Peru 2005: Day 6 — Runkurakay to Phuyu Pata Marca
DAY 6: Inca Trail, Runkurakay to Phuyu Pata Marca
Scruff Alert
Another early morning wake up call with hot water and another attempt to wipe some scuzz off our bodies with damp camp towels. This morning I decided to provide the tea-bearing guides with a little bit of humor by (first rehearsing several times with the tent closed then) reciting in my best food-Spanish “Dos Milo con leche con dos sucar”. Well, it went something like that. Even though I totally flubbed the punch-line, the guides got a good laugh at my attempt to tell a non-joke in their language anyway.
Today was the first day we got to see some clear-ish sky and we celebrated right off the bat by taking a picture of the two of us at the Pacamayo camp site. Warning….extremely major scruff and bed-head goings on…not for the faint-at-heart.
After another breakfast that I couldn’t really stomach (followed by an Immodium chaser just-in-case) and then everybody made sure to hit the bathrooms (see about 6 paragraphs prior for an account on how that goes). That morning we would first hike up to Runkurakay (or Runcurraccay, or Runcuraccay, or Runt-curry-kai…spelling doesn’t really make sense for the primarily verbal Quechuan language).
The plan for the day
Anyway, starting out at 11,900, (as I said) we would first hike up 500 feet to the Runkurakay ruins and then up to the 13,000 Runkurakay pass, then down to 11,000, then back up to 12,500 then down to Phuypatamarca at 12,100. Here I stand, starting the day with the trail up to Runkurakay behind me. Before you get too excited, that’s another false summit there. Where the trail ends to the right is where the ruins are (about halfway up).
With the rain on hiatus (drizzling only), the flowers appeared and steph grabbed a wonderfully framed picture of purple flowers with Inca steps in the background. There are some fairly tough sections en route to the Runkurakay ruins. The ruins themselves are fairly nondescript (although they are “egg shaped” as the name suggests to those native Quechuan speakers in the audience) and although we have some pictures they have not been included here for the sake of brevity. Heheheh….brevity….as if to say that I’m trying to not be long-winded in the recount. I made a funny.
I digress.
One of the best pictures we took on the trip is this photo looking back. The low point on upper left quadrant is Dead Woman’s Pass (13,780 for those who remember). The dead woman is actually the small nubbin left of the saddle. She has a turban-covered head, her face is in profle and her breast(s) are the small bump right above the saddle. This means that we came across at about the sternum of the dead woman. From that point, you can see sections of the trail winding down, then cutting (down diagonal right) towards the Pacamayo waterfall. At that point the trail parallels the river down towards the Pacamayo camp (tucked behind bushes in the bottom middle). That elevation change is 3,000 feet for scaling and bragging purposes.
With the rain slowed to nothing more than a light drizzle, Steph and I became the chief lollygaggers of our trekking group. Steph was determined to capture every single flower alongside the trail to show her dad, and we have every reason to believe that she succeeded.
The false Runkurakay summit
Remember that false summit from earlier? Well, to add insult to injury, as you approach the false summit, you get an extra glimmer of hope because you can see one of the trail markers (example here) at a high point. Too bad, ’cause that trial marker marks this peet bog seen the in background. Above Red’s right shoulder is the false summit (and false summit marker post). In the background you see Dead Woman’s Pass and the trail down to Pacamayo. From there, we reached Runkurakay summit without much ado–elevation 13,050.
Now, this particular altitude was a point of contention. Ruben (with his handy barometric altimeter watch) happened to agree with both his watch and the signpost reading of 12,800 feet. I think both were wrong (sorry Ruben), as I had a differential satellite lock on more than 6 satellites. Furthermore, while averaging over our 15 minute stop, the altitude simply did not budge from 13,050. To put the nail in the coffin, I even turned the GPS off-and-on to reacquire lock with the same results. For the record, I was using a GPSMAP76 with fresh batteries and a completely unobstructed view of the sky….so neener neener to barometric altimeters and trail signs.
