Sunday 9 February 2014

The Trail of Woe in Mendoza


,,,Or the day we paid 150 soles to walk two horses up and down the mountain… take your pick.

The trek to the Laguna Huampata Valley in Mendoza that I described in my last post was the #1 recommended thing to do when visiting.  My plan to take the shorter and easier route had also included using a horse to help these old, tired bones safely up the path was incorrectly translated and put me on the most physically challenging climb up and over two mountain ridges. 

All of my limited physical resources were spent getting to the valley, as described in my last post.  Having already blogged the first leg of my descent this entry will be based on my limited recollections of the next few hours. 

 So let’s see… after a brief stop at a shaded rest station I had donned my “big girl panties”,  stood myself back up on feet that felt like hot coals and hobbled gingerly back to the rocks and mud waiting on the continuation of the hazardous trail’s descent, under a full, blistering, sweltering, unrelenting tropical sun. 

We could just leave it that I came pretty close to my last call, but what would a blog be without details?

Sunhat on and sunscreen re-applied I began the last leg of the trek feeling like my legs were working oddly, feet dragging and knees not receiving the message to bend. 

It took only minutes for a terrible thirst to take hold, and dehydration began to impact both my strength and thought process.  My mantra after each excruciating step became “you made it through the Inca Trail, you can do this”  over and over.   

The “Guide” seemed as though he had no idea what to do with me. 

So much pain.  If a step was big I held on to a wall for support as I placed a foot ever so gently and moved one more stair.  When the stairs got too big to even try, I leveraged myself down and sat on my bum and pulled my self forward and down.  I had sent everyone ahead not wanting them to stop, wait and watch.  They didn’t go too far, usually they were sitting there patiently when I finally made it around a bend or two. 

And the heat.  It not only pounded down from the sun, but also radiated up from the stone and walls of the snaking trail.  Sometimes the muddy areas were replaced by a fine white sand that reflected heat at me. 

It got so that I was trying to keep from crying out each time my foot had to take any step, steep or not.  Praying for shade, but not an iota.  So. Damn. Thirsty.

I sat and cried for a while, and didn’t care that people were waiting for me.

I pulled myself together and up onto my feet and went back to one foot at a time, balancing against the sides of the trail which now seemed to keep the path company. 

My physical state continued to deteriorate, I was dizzy, and alternately hot or icy cold.  My tongue felt swollen.  My feet, ankles and hands were swollen.  My eyes were dry when I blinked.  The thirst was clawing at me.

Knowing that the others were at least two switchbacks ahead of me, I began taking the “shortcuts” that were almost vertical, but were easier to slide down on my bum, or turn around and work backward.  Both of which still hurt but anything to get me the #%$@ of this mountain.  I didn’t even care that I was in prime spider, snake, scorpion or whatever territory.  Just held on for dear life where needed.

At one point I collapsed at the side of the trail where I sat for long moments trying to decide if I should just lie down and go to sleep, or to try and find it in me to keep going.  I thought about my kids, and the friends and people who love me, and I rolled over to get up on my hands and knees, and slowly gained my feet.  I leaned against the wall and waiting for the spots and dizziness to end.    One foot after the other, slowly, ever so gently, I turned a corner to find and found my waiting party.   And another steep shortcut.  I indicated to the guide that I was taking the shortcut, and he warned me that it was very steep.  I slid almost the entire way on my butt, and at one point had to turn over and slide on my stomach  to  make a particularly out of reach step. 

Even the shortcuts had me slower than everyone else, although they too seemed to be finding the walking difficult by this point.  I found myself rejoining the main path just in time to see the guide and horses disappear around the bend and down the trail in front of me.

Time had marched on, and as the sun shifted slightly to the west there were small inches of shade to curl up in for moments at a time if the rock wall was high enough and the curve of the path allowed.  If I found such a spot I curled up into it and removed my sunhat to try and cool my head for a few moments. 

I caught up to the guide as he took a break in one such spot, and collapsed, chest heaving, shivering and having difficulty speaking.  The guide offered me some of the water he had taken from the river, and I gulped it down knowing that the danger I was in right then was far worse than any problems a water bourn illess might cause in the future.  This gained me a few moments of sweet relief. 

The others and the horses moved on, but I told them I needed the shade for a while longer before I could continue.  I was sitting on a large rock slab, which suddenly seemed a great place to lie down for a while.  Once I felt more collected, and my heart rate and breathing seemed improved, I sat up with the intention of standing.  And had to lie down as stars, spots and dizziness hit. 

Not Good.

