Listening to the Taxi driver from the night before I made it to a small town I waited for a shared van to fill up with other people going toward a village in the national park. Sitting in someone’s house/restaurant I could tell that it was not typical for them to see my kind around since I was the main topic between the 12 or so people inside. Knowing that I speak enough Spanish to hold a basic conservation, the Sons a B#tches switched to Quechua – the common language that is spoken in the Andes in South America.
After a about 2 hours of waiting around we loaded up into the 4x4 van testing its ability to climb, descend and cross rivers to make it to the town the rested at the end of the yellow brick road (which is going to made within the next 50 or 100 years). The driver wasn’t leaving to return to the town I originated from for a few hours until he has enough people to come out of the trees to fill it up. I decided to walk around town and take photos, but some locals were determined for me to not go down this trail and to go fishing with them. This place is a huge coca growing region so I jumped to some conclusions on why he did not me to follow the trail I was on. Fishing sounded better anyhow, so I didn’t say anything and turned back to join them.Walking for about an 1 ½ hours we cut down into this deep canyon using the dried up waterfalls for our path…figuring that going down was the hard part, it was only going to be easier going back up.
Making it to the bottom of the canyon, it was beautiful. Being at the bottom can give you a completely different perspective of the surrounding area. Following the guys along the river as they tried to catch some fish, I spend most of my time taking photos of them and relaxing on the side of the river. The canyon was steep and narrow on both sides and at one point I couldn’t go any further unless I wanted to get completely into the water…the cold water. Putting some…DEET on early to fight the insects, I…thought it wouldn’t be wise to have it get into the water – potentially hurting the fish. So for my love of nature (not my hatred toward cold water) I decided not to go and I let them go ahead as I waited for their return, which never happened.When I felt I was going to miss the last bus out of the area, I went back to our stuff that where we first entered the river and wrote a note saying thank you and gave them my email so that I could send them my photos. Happily I left them the boots they let me borrow, not sure if I was going to see them again.
What I thought was going to be easy to climb out of was completely the opposite. For starters, it was much easier to go down than up (not usually the case), as I didn’t remember so many different routes to choose from. And do I even need to say what is next? I got disorientated going the wrong way – which is common for me. I did not originally think that this was a real problem at the time because I knew that there was a road up on top, I just didn’t know what dried waterfall path to take.
I was not listening very well to what I use to tell the kids back at home when I would teach them to climb…that you must have 3 points of contact at all times. And here I would only have two points of contact and at the worse times, only one. In one spot I had a hand grabbing a questionably stable rock and only one foot on a protruding lip, jumping with the intention/hope that I would land far enough on my chest so that I can wiggle up to the next ledge. Each ledge up, the worse off I was becoming because I was making it more and more impossible to make it back down if I could not go any farther up. I felt committed at that point and that there was no way back, but up.
Clinging to a rock wall looking around, not sure what to do…and at that moment, I strangely smiled and even laughed thinking how I got myself into this predicament. At one point I began to think, worse case scenarios…such as what if I have to spend the night on the ledge because of limited daylight hours, having no option but to turn around…or, what if I fell.
Thinking that I heard someone, I did a casual blow out of my whistle that is attached to my backpack hoping they would hear me, though it ended up being my imagination. Why didn’t I wait for them I thought? Why? Why? Why?
Finally I made it to the top covered with dirt, ticks and scratches from all the crawling, climbing and hugging of the rocks I was doing. Walking back I was exhausted but had some new energy that must have been hiding in my body somewhere. As I went along the gravel road that ran around the mountainside I mentally skipped back to the village having more of an appreciation for already made hiking trails instead of the self made ones by a Polish self.
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