A LLAMA TREK TO HEAVEN

I tried to not look down to my right but keep my eyes looking straight ahead.  One false move I was sure could lead to certain death.  I prayed that the mare I was riding was very sure footed as she picked her way along the very narrow and rocky path at the edge of this high Andean mountain.                                                                                                 Anticipation was running high as we arose that morning high in the Andes of Peru.  At over 7200 feet, the Urubamba River was to be the starting point of our llama trek.  The air was brisk and the sun shone brightly.  What a beautiful day for a hike to our overnight camping spot.  We had spent a day acclamating ousselves to the change in altitude and were anxious to get started.                                                                          We had been bussed from our hotel at 7200 feet up to the trailhead at 13,500 where we met the Quechua campasinos (native Indians) and the flock of llamas that would transport our gear to our campsite.  Our guides had gathered all the necessary camping items we would need for our campout.  We strapped on our back packs and the trek began.  With much enthusiasm we followed our leader as the pack laden llamas followed us.                                                                                   Slowly we made our way up the rocky mountain.  In spite of pre-conditioning ourselves by walking regularly for weeks before leaving home, we found ourselves breathing heavily and stopping often to rest.  But what spectacular views we had at these rest stops!  The majestic mountains reached for the sky as the river below got smaller and smaller  After only 15 minutes of climbing, it became evident that I was going to slow up everyone as I stopped to rest every 20 feet or so.                "Come on, Jerry, let's put you on the horse," Ron said.  Ron Snell was the young man who had organized our trip.  So on the horse I got.  I felt like a ninney when the other nine in our group were making it on their own.  But without having to labor for every breath, I was able to enjoy the breathtaking scenery all around me.                                                   I was grateful that the campasinos had provided a saddle horse for this senior citizen who was trying to hike form 13,500 feet to nearly 15,000 feet in Peru.  At that altitude most people need oxygen.  It was an arduous climb and one needed to be in better shape than I was.         Leading the mare was an 80 year old Quechua man who had lived his whole life in the high Andes.  Aquicino was what is called a Shaman, or spirit man.  That night he would conduct a special blessing ceremony for us.  But for now, he was allowing me the priviledge of "hiking" on the back of his horse.  Following close by was her foal.  Sometimes Aquicino had to tug at the mare to go forward as she stopped to look around for her little one.  Causiously she picked her way over the loose stones that littered the path, sometimes jumping trickles of running water as it made its way down to streams below.                                              I tried to remember what the guide, Carlos, had told me, "Lean forward going uphill and lean back going downhill."  I felt sorry for the mare as she labored to climb the mountain with this added weight on her back.  Occasionally, Aquicino would pause a moment to allow her to catch her breath.  Her sides would heave in and out, then on we would go again.   On all sides of us were the majestic peaks of the Andes poking their treeless spires toward the blue sky.  At one point we came across a small herd of Alpaca.  There standing on wobbley legs was a snowy white new born baby, stumbling to take its first steps.  Mama Alpaca watched warily as we treked by in our procession up the mountain through her territory.                                                                          After the 45 minute spine-tingling, top-of-the-world horse ride, we entered a marshy mountain valley.  I alit from the horse to give her a break as I made my way across the valley on foot for an hour to our mountain lunch stop.  The coolness of the morning gave way to the brilliant sun beating down on our tired bodies as we shed our coats.     Lunchtime brought a welcome break.  Huffing and puffing I brought up the rear and collapsed on a huge rock to rest.  The ground sloped down to a low rock house with a thatched roof abut 30 or 40 yards away.  Halfway between me and the house the campasinos were preparing our lunch.  Soon the dinner call came and we feasted on chicken, rice and vegetables. I was so tired I could only eat half what they dished out to me and I passed up the bread and banana.  The sun-warmed stone I lay back on after lunch felt good to my aching bones as I rested before continuing the trek.  A hungry dog from some neighboring house approached for a handout, waiting patiently until one of the campasinos tossed him some scraps.                                                                      Fortified and rested we once again took up our knapsacks and headed up the mountain toward out campsite.  