Hiking With the Boys
How I overcame self-doubt and physical challenges to reach the summit on a mother-daughter dream trip to Peru
When my daughter graduated from high school, I offered to take her on a Big Trip. She wanted an adventure, and I was down. Dive school in Honduras? Exploring Angkor Wat? We looked up the seven wonders of the world, modern edition, and chose Machu Picchu in Peru.
We had hoped to hike the Inca Trail, as one does while there, but the limited number of annual permits already had been handed out. We discovered the somewhat less-traveled Lares trek, a three-day hike that just happens to include summiting a 4,800-meter peak. Doesn't sound so bad, right? Until you translate meters into feet and get 15,748. Gulp.
It would be a challenge, but I figured I could make it. Probably. I kept revisiting the trip description, which said: "Some high-altitude hikes or more strenuous activities, but accessible to most healthy travelers." I do a decent amount of weight training, but high-altitude hiking is not my usual thing. At age 54 I considered myself active but not athletic. But healthy. Definitely healthy.
After a few days checking out the wonders of Lima, Cusco and the Sacred Valley, it was time to hike. We were the first on the bus. We'd met the guide, an enthusiastic 31-year old Peruvian named Josep, but none of our fellow hikers. The bus driver opened the door, and in walked ... nine men in their 20s.
Basically, I just want people to think I'm cool, particularly if those people are much younger than me.
Oh boy. I looked at my daughter and said, "I'm screwed." Except that's not the word I used. My mild apprehension turned into full-blown anxiety and I began to think that I'd bitten off more than I could hike. I pictured myself crawling to the summit while these guys sighed and rolled their eyes.
I have friends who love to challenge themselves physically. They gamely keep up with faster hikers, lift more weight than they did last week, and refuse to quit when they're near their limit. They like to prove to themselves that they can do it.
My own motivations are different. I don't push myself to achieve athletic goals to prove my dedication and grit. Basically, I just want people to think I'm cool, particularly if those people are much younger than me. Shallow? Maybe, but there it is. So I was determined to do this hike, if only to prove that I'm the kind of dope mom who goes on ambitious adventures with her kids.
The first day's hike was only 5 miles, but it was tough. I was solidly last in line, trying to keep those backpacks and bobbing heads in sight. The air is pretty thin at 11,000 feet, and I just couldn't seem to get enough of it.
On the bright side, the terrain was gorgeous. We walked through low shrubbery and grassy fields, winding our way ever upwards. We passed a minute gathering of homes and met the lone school teacher on her morning walk; an hour up the mountain each day to the tiny stone schoolhouse.
When we arrived at camp the boys kicked a soccer ball around and practiced feats of strength, apparently undaunted by the strenuous morning. They included my daughter in their games and even bought her her first beer. If she was the little sister of the trip, I was the fun aunt. We bantered and traded travel stories and I hoped I wouldn't disappoint them on the long day ahead.
A Challenge
"You all did a great job!" said Josep at dinner. "This was the easy day. Tomorrow is a lot harder, but since you're such a fast group, we'll aim for the farthest campsite tomorrow."
"Wait!" I wanted to yell. "In what universe was today easy? I don't WANT to be part of the fast group!" But what could I do? I wasn't sure I could do it, but I really didn't have much choice; the next camp was on the other side of that mountain and there was only one way to get there.
I was consistently at the back of the group, but every once in a while my daughter or one of the guys would join me for a chat.
That second day was hard. And so beautiful. This was truly a sparsely inhabited wilderness. We did see a few people, most notably the women who walked quickly past us to lay out food, drink and souvenirs for us to purchase when we stopped.
"Spectacular" feels like an underwhelming description; I kept thinking we'd been air-dropped into the ancient, unspoiled past. The mountains were golden green, peppered with gray outcroppings of rock; the same rock the Incas used to hand-build thousands of miles of roads through the Andes.
It was 7.5 miles to the top, with an additional 3,000-foot gain in elevation. I was consistently at the back of the group, but every once in a while my daughter or one of the guys would join me for a chat and some encouragement. Josep was monitoring my progress and displayed what felt like unwarranted confidence in my ability to make it. I'd grin madly and promise to keep going.
Peak Condition
By the time I neared the peak, I was so lacking in oxygen that I had to gamify the last few hundred feet. I'd take 10 steps, then stop and take five breaths. Or I'd pick out a rock a few feet in front of me and refuse to stop until I'd reached it. Basically I used every trick I could think of to keep going while my lungs promised dire consequences if I didn't stop immediately.
As I made my final, painfully slow ascent, the rest of the group was swarming the summit, toasting their achievement and taking selfies. They looked none the worse for wear. One of them even smoked a cigarette. Seriously? I could barely breathe.
And then I was at the top. A few flakes of snow swirled around, and the neighboring peaks were ghostly in the clouds. I didn't have much time to celebrate (or recover) as we had a long hike down to reach the campground. The descent, thankfully, was about a thousand times easier than the climb up. We walked through acres of eucalyptus trees, crossed narrow turbulent rivers, and passed small herds of alpacas, some of them sporting bright yarn pom poms.
The next day we took a train to Aguas Calientes, the launching pad for buses to Machu Picchu. We sat in the bar car, me and my child and our favorite young men, playing cards and drinking pisco sours, the local cocktail.
This is what I love about traveling; meeting people you'd never otherwise cross paths with, finding common ground and enjoying your time together, knowing you'll probably never meet again. The guys told me I'd done a great job, underplaying their own quick ascent and trying to convince me I'd done just fine.
I'm a middle-aged mom who'd kind of assumed her best adventures were behind her. This trip reminded me that I was once an inveterate traveler who loved strange and spontaneous experiences. I'm not slender and ripped, I don't have the coolest gear, and I'll never be fast. But I can still hike and banter and hang out with a bunch of young trekkers who see me as a fellow traveler, not just someone's mother.