I tried it again and managed to get up.  And my downhill adventure continued, in a  much diminished capacity (I know, sounds like it could not be possible right?).  Getting disoriented, my thought process was slowing down, and I began to misstep and slip.  Which of course hurt like hell.  I was leaning  against walls for support between steps, and sitting in the shade patches that grew bigger as time passed.

More bum descents.  Next was crawling.  But there came a point I thought I WAS finished.  Done. Rescue me or not, but I was done. The mountain and sun had won

So I lay down and closed my eyes, knowing the dizziness and heat would have their way and I would pass out. 

And then, as I was letting go, a niggle at the back of my brain pictured a first aide kit.  And I remembered through the fog that I had put a first aide kit in my backpack on a whim, containing packets of electrolyte  powder.  Slowly the questions formed in my mind: How would I get it?  How would I take it? We don’t have a cup… but didn’t the guide have a cup he used at lunch?

I took a deep breath and called out as loudly as I could manage, and somebody answered from the trail below.  I took another deep breath and asked if the guide was there with his horse carrying the backpacks?  Yes came the answer.  Fight the dizziness to ask, did he still have water?  Did the lunch supply pack have a cup?   

Thankfully yes to all three. Suddenly I had hope that this sucker wouldn’t kill me.

I called down that I needed them and while waiting I tried to sit up.  Took two tries but I managed.

I gulped down the solution once it was mixed, and (after it must have finally occurred to him that there was serious trouble) a few minutes later the guide appeared with the black horse.  It took some time, but I managed to be helped up on my feet. 

To my incredible relief I had apparently, miraculously, made it to a point in the trail where it was mostly safe for the hot / tired horse to manage to carry a rider.  With a great deal of dizziness and help I was lifted into the saddle,  and held on and stayed in the saddle as I was led the rest of the way back to town, with only a few sections of frightening and difficult passages for the horse. The guide  had called ahead and there was help waiting to for transport from the end of the trail back to the hostal. 

It was then that it was revealed that this was our guides first solo run, and that he was really there to make sure the horses were ok.  On hindsight that explains why he had no real understanding about sunstroke or heat exhaustion, or what he should have done to help me… totally out of his depth. 
Come to think of it now, it must have also been the reason he did no real “guiding”… no talking about trees, plants, animals, birds, the history of the trail.  I am not sure he averaged more than 3 sentences an hour. 

All in all, an eleven hour nightmare.

Anyhow, back to the hostal for:  1)  More Gastrolyte  2)  Badly needed shower   3) Pain Meds in a rainbow of colour.  4)  More water… lots.  5)  Bed.   All within minutes of me walking through the door..

Put my legs / feet on the wall for a little while as I rested, the coolness of the walls seemed to calm the bottom of my swollen feet.  Or the pain meds kicked in.  More Gastrolyte and then I slept for 16 hours.  Crawed out of bed, and one of the hostal owners daughters was a kind guide to a place where breakfast and coffee could be found.  Wasn’t particularly hungry, but I knew I had to eat.

Alfonzo appeared and an invitation was offered.  We debriefed about the trek.  Pretty sure he felt bad.  Me, I was just glad to be alive.  I had my doubts several times on the way down.

During breakfast I mentioned the view of the local market out of my rooms' window, and that I wished I could buy some local coffee to take home.

He seemed eager to please, and as the market was only around the corner it was an easy, albeit slow and tender wander.  And what a fantastic market it was. Huge, with the largest assortment of fruits and vegetables that I had ever seen.  Lots of other stuff as well.  Managed to buy a huge red pineapple and a couple of other local fruits I had never seen before, both just inside the market doors with no more than a few steps needed.

Very small town, and it was only two blocks to a local missionary who sells organic coffee, the proceeds of which are distributed among local childrens charities he supports.  I bought 10 lbs worth at a reasonable (not cheap) price, and felt good about doing it. 

This lovely couple make and sell cakes to support themselves, and also apparently have a thriving business selling green smoothies to a large clientele first thing in the morning, every morning.  It was a short but pleasant visit as both he and his wife spoke good English.  Nice People.

With A glass of “Sweet Lemon” (very different) juice, and a green smoothy under my belt, it was time to say goodbye.

Still dizzy and weak, but slightly revived by breakfast and the smoothy, we took motor transport for a  small jaunt about town before I asked to go back to rest before my bus back to Chachapoyas.  Sound asleep as soon as I was horizontal.  Reluctantly I roused in time to get to the depot for the  hairy bus ride home where I was either a) sleeping, b) asking to be let off to use a bano along route, or c) hanging on for dear life.

Took almost a week for me to feel normal again, and my friends teased me about all the "siestas" I took.


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