetrated the leafy canopy. I felt my feet on the stone steps. Most of all, I reminded myself that I was not on a arduous hike at all; I was actually on the adventure of a lifetime. With renewed mental energy, I began to climb once again. The few thoughts that came along now were all positive. Before, they had been a haze of pessimistic mental arithmetic regarding how many steps lay up ahead.

With each step now, I was thankful that I had good quality hiking boots. They were such a good fit, and were broken in long before I had arrived in Peru. As my foot landed on each step, I felt grounded in the awareness of this amazing adventure on the Inca Trail.

Before long, I had dozens of things to be thankful for, including having good health and the positive mindset to have sought out such an adventure. The pleasant thoughts, intertwined with long periods of silent meditation, sent the following forty five minutes along without nearly as much effort as the early morning trudge. In no time I looked up to see a grassy clearing in the trees, where the group had stopped to rest. I was more than ready for lunch, so was disappointed to hear that we would not be eating again until we had cleared Dead Woman’s Pass, and descended to our next overnight camp. Conveniently, 4 local women had set up stalls selling snacks at the clearing. I wondered how they had transported the goods to such an elevation. When I gathered up two Gatorades and a snickers, I learned that the prices were similarly elevated.

Our porters forging ahead to set up an overnight camp. These extraordinary men carry up to 50lbs on their back, containing tents, food, chairs and cooking equipment

The ladies stalls had been strategically located. As soon as we resumed our stair climbing, we discovered a sharp increase in gradient and a notable decrease in oxygen levels. It is such a strange sensation to have energy and power in the legs, but to feel restricted by shortness of breath and headache. In truth, I had been feeling a mild headache the entire day, but now it was worsening. The tree line was now below us, meaning we were fully exposed to the sun’s burning rays on the barren mountainside.

Short breaks were now coming more frequently, sometimes with hands on knees in search of the breath that would fill the lungs. Carolina and Andreh were  immediately in front of me now. When Carolina stopped to rest, I joined the couple. I am not sure if Carolina was struggling, or if her strategy was preplanned. Either way, I was becoming more relieved each time I looked up to see her taking a break.

As our assault on the mountain continued, the breaks became more frequent and elongated. It was almost impossible to draw a full breath. On one of our many breaks, we sat by the trail and looked back down the mountain to where we had come from. Far below in the distance was the camp where we had slept. The mountain scenery was breathtaking – or maybe it was just the altitude. Whatever it was, it had a dizzying effect. Although I tried hard not to, each time I looked up, I could now pick out the pass. It was an imposing sight, towering over us and seemingly getting no closer.

The Inca Trail was now also narrowing, with steep drop-offs on the exposed side. The mountainside was wild; Andean grass carpeting the rock on all but the most jagged peaks. And still the steps kept coming. Higher and higher we climbed.

On a rest stop where Carolina, Andreh and I managed to squeeze onto a natural stone step, there was barely a word spoken while we rested. Margot was somewhere below us, also resting. She was tracking our progress up the mountain like a slow-moving sheep dog ushering it’s flock along. My headache was now severe. A glance upwards suggested that we were probably about five hundred feet from the pass. Shaun, Davide and Tanya were already up there. We could make out their profiles as they stood admiring the view and posing for photographs. Eventually Carolina stood up to resume the climb, and that is the moment that trouble really struck.

When I got to my feet, it felt as though I had been struck by a baseball bat on the back of the head. I looked to the trail and was alarmed to see that it was swaying to and fro like a ship on heavy seas. Then, from nowhere, vomit. I dry retched until I was on my knees gasping for air. Margot arrived. From her pack she took a small bottle of oil, spread a little on her hands, cupped them, and put them over my mouth and nose.

“Breath. Deep”, she said.

It was altitude sickness; the one thing I feared on the Inca Trail. The steps and the distances I could handle. The huge vertical drop offs from the trail were problematic, but I was working through that. But I had no way of dealing with altitude sickness. I had cycled over the Rockies and not been affected, but now I was really struggling, despite having acclimated in Arequipa and Cusco.

