So obviously some of the effects of altitude are none-too-pretty, but we were lucky enough to escape it's ill effects, for the most part.
Where the affects of altitude really separate the boys from the men is when you're attempting to climb a mountain or two. Going along the flat you feel right as rain and may even go as far as to laugh in the face of altitude.
However, as soon as that lovely flat path is disturbed by even the slightest incline, forgeddaboudit. It's as if the thin air has suddenly turned into thick custard and you're struggling to put one foot in front of the other. And to heck with trying to lift your foot more than 6 inches off the ground because it is now made of lead.
Which is precisely how we felt on our Laguna 69 hike. We set out early at 6:30 (yes, sounds quite yuck but considering we'd been waking up around 5:30 anyway this wasn't really an issue) and hopped on a small van with two couples and a lone ranger. Feeling slightly inadequate at first seeing that others had packed helmets and full-on climbing gear we wondered what the heck we'd gotten ourselves into. Especially since we really knew nothing about the hike and had only signed up on a whim when another couple in our hostel mentioned they needed more people for their group to head out.
We quickly realised, however, that this gear belonged to only one of the couples who were heading out on a 4-day-hike to Pisco and that we required no special skills nor equipment to complete our expedition. Thankfully, as we were lacking in both.
The beginning of the hike was deceptively easy, across a flat plain dotted here and there with colourful tents set up by hikers on more intense routes and then passed these little stone huts.
Before the real work could begin, however, we had to navigate our own way to the beginning of the trail using a little hand-drawn map with instructions on the reverse. We had been told that the path was perfectly easy to find and that there was no way we could miss it, yet our band of 5 managed to get waylaid for a good 15 minutes or so looking in the very wrong direction before we found our way.
Making it to this little lake was our first goal. And it was definitely hard-won. By this time we were almost halfway on a 3 hour-ish hike and were hanging out in the middle of the pack as our younger and fitter compatriots powered on ahead and Lone Ranger Dan stayed a little behind.
The perfect place for a breather, we stopped and rested our weary feet. The terrible thing about resting during a hike at altitude is that you quickly forget what a struggle it is to do no more than amble along, and you jump up raring and ready to go (if you haven't been knocked back down by a severe case of the dizzies as a result of being too enthusiastic) and set off at a fair pace. But before you've gone 5 steps you're straight back in the custard pool and every step is once again a battle. Said without a hint of exaggeration.
It was at this point, crossing the little stream, that we once again got a little confused. The map wasn't all that much help as all it showed was zig-zagging up a mountain, but we were faced with two mountainous possibilities with two groups simultaneously climbing each. The closer one looked quite precarious and really bloody hard so I had my fingers crossed it wasn't that one.
Luckily a friendly local happened upon us at that time and must have seen us looking quite forlorn so he stopped to help us and began talking at me in rapid-fire Spanish, from which I was able to gather that we had to head to the left up the least daunting looking climb, zig-zag for another 45mins (my legs almost gave way as he said this), then head along a flat for 10 minutes (Hallelujah!) and then we'd be at our final destination.
Fighting off nausea and every muscle in my legs screaming at me not too, we headed up our final climb. Which hurt. A lot. And saw a 70-something-year-old man over-take us with barely a laboured breath. This, needless to say, is very disheartening. With every person who passed us on our way back down the mountain we would hope for positive details of how much further we had to go. I almost cried when someone said we still had about half an hour when I felt as though I had already been trudging along for that amount of time.
Cajooling Chris along just 200 meters out, all the miserableness was worth it when Laguna 69 finally came into view. Overshadowed by an incredible snow-covered mountain, Laguna 69 is a brilliant turquoise blue and set in the most incredible location and I really couldn't have hoped for a more idyllic setting for the end of the hike. And, importantly, reaching the end meant that I finally had a chance to stuff my face with my lunch and just rest.
It was such a relief to be able to sit and soak it all in knowing that I didn't have to get up in a minute and continue trudging up a mountain I had began to resent. I couldn't really think of a better location to have lunch and catch your breath and it was hard to tear yourself away.
Our merry band of travellers smiling triumphantly. Hidden behind my smile is the dreadful realisation that climbing up to Laguna 69 was only half the battle and that I had a two-hour walk back down the mountain. Which I managed to accomplish with legs shaking like jelly. Only then to have a near death experience (yes, a slight exaggeration) when our van was clipped and rocked by a speeding Toyota Hilux when our weary selves were being dropped off at our hostel. A very dramatic end to the day!
Post-script:
A couple of days after this we were watching a Spanish-dubbed version of Kramer vs Kramer on a bus. This hike was nearly as good.
Regards,
Chris.
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