No pictures from that rest (nothing much to see) stop……we sat there munching on trail snacks and the super yummy and superior Peruvian version of Corn Nuts (which are bigger, tastier and not nearly as rock hard). There was, however, an interesting feature that we noted in several other places on the trail. When we stepped on the ground (packed sand on granite) we felt a very hollow reverberation. So, either there was secret Inca Treasure buried there by aliens, or there is something about the physics of packed sand on granite that I simply do not understand. Inca Treasure buried by aliens seems more likely to me.
Down towards Sayacmarca
The way down from Runkurakay pass involved some fairly sketchy Inca steps. But we were already immune to the shock of such dangers. Near the top, there was one cool part where the trail cuts under some rocks (quasi-tunnel, not the official “Inca tunnel” however).
Curiously enough, the Incas believed (much as CalTrans does) in Vista Points. Maybe this is where the Incas pulled over late at night and made whoopie…who knows. Regardless, they had some great views, like this view from a vista point with a deep red tannic lake in the vista. In the far background of that photo was something we had not seen since Day 3….I believe the word in English is “sunshine”.
(side story: we had marvelled at the fact that in addition to a full pack on his back, one of the kitchen porters was carrying about 4 dozen eggs in his right hand. These were flats of eggs in 3 layers tied together with a string. He simply was holding the string with his right hand and his pack around his shoulders with his left hand as he ran down the trail past us. En route to Sayacmarca when we noticed that about 4 of the eggs would not make the journey into our bellies. We stopped and took a brief moment of silence.)
We continued on our hike down to Sayacmarca. At some point, Miguel started playing his wooden flute as we hiked (powered by his supply of coca-leaves in his cheek no doubt). The sound and the surrounding environment created an enchanting effect…..a light musical breeze, gentle cloud cover, flowers, and only rarely the stench of coca-urine from the side of the trail.
We followed the sound of the flute (like rats to the pied piper) until the distraction of something louder came crashing and threatening from behind us: the stomp of nearly 20 determined, lock-step rhythm, boorishly loud, elbows-high, aggro German trekkers. Since we heard them about (shouting at each other in a german conversation tone) 100 meters before we saw them, we had plenty of time to pull aside and let them stomp past at high speed. Not a one of them had a camera or was taking pictures of any sort…it was almost as if they were there to conquer the trail, as if to violate it without a hint of sensitivity or a care for its virtues. We continued to hear the german precision trekking team for another 5 minutes after they passed us….they were that loud. I stopped and stood amazed at the fact that americans are considered to be the loudest and most obnoxious–for on the Inca Trail this was definitely not the case. (There is one more story regarding the german precision trekking team coming up, so read on.)
Back to the loving place…..we followed Miguel and his wonderfully uplifting noodling en route to Sayacmarca. Just prior to getting there, we were able to look down across the valley and through the clouds to see Concha Marca.
Sayaqmarka, Sayaqmarqa, I say Tom-ah-to
Just below Sayacmarca (or Sayaqmarka, or Sayaqmarqa or Sayakmar3ka with a silent 3), we were told that we could de-pack and leave most of our gear under the observation of one of the guides. The reason being that the stone staircase up to Sayacmarca is narrow (<2 feet wide at one spot) and has a good sized vertical drop-off on one side. We were constantly being warned by the guides about the dangers of vertigo. It wasn’t so bad, actually, except for one narrow section where the sheer rock wall on the left seems intent on pushing you over the sheer vertical drop on the right. Oh, and this is the only way into or out of the city.
The ruins of Sayacmarca were the first close-up super-cool ruins we had gotten to see on the trail portion of our excursion. The Incas (remember how I told you they were great at water management) had tapped a spring higher up on the ridge to bring water down to the city. To that end, they had cut a channel for miles into the solid bedrock until it came to within 10 feet of the city where a different method was needed. Once inside, the water channel wraps around the perimeter of the city prior to being distributed (through walls and underground) to some fountains. In the background of that last photo you can see where we came from.
