Inca Trail, June 2003

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The SAE scribes had picked Day 2 as the HARDEST DAY EVER, so I will admit to being a little nervous when we broke camp in the morning to head up the imposing 4200m Warmiwanusqa pass. Warmiwanusqa's English translation is not for the faint-hearted - Dead Woman's Pass, thankfully, although a long amble, the climb is not difficult and no women died en route, although a pale and pasty faced American was seen being lead down on a mule.

From Warmiwanusqa

The morning of the climb ascended through the wonderful cloud forest - the highest jungle in the world - before arriving for lunch at a corrie 200m below the highpoint of the pass where the forest abruptly stops. We walked for an hour after lunch and soon stood alone at the saddle by about 3pm, free to admire the ground rushing away from our feet to deep sharp valleys on both sides. The close cropped grass and naked crags reminded me of Snowdonia, albeit a Snowdonia that had passed through the magnification setting of a photocopier. From the top it was a simple two hour stroll through the dwindling light to the very busy Pacamayu campsite.


Descending the pass to Pacamayu campsite		Runkuraqay at sunrise	Andean dawn

Wayki Treks and the porters proved their worth on Day 3, they insisted we rise at 4am to be the first on the trail. The reward was a silent climb from the sleepy campsite to the 3800m pass as the sun moved slowly behind the far range of mountains. Sawtooth peaks slowly resolved themselves in strengthening light, and we stood above the small ruin of Runkuraqay as the sun finally laboured clear of the jagged ridge line. A divine moment.


Dervala enjoys the sun	Sayacmarca

Our early start meant we reached the almost inaccessible Sayacmarca before all the other groups and were able to wander around the fabulous stonework undisturbed.

From Sayacmarca the path clings improbably to the steep, forested mountain sides, weaving around clefts and through tunnels before eventually popping out at Puyupatamarca, more ruins where Raul droned in a teenage monotone about the powers of water and foetal mummies.

Later in the day we stayed away from the hordes by taking the beautiful high route through the cloud forest and past the enormous agricultural terraces to the day's final destination - Winay Wayna campsite. This crowded and over developed campsite (there's a disco, how inappropriate does that seem after three days in the hills?) is a disappointing end to a day's walking, but our porters had at least managed to pick a relatively secluded spot with views of the deep Urubamaba valley and only a few fat Germans in their pants.


	The Urubamba valley from the path to Winay Wayna

The final day saw another early start, 4am again, to ensure we reached the Puerto del Sol, Machu Picchu's prime viewing platform, before the sun and before the other obnoxious groups that clogged the trail. It worked, we were Los Primeros and eagerly dangled our tired and smelly legs over the steep terracing in anticipation of the sun burning through the mists to reveal the lost Incan city.

It never did.

Instead we watched and waited as the cloud swirled, the Brazilian group larked around and some restless Dutch folk got engaged to each other. Eventually we decided to stroll along the last hour of the Trail to reach Machu Picchu. As we dropped through the forest the clouds began to lift and we were treated to an Andean light show as the sun's rays played through the boiling mists and threaded the numerous peaks.


Picture postcard views		"Fromage"	McMachu Picchu

Having been saturated with pictures of Machu Picchu for the length of my time in Peru, I had expected to be underwhelmed by the real place. How wrong I was. The mist rolled up from the valley and swirled over the ancient brickwork, the sun picked out highlights on the walls and lawns and Huayna Picchu calmly surveyed the entire scene. Words cannot do justice to such an incredible location.

It was worth every penny.

If you would like a high resolution copy of any of these pictures, mail me