Needless to say, our spirits were high. As the dark mountains came into view with the morning light, all the apprehension or questions concerning whether or not we had trained enough slowly faded into the background. Such questions were of no use at this point. Unloading the vans my Dad and I saw we were the only two people in our team carrying a full load of gear. Maybe we'll get some help later. For now though, this is for what we had trained.
The trail is beautiful. On first day of walking, one is only a little above 9000 feet, and much of the vegetation appears almost subtropical. Birds fill the air with their music, and the river gurgles on the left. As we walked we saw flowers, and cacti, and homes scattered along the trail. The path was wide and always seemed to be rising in elevation. Our guide Erik has fourteen years experience and knew exactly the pace at which he'd like to go: fast. After forty minutes of hiking, and a two minute break, sweating, I glance back at my Dad. His smile told me he was feeling the same thing. We were already feeling it, but excited for the next six hours, we pressed on.
The trail only became tougher. After two or so hours of pretty continuous hiking we began clambering over our first pass. The way was steep, as apparently the Inca people thought switchbacks were only for the weak. I felt good hiking, tired, but good. Nearing the top, I kept checking in with my Dad. He labored up the mega-hill, stopping occasionally, breathing heavy, but upon reaching the top, he tossed off his backpack and gave me a big smile. "Awesome isn't it?" And it was.
From the top of the mega-hill we could also see our first Inca Ruin, Llaqtapata, a trading community located at the juncture of two valleys. Needless to say, it was pretty cool.
Following the above view, the trail plunged down a little over a thousand feet before starting to climb again. As we hiked, we thought we were getting close to village where we were going to stop for lunch. Erik informed us we weren't. Up and up and up the trail climbed. I was feeling it more. We would stop and catch our breaths for 15 seconds and then keep going. At one of the spots a solitary tree towered above the valley. Our group stopped to look at it, drank some, water and then proceeded to move on. My Dad didn't stand back up though. In fact, he made no effort to stand and didn't look well at all. Glancing up towards me, "I can't," he said. "Hold up!" I yelled up to the group. "My dad just needs another second". I looked in my Dad's eyes: they were red, and and I thought I saw fear in them. I knew this was serious. He held up his hand it: it was shaking. His breathing was quick and shallow. After a minute or two, my Dad said, "I just can't get my breathing down. My heart rate is decreasing, but I feel like there's indigestion in my chest or something." I was scared. Our guide came over, "What is wrong?" and after I gave him a quick explanation, he said, "I think it is the altitude." I wasn't sure. As my dad drank more water, I asked our guide we could do. "For altitude," he said, "you must go down. You can go up, but, its dangerous."
My Dad started rubbing and squeezing his arm. Instantly, heart attack symptoms flashed through my head. Scared, I asked, "What are you doing Dad?" "My arm keeps tingles or something." I turned to the guide, "Dangerous you said? What are our options?" "Yes dangerous, when people with altitude go up, some get more sick, some die." "Well that's not happening" I interjected, meagerly trying to force a laugh. "You can either go up rest and then hike back. Or you can hike back now," he concluded. I looked at my Dad. "We'll go down."
Three hours later we were halfway back to our starting point, and my Dad wasn't doing well. We needed to stop often and he seemed to be growing paler and more fatigued. His focus seemed to be in and out, and so I tried to keep talking to keep him involved. I wasn't sure if we were going to make it back, so I started praying even more. Jesus, help us. Please. Hear my cry. Then, suddenly a guy rode up on a horse guiding two donkeys, and after a series of broken questions, we agreed to pay him to let us borrow his horse. The Lord had heard and provided. My dad at first refused, but I convinced him that I would ride on the man's donkey in a moment or two (which I had next to no intention on doing), and so he consented to ride it.
Two or so hours later we arrived to the town. The timing in our arrival was perfect as the last bus for the day was leaving as we walked up. Thing after thing clicked into place. A man helped my dad carry his pack and then helped us barter a taxi driver down to a price we could afford. At night when we arrived into town, our hotel still had a vacancy. While we had started the day with extra money, by its end we were back in Cusco, safe and fed, with only cents left in our pockets. "I think it was just sheer exhaustion" my Dad said. "Too much weight, too fast, too high, and too little sleep." I told him its okay, we'll take it easy the next day. Then, we collapsed on our beds, exhausted, and talked about how the Lord is faithful.
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