As the trail got steeper, our pace slowed.  Muscles ached.  It seemed we were getting closer and closer to heaven as the te0rrain got roughter.  I strained to imagine how the Incas managed to traverse this magnificent range of mountains and eke out a living at such high altitudes.                                                                 Once again Ron said, "Better get back on the horse.  It's rough and steep."  I didn't argue this time.  Over the stoney hills we went, the Shaman, the mare, the foal, and I.  Within 40 minutes I spotted the campsite where the advance team had already set up out tents.  I was overjoyed that we were almost there, and earlier than I had anticipated.  As we approached the last hill to climb, there was a small stream to cross.  Small enough that the horse could easily jump it.  One small problem....the bank on the other side was uphill!  I wondered how our sure-footed mare could jump the stream AND climb the bank with my dead weight on her. I felt like yelling to the Shaman that I should dismount, but he was pulling the mare across.  Besides, he would not have understood my English.                                                                 My worst fears were realized when the mare jumped across and went down on her front knees.  I quickly took a dive to the right and rolled in hopes she would not fall on me, thus allowing her to regain her footing without my weight on her.  Fortunately, it worked, and we both came out without injury.  I walked the remaining 50 yards up the hill to camp and collapsed in my tent.                                                                             As I lay there looking out of the tent, the sight before my eyes was worth the strenuous journey.  Fleecy white clouds were rolling between the distant mountain peaks.  To the left, and much closer, was the snow-capped Mt. Veronica at almost 19,000 feet with the afternoon sun reflecting brilliantly.  Above her top was a full moon competing with the sun.  Looking up behind us was the pass we would climb to the next day.  And on both sides were ridges with snow glistening.                      After resting a couple of hours we were aroused by our guides bringing us a hot cup of coca tea.  We were told this would help us endure at this high altitude.  The Quechuas chew the leaves for a pick-me-up.  We tumbled out of our tents and joined our guide and a hundred year old Quechua man, Pablo, known as a story teller.  As we sipped tea and ate popcorn, this old man told of his life in these mountains.  How he had outlived three wifes, the last dying 30 years ago.  How he had four children that survived and three that died young.  He had never been farther from home that Cusco.  He attributed his longivity to good food, when the earth was better and hard work.  He still works in the fields at the high altitude.  As he sat there in his native attire of homespun cloth and barefoot sandles that looked as if he never took them off, I marveled at the stamina he had, when I could hardly breathe.                                As twilight fell and supper came to an end, we gathered in the dining tent, bundled up with all the clothes we could get on to stay warm. Not being too successful at that we huddled together as Aquicino, the "young" 80 year old Shamin sat on the floor and prepared the ingredients for a special blessing ceremony.                                                                   He smoothed out a large square of cloth and placed 3 candles spaced out.  Another smaller brown cloth was laid out and a piece of white paper about 18 inches square was laid like a diamond on top of that.  There were 3 small clay vases and three deep small sea shells.                 He took some red carnations and, tearing them apart, he began laying them out in rows in the center of the white paper.  Next he took 3 perfect coca leaves, held them up and blew on them in three different directions.  He next put a small dab of llama fat in the mddle of the leaves and laid them on the red flowers.  He continued this process until all red flowers were completely covered.  Following this he proceeded to put a dozen or more different items on the pile, from grain to tiny candies.       Some of the items were peanuts, a cross, a communion wafer, a guinea pig leg, salt, sugar and numerous other items of various kinds.  Then he once again covered all with red flowers and coca leaves.  Next he poured red wine into the sea shell.  This was blessed in 3 directions and taken outside to be sprinkled on Mother Earth.  Once again the shell was filled and blessed 3 times and he then drank that portion.  Again it was filled, some sprinkled on the pile in front of him, and then passed around for those who would like to ask for a special blessing and take a sip.  He then drank the remainder as none of us seemed too willing to drink from a dirty sea shell                                                                                   Three sections of red carnations were put in the 3 vases after filling them with wine.  