The Lost City of Machu Picchu. Not very lost at this point. With over 2,000 visitors per day, nearly a million per year, it is basically Peru’s Eiffel Tower. But the journey there does not have to feel like waiting in line for Splash Mountain. Most will take a train or bus to Machu Picchu. Some will walk the historic Inca Trail. And a handful will trek over Salkantay pass. A longer, more difficult journey than the Inca trail, where hikers are rewarded with some of the most magnificent scenery on Earth.

This was a very long hike. Roughly forty five miles over five days with thousands of feet in elevation gains and drops. I had never hiked so far or so long or at such high altitude. A lot happened and not every gratifying or painful moment can be captured on the page, so I will try to stick to the highlights.

A little background: we went through a tour group called Salkantay Trekking (can’t recommend them enough) and for $550 all of our needs were taken care of. The transportation to and from the hike, tickets to Machu Pichu itself, lodging each night, three cooked meals each day, and Fredy our wonderful guide to take us there. For five whole days. The food and extra supplies were carried on horses, so we only carried our own backpacks. All we had to do was show up and walk.

Day One

Walking isn’t too complicated. The battle was mostly mental. The mental battle started on day one when we were picked up in a shuttle from our hotel in Cuzco at 4am, one dark and chilly April morning. We stopped at a small family restaurant at around 7am for breakfast before continuing on to the trailhead. After the horses were loaded up, we began the ascent around 9am. No one was very talkative on the drive, and that carried into the first day of the hike. All was quiet, except for Fredy, our guide.

Fredy was not a loud or imposing individual. He stood roughly 5’4″ (as it seemed everyone was in Peru) and was rather soft spoken. He had long, dark hair and a stocky build but, as we soon learned, was in incredible shape. His face was almost always hidden behind tinted glasses and a shady bucket hat, but always had a hint of a thoughtful smile.

Despite being soft-spoken, he was quite long-winded in his explanations. He knew a great deal about the local flora, fauna, and history of the region. In the first mile or so we probably stopped three or four times for fifteen minutes a piece. I think he knew how to ease in a new group to the journey, because despite the lush surroundings, the hike began at 11,000ft. During one of these stops, Fredy insisted we have a team name. After a long, awkward silence between labored breaths, we settled on the Noisy Muchachos.

We reached camp around mid day. We would each be staying in “sky-dome” huts. The trekking company had built huts along the trail at resting spots, usually in places with a stellar view. This camp was no exception. It sat in a great alpine meadow at 13,000ft under the shadow of Humantay mountain and the otherworldly Salkantay peak in the distance. Here we ate a huge lunch. Many courses of hot, delicious food. I had mentally prepared for PB&Js for lunch each day, so this was a welcome surprise.

But the day was not over. After lunch was a short hike up to the Humatay Lake. By short I mean a mile up and a mile back. With 1,000ft of elevation gain. So we basically just walked straight up the side of this mountain from 13,000 to 14,000 feet. The beginning was not too bad. We cut through a fenceless pasture where horses seemed to freely wander. There was horse shit everywhere. And throughout the rest of the journey too. The smell was… unpleasant. And unfortunately unavoidable when gasping for air at high elevation.

I really believe this was the toughest stretch of the entire hike. I had to stop and catch my breath about twenty five times. All the while, Fredy followed slowly, patiently. Herding his new sheep up the mountain under his watchful eye. Although as he did this, he played the flute. The entire time. Do you know how insulting it is to hike with someone while your lungs burn and ache, and they play a woodwind instrument the whole way up? Nevertheless, it was a calming melody. Maybe a touch irritating.

I’m not sure how long it took, probably long enough that even Fredy’s infinite patience was stretched thin, but eventually we made it. One singular mile. Over the ridge we saw, in all its glory, what had been looming over us the entire time: Humantay Peak. Jagged and ice capped, half blanketed in glacier, the peak and its surrounding range engulfed us like a horseshoe, with one side stretching into the distance from where we came.

Somewhat undercutting the glory of Mother Nature was a small shack selling Gatorade, snacks, and beer at the top. We found many of these shacks on our journey which, while convenient, felt a bit like unsubtle product placement in a movie. It breaks the immersion with nature. Also who needs beer at the beginning of a 45 mile hike?

Up above one more ridge, this one only ten feet high, we discovered Humantay Lake. This alpine lake had a sea-green hue like the calm waters of the Caribbean. We rested on the rocky shore with our fellow hikers and set our fatigued gaze on the post card painted before us. Like three ecosystems rolled into one, the tropical looking water and the inhospitable mountain peak sandwiched mossy-green hills. Hills that would look right at home in the Irish country side. Further evidence of this was when Monika’s dad and I hiked yet another ridge to peer into a hidden valley where horses and cattle grazed at 14,000 feet, undisturbed by the rest of the world. The contrast was spellbinding. It was breathtaking, in more ways than one.

The only notable interaction on the way back down was with a girl who looked pretty much how I imagined myself looking like on the way up: exhausted, sweaty, and so out of breath I was basically cross-eyed. She carried no backpack, no water bottle, nothing except the clothes on her back – and even those seemed ill-suited for such a long hike. She asked me between gasps if I had any ibuprofen because she had a headache. I told her I did, then I asked her if she had any water, and she said no. I was kind of amazed at how unprepared she was. She was probably more excited for the shack at the top than most.

Another feast awaited us back at camp. My notes during the journey were sporatic and sometimes illegible, due to complete exhaustion at the end of each day, so I don’t have a good record of what we ate for each meal. But it typically came out in several platters. All hot, delicious, plenty of variety, plenty of carbs and protein, as much as you can physically eat, all guilt free. That first dinner we didn’t have a whole lot to say to each other. We were after all ironically named the Noisy Muchachos. I think we were still catching our breath, even then.

In total, the first day was about 6.2 miles (10K for runners or non Americans). But good lord it felt like so much more. I should have trained more. Or at all.

Our sleeping quarters were igloo-style glass huts called “sky domes”. From here, we watched the golden hours of daylight fade on Humantay peak and the daunting Salkantay peak in the distance. The air was clear now, and the temperature dropped quickly. It was a race against the coming darkness and our own biology to see the stars before sleep won. Even early in the evening, the rich milky way began to shine through in this remote place in the Andes. Even if I could have won mind over matter to star gaze all night, but the looming threat of another 4am wake up call scared me to sleep.