Betrayal in the Andes - Santa Cruz Days 1 & 2

The day had arrived. The Cordillera Blanca was to be conquered at last. Hastily but carefully, a team was assembled. Yours truly was to be accompanied by two lovely ladies of both the Dutch and American variety, and one silent local guide carrying the Ancient White Mask of Death. The target was the dreaded ´Santa Cruz´ trek, weaving through the Andes along the 6km+ giants of the Cordillera.

A local smelly bus, carrying more chicken than people, brought us to the start of the ordeal, where our donkey driver and two of his strongest stock were waiting to complement the party. But there was another ... small, brown, smart, spaniel-like and with a uncanny talent for begging, no adventuring troupe could be complete without its very own loyal doggy. And so it was done. Eight strong, the party decended into the valley.

The initial parts of the trek were not much of a challenge. Some heavy rain made a weak attempt, but our rain coats (and Marieke´s horrible light blue poncho) did their jobs. We walked along some small houses, greeting the local children who had come out to cheer us on in exchange for caramelos. Already it became apparent that our dog was set to be an invaluable companion. No matter how docile the beasties we encountered, he was afraid of them. This, together with his insatiable appetite, earned him the nickname of Scooby Doo.

As the slushing mud was starting to annoy us, our eyes were treated to a magnificent spectacle (and not to be our last). The sun broke through the clouds, and a lush green valley opened up in front of us, ending in the far distant with a majestic snow-capped mountain peak. This was to be our first camp site, next to the ever present babbling brook.

However, strange things were afoot in this place of beauty. A local dim-witted shepherd boy inhabited the valley and he had his eyes set on our Rachel, the American maiden (I am happy to report that dowry negotiations are in an advanced stage at the moment). His main talent seemed to be to be able to stand still for long periods of time, looking at a specific target (mostly Rachel), regardless of any activity.

At the same time, our Scoob was unusually active and bright, bringing forth an unbelievable arsenal of begging and acting tricks, earning him a multitude of Scooby snacks. My theory is that we had a rare case of a ´sheperd-doggy mind-switch´ on our hands (comparable with the case of George W Bush and his ´Spot´).
However, these events did not deter us from our mission. After a hearty meal, our tent was our shelter for the night. Scooby Doo joined us. The unlucky shepherd boy did not.

~

The second day started off fine. The sun was still shining, but we soon found out that that was another effect of the magical valley. The moment we set foot outside, dark clouds gathered above. As the path went up, a slight drizzle started to descend. Drizzle turned into rain showers and as the temperature dropped, a hail storm introduced itself. The snowy peaks had all but disappeared into a cold and misty haze.

Javier, our guide, decided it was time to point out the pass in the distance. I was sure he was kidding us, but his icy stare relieved me of that hope. High up in the white mountains his gaze was set. All but obscured by the mist was our destination: the Punta Union pass.

As we ploughed on, the altitude had started to affect me as well. Wishing no chemical enhancements, I had decided to tackle the pass au naturelle (pills no, clothes yes). It felt now like there was a little fiendish fellow carrying a large hammer in my head protesting this decision with abundant energy. Short stops only made things worse. Starting again after a rest, I was overwhelmed by gulfs of dizzyness. Our brown little four-legged friend was another story however. Running around chasing birds all day, he seemed to be living off the energy I was so painfully lacking.

The snow came. The pass was now in sight, lying low against the huge peak of Tauliraju. The sight was breathtaking. Behind us, the wet valley stretched out for as far as the eye could see. We had already came a long way. But we had unexpected assistance ! The appearing sun renewed our vigor. The snow clouds moved away and the pass openened up. Step by step, higher and higher, and finally, at 4750 meters high, we crossed the Spine of the Andes into the valley of the Holy Cross.

We still had 500 meters to descend, but where was our loyal Scoob ? He had still been with us at the pass, but he was nowhere to be found. And we had to leave. Bad weather was on its way. Slowfully and painfully we came upon our second campsite, the amazing valley of the white peaks. And there he was ... the traitor! He had found refuge at another group, the lure of more food easily overcoming his fragile loyalty.

In that cold evening, drunk on the sensations of a memorable accomplishment and already severely hurt by nature´s punishments, a little doggy broke my heart ...

[to be continued]