Ruben gave us a great lecture on the possible purpose of Sayacmarca (most likely not a fort, in fact, but a place for workers to stay as they worked on the trail, perhaps a checkpoint, perhaps as a tambo or supply station). However, since I’m not very good at paying attention, I managed to snap the flat meadow at Chaquicocha across the valley as Ruben was giving his lecture. During that lecture the clouds started coming in and the rain came back and we all were getting colder and colder. Without warning, we were suddenly in-cloud once again. We still had to get to Chaquicocha for lunch, and behind Chaquicocha lay the third pass.
Before heading down from Sayacmarca, we had a little time to wander about and check it out. This particular stonework example is either a support for a hinge or a something else related to a doorway. Nobody could explain to us exactly how it was to work, so I’m banking on it involving aliens and crystals and Inca Treasure.
As I mentioned earlier, there is only one way in and out of Sayacmarca, and the downward direction is slightly more challenging than the way up (especially in the rain). We re-packed and started down the trail to the bottom of the valley where Concha Marca lies. As we descended, the tree cover got more dense and provided some cover from the drizzle.
What’s this?
As we approached the river that flows next to Concha Marca, we were hiking next to Matt an Jenn. Just before we crossed the wooden bridge over the river/creek, we were treated to a sight that I’m completely unable to explain. So, without judgement or any subjectivity, here is what I saw.
We approached the bridge and in a small clearing to our left were three people. One was a porter standing by carrying lots of gear. One was a younger man (part of the german precision trekking unit that passed us earlier). One was an older man (also part of the synchronized trekking team). The younger man was just finishing up removing his shirt (in the cloudy cold) and he stood in a pair of farmer-johns (long pants, tank top, unisuit type garment). I am unsure what the black material of those farmer-johns happened to be (leather, neoprene, nylon). The older gentleman was standing there watching, holding nothing (no pack) except a bundle of rope. The younger gentleman then put on a harness and started to tether himself while the older man watched and held the leash. Neither individual looked the least bit sick or in need of care so we moved along.
Now….at this point in time, I was thinking that this sequence of events might fit any one of the following logical frameworks. (A) Maybe younger man is sick, blind, poor eyesight, or needs guidance in some way. (B) Maybe there is a good place nearby for rock climbing. (C) Maybe younger man was going to wade in the stream to get something and needed to be secured (D) Maybe younger man was going to clamber down the hill to pick some of the beautiful yellow and red orchids.
As we got closer and then passed them, they finished their rigging. A few yards ahead while we took pictures at Concha Marca, the younger man walked confidently past us–in the lead– with 6-10 feet of slack rope and the older man in tow. Everybbody was quite well, and right there, we can blast away logical framework (A).
We followed behind them, stopping to take pictures now and then, but never catching up to them. Seeing as both the younger and older had flown right past Concha Marca and the river, we can discard logical framework (C). Seeing as we never saw any good cliffs or walls along the trail or ruins to crawl over, (B) appeared to fade away as well. Seeing as we never caught up to them en route to lunch, it is unlikely that they stopped long enough to fit framework (D).
Fast forward 30 minutes, and as we climbed the gentle upward slope to Chaquicocha, we could see lunch tents above us. Up to the left I caught the sight of those two men approaching their lunch tent….still with the younger man in the lead, then 6-10 feet of slack line, and then the older man behind holding the leash (no porter in sight). Perhaps some interesting kinky logical framework (E) is more appropriate.
Happy Porter
Another thing happened en route to Chaquicocha. As we were walking along, I spotted a collapsable umbrella on the trail. The naturalist in me did not want want to leave the thing lying there, so I picked it up and carried it with me. As we came within 100 yards of our lunch tent, I popped the half broken black umbrella open (it had started to rain yet again) and attracted the stares and grins of everybody watching (but I was staying dry).