The strong scent of coca leaf and muña filled my lungs, and provided almost instant relief. I felt well enough to continue, but about ten minutes later I was back on my knees, retching and struggling for air. My headache had become almost unbearable. Again, Margot worked her magic, and I continued climbing. I was like a car with a radiator problem. I could go so far, boil over, get treated, and venture on until the next stoppage. And that is how I climbed the last five hundred feet up to Dead Woman’s Pass, the highest point on the Inca Trail. The others were all on the summit, willing me on. At times I was on my hands and knees. When I eventually staggered onto the summit, it almost felt like I was in a lucid dream. I felt faint, exhausted, exhilarated and confused. But I had made it!

Our group on Dead Woman’s Pass. From left: Tanya, Davide, Shaun, Carolina, Andreh and a very dizzy me.

Feeling very sick, but I made it to 14,000ft on Dead Woman’s Pass on the Inca Trail!

After taking some photographs at the summit, we snacked quickly, and then went over the summit. With altitude sickness striking one of our group, it was best to get to lower elevation. On the other side of the pass, we again encountered steps, this time at a very steep gradient. I had been looking forward to the descent, but it provided only minimal respite. The steps were sore on the knees and leg muscles, but thankfully, I was no longer retching. The headache persisted. Carolina, Andreh and Margot stayed with me every step of the way, making sure I was all right.

The steep descent from Dead Woman’s Pass. The mountain in the background lay in wait on day three

Having descended several hundred feet, the headache eased enough for me to lift my head and admire the panorama. The trail snaked down the mountainside below us, until it disappeared into a deep ravine. That would be where we would sleep on our second night on the Inca Trail. On the mountain to the far side of the ravine, I looked in disbelief as I picked out the trail as it once again rose upwards. Margot provided reassurance, telling us we did not need to worry about the second mountain until day three. She also spoke to me about what had happened on the ascent.

“You are stubborn man”, she said smiling.

“Yes”, I confessed. “But I made it!”

Margot then told me she had been within a few minutes of calling the porters on her walkie-talkie to come and carry me off the mountain. We had also almost had an argument about my backpack. Margot had wanted to carry it to the top of Dead Woman’s Pass, to lighten my burden. But I repeatedly refused. There was little point in making it to the summit if I wasnt going to carry my own pack, I reasoned. But now, feeling a little better, we continued our descent.

Two hours later we arrived at camp, where the others were already preparing for lunch. It seemed strange to be having lunch right at the end of the day, just before dinner. It mattered little what the meal was – I wasn’t able to eat much. Instead, I sat nursing a cup of coca tea, thankful that I had made it over the pass. Day two on the Inca Trail had been extreme. I cannot say that I got to enjoy or savor much of the experience.

Clouds gathering around camp on the second night on the Inca Trail

That night in the tent, I was so exhausted that there was little time for thought before falling asleep. But I did muster a smile to myself in the darkness of another mountain camp. I had hiked to fourteen thousand feet, the highest point on the Inca Trail, by scaling Dead Woman’s Pass. I was exhausted, but satisfied.

Click here for day 3 on the Inca Trail!

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.

Day Two – Dead Woman’s Pass

Pushing Limits Beyond the Comfort Zone

August 14th 2015 is a date I will never forget. After climbing Machu Picchu Mountain, I proposed to my now wife Yesi at the lost city of the Inca’s. But earlier, at the top of the mountain, I became stuck on a narrow stone ledge, while Yesi climbed up a near vertical stairway to the summit. Fear prevented me from going further. That day, as I huddled against the rock face waiting for Yesi to come back down from the summit, I stared out over Machu Picchu, to the high snowy peaks of the Urubamba Mountains beyond. There was so much to see and explore. Yet I thought I could never overcome my fear of heights.

Three years later, by pushing limits and going beyond my comfort zone, I scaled those very peaks by hiking the 4-day Classic Inca Trail. By doing so, I learned that obstacles can be overcome, and goals, no matter how far away they seem, can be reached.

