Am I too old for this,? I asked myself as I grappled for my morning pills and supplements in my travel pill case. I was about to venture Laguna 69, a hiking destination near Huaraz, Peru, and about half a mile in the sky.
I checked my supplies: water, fiber-rich trail mix, several sole coins for toilet fees, my tried and true hiking sticks, a mini tin of Ben Gay. Should I take glacosamine? No. You can’t get it in pharmacies in Peru. But I did grab a small jade snuff bottle, filled with ashes of my mom. I talk to the bottle sometime, hoping Mom would materialize like I Dream of Jeanie. Do you think I can do it?
“What? You think you canoe it?”
Never mind.
Laguna 69 is a bucket list hike, but I didn’t plan on kicking the bucket while on it. It’s on a mountain and I’m on the hill, fighting hard not to go over it. According to travel blogs and videos, the hike is a ball-buster, a pat-yourself-on-tje-backer. As long as 69 didn’t involve the use of machetes or wading in waist deep rivers (which I did the previous week) I’d give it a try. I had been preparing for 69 somewhat in Lima, joining acclimation hikes outside of the city twice a month. Your lungs sorta like oxygen, and it’s thinner up there.
I boarded the hiking bus, already packed with wander-lusters half my age, from more countries than my passport has stamps. I hunkered down in the only seat available, the middle one in the back row. On one side was a young veterinarian student who just finished volunteering at a jungle clinic in Ecuador.
“A dog came in with an infected eye that had to be plucked out,” she started.
When she asked if she could join them in the operating room, they responded, Of course! You’re doing the plucking!”
On the other side, a young scientist from London. Then several students taking a gap year, putting serious dents in their parents’ credit cards.
“You’re hiking 69 alone?” their facial expressions would ask.
“Yes,” I shrugged. “I have a week vacation and didn’t want to spend it binge-watching NetFlix, or in a fellowship hall of a church wearing a name tag waiting for Bingo to start.”
I like to travel alone. That’s the only way to discover the landscape of people that make up this eccentric place called Earth.
The bumpy, hairpin curved road up to Huascaran park is no different than the ride up a rickety wooden rollercoaster tracks, it builds the thrill. Anticipation is part of the ride.
The hiking guide explained thing in Spanish; a young hiker from Israel recapped in English. “Bring water, snacks, and rain gear, just in case it snows.”
“Snow?”
“Yeah. A slicker will help you stay dry.”
While I was aware of altitude sickness and the steep incline, I wasn’t expecting snow. That wasn’t on the hipsters’ travel vlog. I was dressed in more layers than an onion, probably equally as aromatic, but I was not a fan of sideway flurries, especially when there’s no hot chocolate to be found.
As the throng of young hikers zipped lickety split to the summit, I meandered a little, lagging behind with a French couple, wondering when the trail would start living up to its hefty reputation . Folks talk about the lake, not the seven kilometer path to the top that is equally as breath taking.
Speaking of taking a breath, I saw a French couple about my age, sitting on a large rock, the gentleman grabbing his lungs.
“Okay?” I asked.
“Smoking,” he answered.
While my calves were willing, my heart was not. Like the French smoker, I’d take a breather for my lungs to catch up,and carry on. A pocket full of coco altitude candies came in handy. They taste like the chocolate -mint candies in the Christmas a all-sorts that could stick together in your Grandma’s candy bowl.
The sixty-nine trail wasn’t as treacherous as what I anticipated. This old lady hiker can do it! No jagged cliffs like Vietnam, or hanging on to tree roots while the ground crumbles beneath like in China. The flurries hit as soon as I got to the summit, just my luck I shouted Merry Christmas, thinking of my mom’s ashes in my pocket. Christmas was her favorite holiday, so everytime I see something Christmasy, I know she is waving from heaven. Maybe the snow is a gift from her.
Others didn’t think so.
The path to Laguna 69 is shared with cows who left their marking. They make it to about kilometer five if the seven mike trail. Question to ponder: can a cow be a road hog?
You could see glaciers melting away due to climate change, the snow running over the precipice like tears. Oh, I forgot. Climate change isn’t real.
Don’t rush 69. And when you finally get back to your bus? Have a cigarette with a French hiker
Ginge, I’m really impressed for your adventure spirit, and glad you enjoyed it and were able to make it through the whole experience! I wonder how much was the altitude over there…
The last week I went to Cajamarca to spend some time with my daughter and her family, and I was short of breath the whole time. I never had sight so much my whole life, but didn’t get sick (which was one of my fears)!
Thanks for sharing your story in your blogs!
Take care