When we got to the lunch tent, we dropped our trekking poles and I collapsed my umbrella and asked Miguel what I should do with this trail-trash (I didn’t want to carry it out, but somebody should). Miguel, seeing the glass half-full and the umbrella half-working, told me to give it to a porter. “Which porter?” I asked, and he told me any porter. Turning a quick 180, I walked up to the closest porter (standing out in the rain) and handed him the umbrella. This particular Quechuan porter was skinny and tall and missing several front teeth with weathered brown skin pulled taught around his cheeks. He looked at me quizzically at first, unsure of whether to take the gift or not (Miguel said something short and quick) and then he put is hand out and took the umbrella with a big smile on his face. Neither one of us had said a word to one another.
I went ahead and got in line to wash and disinfect my hands (remember this part…we were still doing it of course) when Steph gave me a quick and polite jab with her elbow. She motioned for me to look back to the porter with the umbrella. There he stood with the spindly umbrella above him and 2 other porters huddled underneath and the biggest sh##-eating grin on his face as the rain fell down around them. I smiled, too.
Chaquicocha is a nice high meadow (probably lots of bugs there when it’s sunny), which means its pretty marshy. It’s amazingly flat with no trees (marshy for sure). Lunch that day was more of the same, just like my lack of appetite. I tried my best to stomach more of the quinoa corn soup and was having immense difficulties even thinking of putting the spoon in my mouth…..until…..I mixed in the magic hot salsa. The magic hot salsa had been on the table at every meal, but I had refused to touch it for fear of getting sick (fresh vegetables are a big “no no” when travelling to developing countries). However, Sam had been eating the stuff for a couple of days and was reporting no ill effects. I needed to eat something and my desperation overwhelmed my caution and so in went a couple of spoonfulls out of the jar-o-homemade-salsa. And guess what? The salsa (spicy hot fresh peppers) made the quinoa corn soup taste far better…..it seemed to cut the oily buttery eggy taste.
During lunch, the sun even came out for a short bit just to mock us. It had waited for all of us to be inside the plastic (greenhouse) tent so that it could come out full bore and broil us in a matter of seconds. It took less than 30 seconds for all of the trekkers in the lunch tent to strip off their outer layers—the temperature shift was that dramatic.
Climbing the final pass
After lunch, the sun went away and it was back to the trail and up towards the third summit. As we climbed (and as Miguel continued to play his wood flute) the tree cover remained fairly dense. Some of the lichens growing on the rocks reminded me of seaweed–the environment was that wet and they were that polyp’d shaped. I tried to grab some pictures but it was just too darn dark under the clouds. You’ll have to take my word on how cool those lichens were.
I’m not sure exactly when we hit the summit, so let us just pretend that this is Steph and me on the third summit. My GPS unit was working fine, so the reason for the uncertainty pertains to other matters. Turns out the Incas really liked to make their trails straight and level. Straight was obvious coming down from Dead Woman’s Pass (45 degree descent…no problem so long as we don’t have to make any turns or switch backs). In fact, straight is painfully obvious to our knees, because many of the trail sections could easily have been switchbacked (like the Perurail…different story).
Level was another matter. After Chaqicocha, the trail climbs to around 12,300 and then levels out and essentially stays level all the way to Phuyupatamarca. This is not to say that this is how the trail “naturally” would prefer to lie. You see, in order to keep things on the level the Incas chose to build monsterous retaining walls for much of this part of the trail (monsterous means cut stone stacked 30+ feet high on the side of a very steep mountain side). And if they had a section for which retaining walls weren’t going to work, the Incas had no problem cutting flat sections across shear granite bedrock. If the above two options weren’t going to work (say a giant granite slab had slid down the mountain side), they would tunnel between the granite and cut steps out of the solid rock in the process. This last bit is known as the “Inca Tunnel” and is as impressive as it is non-photogenic.