I was stuck on a ledge on Machu Picchu mountain, unable to get to the summit.

The snowy peaks of the Urubamba Mountains reaching for the clouds. They represented a non-achievable goal in 2015.

The fear that gripped me on that narrow ledge on Machu Picchu Mountain was rooted in a lack of self-confidence and awareness; the result of a life spent looking down not up. The fear was born out of negativity. Pushing limits at that time was not on my agenda. I was in a comfort zone, telling myself I was not capable of going beyond.

Pushing Limits on the Inca Trail

But on December 14th 2018, I scaled ‘Dead Woman’s Pass‘ on the Inca Trail. In doing so, I got to 14.000 feet – over six thousand feet above that ledge where I had been stuck. It was an absolutely unforgettable experience to be so high above the clouds, and so far above the point where I previously felt so much fear.

High above the clouds, at 14,000 feet on the Inca Trail

Seeing beauty which I previously thought I would not get to see

Seeing such beauty, and knowing that I had challenged my fears and worked hard to get there was a magical moment. The only thing that has changed since being stuck on that ledge is my attitude. In 2015, I was looking down, to where I had come from. Now, my natural inclination is to look up. The things that have made all the difference are meditation, and the use of mindfulness to stay in the present moment, where fear cannot penetrate.

Meditation allows me (or anyone else) to set about pushing limits by muting the many negative thoughts which give rise to self doubt and fear. Our natural state of being is not based on negativity and fear. We place these obstacles in front of ourselves due to a lack of awareness. Meditation allows us to see that we have an innate ability (hence my business name In8 Motivation) to achieve great things.

Pushing Limits With Mindfulness

When we learn to use mindfulness to stay in the present moment, we see the world in a completely different way. It’s the same world, the same mountain, the same ledge, the same drop; but we see it through different eyes. This applies to adventures, our careers, relationships, health and so much more. This forms the basis of the Mindfulness and Motivation workshops I deliver in New York City.

Fear lives in the past and the future. When we position ourselves in the present, we can naturally measure our ability, and see that we can achieve much more than our negative self would allow us to believe. Dead woman’s pass is not Everest, but it is 6,000 feet above the point where I sat crippled by fear just three years earlier. That is tangible progress. I’m proud of what I achieved on the Inca Trail, with its high passes, steep rugged steps and many narrow ledges. But I am especially happy to discover once again that meditation is the fuel for motivation to grow as a person and achieve goals. Pushing limits allows us to see the world in a different way. Fear loses it’s potency when challenged by a fully motivated, fully positive mindset.

Pushing Limits With Shared Positivity

Over 4 years ago I embarked on a process of self improvement through meditation and positive thinking. I am inspired by many things and many people. In 2016, after I cycled on Trans-Atlantic Cycle across America, Liam Porter penned a motivational poem inspired by myself and Jason Black called Life Cycle.

‘Life Cycle’ – An inspirational poem by Liam Porter

The funny thing is, that poem, which I have stuck to the refrigerator in our apartment in New York, inspires me every day. Liam followed it up in 2018 with another poem called Magic, which speaks of goal setting, pushing limits and the rewards that come with being proactively engaged in personal development. There is an important message revealed in those poems. Positivity towards goal setting and pushing limits is a phenomenal force when shared. Liam said I inspired him, yet he also inspires me. That is the power of shared positivity. Try it!

‘Magic’ – A poem about motivation and perseverance towards achieving goals, by Liam Porter

Pushing Limits And A More Fulfilling Life

Dwelling in negativity and accepting less than what we are capable of is a toxic quagmire. By pushing limits in terms of our thinking and our willingness to share positivity, we can not only feel better about ourselves and others, but we can achieve so many great things. Shared positivity, meditation and pushing limits can propel us towards new levels, where life becomes so much more fulfilling. I am going to keep looking up with a positive mindful attitude – who knows what will come next. Well, I already know, but Im not telling you yet!