2nd January 2025

We were awake before the wake up call. The cook was knocking on everyone’s door with a metal mug of steaming coca tea.  It was about 04:50am and we hugged our tea in our hut, trying to muster the energy to tackle the day. 

We climbed the never ending hill to the food hut with all our belongings to enjoy a breakfast of pancakes with fruit, bread and jam and some more coca tea. We then hit the trail, ponchos already donned due to the mist rolling through the valley.

Today would entail about 22km of walking, first hiking uphill from 4000m to 4600m during the first 7km, then descending to 3900m in the next 5km to stop for lunch, and then descending a further 10km to finally reach an altitude of 2900m in the Peruvian jungle. Conscious of the pounding headache I stared the day with I hiked slow. However, the more I walked the better my head felt, despite the increase in altitude and I was pain free before long.

The path carved through the yellow spotted mountainside but visibility was limited by the cloud that passed through us, ignorant to the views it was obscuring. The path continued to intensify, the incline increased and streams of water ran against us over the rock littered path.

Halfway up we split into two groups: one to go up the famous Gringo Killer, a steep section with 7 switchbacks, the other group to take the more direct path. I opted for the Gringo Killer and at the top our guide Sam claimed that this is normally the most beautiful viewpoint in all of the Salkantay trail. However, for us, all we could see was dense cloud, visibility at an all time low.

The two groups merged together again as we began our last push up to Salkantay Pass. Snow had begun to cover the surrounding area and soon we were walking along a slushy white path. Poor visibility meant a sudden line of mules would pop out of the infinite white cloud treading quieter than my heavy breathing as I took slow meaningful steps upwards. 

We continued ascending to the top of the pass where the fog was too thick for us to see anything outside of a 3m radius. While I knew from photos we were amidst a spectular array of mountain ranges, including standing next to Salkantay Mountain, none of this could be appreciated from where we stood. Salkantay means the wild mountain in Quechuan, the indigenous language of central Peru. The mountain was named this due to its instability and affinity for avalanches. Dan and I added our stones to a pile, paying gratitude to the wild mountain we could not see.

We didn’t stick around for long, it was below freezing and the cold winds continued to lower our core temperatures. We descended through the snow, the rocks and the overflowing streams. Suddenly we were below the clouds and at last, visibility came. The new landscape was a luscious green basin overlooked by slate grey mountains. We continued down, stopping for lunch where we saw the most adorable back labrador puppies playing on the mountain side. Mum and dad nudged our knees as we ate, wrangling for leftovers. 

We continued on downwards and suddenly the highlands shifted to rainforest with a yellow, muddy path lined by textured vivid green flora and spotted with insects. With the change in landscape came the change in climate. The temperature increase was visible in the condensation evaporating from the ground. There were many signs of recent and historic landslides in the area. Even the path we walked felt threatened by the possibility, what with the overflowing streams, continuous rain and sheer drops. 

The path began to level and soon we reached the pick up point where we grabbed our duffle bags and jumped into a minivan. The road was covered by the remains of many landslides, some appearing quite recent as large boulders stood out of place in the narrow road. Some places had flooded causing the path to become a patch of wet clay which the van slipped upon. The entire length of road had vertical drop edges that ended 200m below in a furious river. From my seat I could peer over the ledge of the road and was reminded of the Alton Towers ride, Oblivion. Dan and I had flash backs to the minivan wreckage at the bottom of Death Road in Bolivia. Even Samuel, our guide, said he was was wondering if the song playing on the radio would be the last he ever heard! 

Once out of the minivan we let out a collective breath of relief before walking further into the jungle where we found a camp which made ‘Death Road: Peru’ worth it! It had proper bathrooms and sinks with hand wash, a designated seating area for food with its own bar. Instead of the A-frame huts we were now given a glass dome, 80% of which was made with glass in the pattern of honeycomb.  

We watched as day became night, the sound of rain pattering gently onto the glass helping us drift off, not a single thought of altitude sickness in our minds.