He carefully folded in the sides of the white paper, bottom and sides and lastly the top with the tip folded back up.  The cloth was wrapped around all and tied across with a flower part stuck in it.  He then asked the gods to bless the people and the animals on the trip by holding the bundle up to his forehead and speaking in Quechua.  The bundle was passed around for any who wished to ask an additional blessing.  Later the Shamin would take the bundle to a secret  place to be buried where no one would know except the spirits.                        The quietness descended as each of us contemplated the magitude of this universe and delved deep into our own spiritual awareness.  One by one, we slipped away, each to his own tent for the night.                              Later, in the dark, we would really feel we were on top of the world.  No need for a flashlight as the moon shone brightly and the millions of stars sparkled across the sky.  The air was so clear and pure that the stars gleamed with extra brilliance.  Suddenly we had been transported to one of the most magnificent settings in the Universe and there seemed to be three times as many stars in the sky as we had ever seen.  This night would be long remembered by all, but expecially by this 62 year old lady from Texas.                                                                                Dawn broke over the distant peaks as we climbed out of our sleeping bags to begin our day of descent.  But first there was still that last 500 feet to climb to the pass.  We needed to fortify ourselves.  Never again will there be another breakfast setting as we experienced that morning.  With the chill of the freezing night behind us, we sat outside in the warming sunlight and drank in the beauty surrounding us as we drank our coffee or tea and wolfed down the bacon and eggs and toast dished up by our Quechua cooks.  Achy bones from sleeping on the cold hard ground were soon forgotten and we reluctantly gathered up our belongings and broke camp.                                                                  It was a steep ascent to the pass.  I huffed and puffed my way for about 30 minutes which brought us over a rise to a heretofore hidden pristine lake.  Carlos, our guide, and Ron competed by skipping flat stones on the surface.  It was at this point that the trail (?) looked straight up.  Shirley had succumbed to the need for the horse that morning and she had reached the top by now.  So Aquicino returned to get me.  Here this 80 year old man was climbing the final leg twice as he led the mare to the pass.                                                                                                   Being at almost 15,000 feet was not good enough for Ron and Tammny.  They had to climb to the tip top of the jagged peak above the pass where their altimeter would register an official 15,000.  Meanwhile the llamas caught up with us.  I would like to have petted one, as I have always like animals.  And I have heard that some people have them as pets.  But since they seemed to "spook" a bit when approached by strangers, I decided I better not.  Heaven knows we didn't need a llama stampeed.                                                                                             From here it was downhill and I was determined to walk out of these mountains since I had had to ride up a good part of the way.  Except for Shirley's brief morning ride, I was the only one of the ten of us who needed the help. It's true that most were 15 to  20 years younger than I, and one was over 30 years younger, but on the other hand, there were two men who were older.  George, a 72 year old world traveler had climbed many mountains in his day, but even he was heard to say, "This was tough."  But no one would outdo 67 year old Warren.  He was always at the head of the pack.  He and four others live in the mountains of New Mexico and were somewhat acclimated to high mountains living.  Now you would think walking downhill would be a snap.  Right?  Wrong!  It was steep, rocky and still at high altitude.  My knee hurt.  My toes felt as if they were punching out the end of my shoes.  My ankle kept turning.  My left hip began to ache.  And ache.  And ache.  I never knew I had arthritus so bad until Peru.  But I was determined.               Past rock houses in the middle of nowhere we hiked.  Over streams we jumped.  Through potato fields we plodded.  The llamas passed us.  The horse and Aquicino passed us.  The camposinos passed us.  Only Ron, Tammy and one guide hung back with me.  My feet hurt, but the vistas that surrounded me were magnificent.  Down, down, down we went      At long last we arrived at the point where the bus was to pick us up.  Everyone else had been waiting lunch for us for about 45 minutes.  Surprisingly, no one seemed mad at me.  In fact they cheered as I got to the bus.  I had made it.  Having succeeded in my quest to go on an overnight llama trek in the Andes, I heaved a sigh of relief and collapsed in the bus for the ride back to our hotel and civilization.  This would be an expericnce I would not soon forget..

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