It’s dark in the Inca tunnel, and I was deathly afraid of having Miguel or Ruben pop out of one of the alcoves in there and scare the Immodium AD out of me–which would have ruined my perfectly functional rainpants in the process.
It is truly amazing that this trail (and it’s retaining walls and tunnels and stairs) has stood for over 500 years with hundreds of thousands of people trekking on it.
Phuyupatamarka (and your Syacmarca…if you think I’m sexy…)
In spite of the weather (no view, lots of clouds, dreary rain) it remained fairly warm and pleasant all the way to Phuyupatamarca (Phuyupatamarqa, Phuyup3atamarcca, etc). Seeing the camp site in front of us (12,100) was a reward after yet another long day of trekking. There were 3 other groups there that night, and as we approached we were warned by our guides that the bathroom shacks were “not pleasant”–even in comparison to Pacamayo the night before. Reports from other trekkers took the rating from “not pleasant” down to “hold your breath and avoid at all costs”. Oh well, another night using the chemical toilets wouldn’t be such a bad thing–especially since one of them was set up with a gorgeous view of the Urubamba River Valley and Machu Picchu mountain.
The fun came about 10 minutes after we arrived at camp. By this time we had found our differently-numbered tent and I had visited the toilet with an amazing view. Several of us were hanging out looking down the ridge towards Machu Picchu. Suddenly, I noticed a dark, menacing and evil looking cloud swooping up the ridge towards us. At the first signs of rain, I started running back to the tent. Matt (at first confused by my haste) caught on quickly and ducked into his tent as well. We were just in time, for as we sat down in our tent (and pulled our shoes inside) it had started to hail. Steph was smirking inside the tent at mother nature’s attempt to beat us into submission. We had made it this many days in the rain…a little hail wasn’t going to break us.
But it came darn near to breaking our tent. Turns out our tent chose that time to spring a leak. In a short calm (before the bigger hail) I got Ruben to help me figure out how to stop the leak (poor design, actually, nothing “wrong” per se). At the same time we took This video of the hail, as people were still arriving into camp. Fun stuff, indeed.
Last night on the trail
With our tent fixed and the hail subsided, I ran out ot the mess tent to finally enjoy one of the pre-dinner snacks and tea-times. I was actually hungry and the kitchen staff had fried up some wonton-like things that were quite tasty. We all sat around gossiping and telling stories and jokes and having a good time. The highlight of this little rag session was our combined attempt to “break Ruben down”. We wanted to hear from our head guide some of the worst or most embarassing stories he had ever seen on the trail.
Alas, save one anecdote and story, Ruben’s professionalism could not be broken down. The anecdote: evidently he had somehow gotten to brush elbows with Shakira when she came to Machu Picchu. (Ruben relayed this with a goofy smitten grin, all right). The story: evidently a week prior the porters had gone to dismantle one of the toilet tents and the person inside had not spoken up. They had completely lifted up the tent leaving the person inside sitting on the chemical toilet in the fresh air. Oops.
One cool thing we did have explained to us is why Ruben kept shouting out “Poppy!” now and then. When the lunch tent had blown apart back at Llulluchapampa, Ruben simply shouted “Poppy” in a loud and commanding voice and someone outside fixed the issue. He had done this other times (shouting without seeing anybody yet somebody came to the call). We finally asked who this “Poppy” guy was, and Ruben smiled (quite the charismatic smile) and told us it was more of a term of endearment…. like “Buddy” or “Dude” (for us Californians). For women, the appropriate term was “Mommy”. Ahhhhh…it all made sense.
That night I remember dinner being fairly tasty (I was able to eat almost as much as Steph) and there was a little bit of a buzz in the air. Tomorrow we would get to see Machu PIcchu and have our first shower (and real toilet) for days. Everybody crawled into bed early, exhausted. The plan the next morning was to wake up around 5:00am in hopes of catching the sunrise.
