Mother Nature’s beauty is at once overwhelming and emotive. I have come under her spell many times. Whether viewing an Icelandic breathtaking landscape. cruising on an Norwegian fjord. smelling the sweet air amidst Lebanese towering cedars. or gazing at the impressive Austrian alps. And while each of those moments are no less diminished, it wasn’t until I traveled to Peru that I would learn the extent of my inner strength.
On 4 January 2019 I would live the most physically, mentally and emotionally challenging day of my existence. My experiences on montaña Winikunka call to mind one of my favorite Rumi quotes:
The Prep
Waking early to prepare for the 4am pickup, my excitement for what lie ahead was tempered only by the sleep I still yearned for. But I figured I could catch up on that during the 2+ hours we’d be on the road.
Remembering my conversation with Briggitte (the tour agent at the hostel), I made sure I had everything I needed. Ojas de coca (the coca leaves for chewing to aid with altitude sickness), water, backpack (with cover in case of rain), dried fruit snacks, wind/waterproof jacket, hat, gloves, walking poles, waterproof hiking boots, scarf/neck gaiter and rain pants.
Lastly, I knew to wear layers because it gets quite chilly on the mountain. All that remained was to wait for John, he’d be our guide for the day.
Breakfast and a Briefing prior to ascending
Our small group of seven consisted of a Brazilian couple, Carol & Marcelo, a guy & girl travelling together from Colombia, two young ladies, also travelling together, Yulissa from Peru with her Mexican friend. Then there was our driver Francisco and of course our leader, John. We drove for about an hour and a half before stopping for a light breakfast of bread, potatoes, cheese and plenty of coca tea. I drank some of it knowing that it would help with altitude sickness by alleviating discomfort and fatigue.
About 40 minutes later, once everyone had eaten, we headed back into the van. It would be almost another two hours before reaching Qesoyuno where we’d start on our hike up to Winikunka’s 5,036 meter summit. I remember the cool breeze, and excitement as we gathered around John. His calm voice reminding us to go at our own pace, there will be those among us who will advance quicker than others. If we feel that we cannot make it on our own, then riding most of the way up via horseback was an option. Only two persons in our group took advantage. He told us to keep in mind that this is not a race. He reiterated his supply of supplemental oxygen (should we need it we must not hesitate to let him know). Coca leaves, and agua florida were also on hand. Finally, John wanted us to remember to enjoy the beauty around us and to honor the mountain.
Before setting out we took the opportunity for some photos, checking we had our gear in place and that’s when I’d realized it’d be a good idea to layer my rain pants over my hiking leggings. There was mist in the air, but still hadn’t begun to rain. I took a few sips of water and noticed a little indigenous girl with an alpaca. For a small donation she would allow a picture.
Just before starting up the mountain, John offered us agua florida. Eagerly leaning towards him, I cupped my hands as he poured a generous amount of the fragrance water into the “bowl” I had made. It is used to bring about calm and remove any negative energies, But I thought it was to help open up my lungs and so I deeply and slowly inhaled the scent of the agua florida.
It was time to get hiking. The group quickly split up and noticing mine was a slightly slower pace, John stayed behind to accompany me. At least for a while.
On needing oxygen
It was around 8am when we began our trek up the mountain. Since it was still relatively early our group got a pretty good & “quiet” start. Remembering John’s advice, I paced myself. No need to rush, besides I wanted to conserve my energy for when I’d really need to exert it.
During the hike, when it was just me and John, I had asked him about paying homage to the mountain. He shook his head and agreed that we would do so. We continued to walk, in silence. Soon I noticed that there were more folks on Winikunka. At one point, feeling fatigued, I stopped on the trail. John stood beside me, patiently waiting. He asked if I was ok and I told him I just needed a little break. It was then that directly behind me I heard a woman’s voice as she approached “o caminas o te sales del medio.” I turned around and glared at her, but what I really wanted to do was slap the shit out of her (I know, that would also be disrespectful to the mountain). What an arrogant bitch, I thought. Infuriated that a fellow trekker would make such an insensitive remark, I turned to John and incredulously said “si, porque la montaña le pertenece a ella…estupida!!”
Of course the mountain doesn’t belong to her (or to any one of us). John, being the ultimate professional, calmly told me not to worry about her, We started back up, and I when I began to feel a tightness in my chest, I knew the altitude was setting in. My body needed supplemental oxygen and John quickly obliged. Taking the mask to my face, I slowly began inhaling, trying to breathe normally. After several inhalations and exhalations I was ready.
Breaking down on the mountain
John knows this land like the back of his hand, Hearing him speak Quechua with the locals, watching his body language and how he insisted that we remember our time on the mountain is more about our experience, the beauty surrounding us, the respect for the mountain, I was honored to have him as our guide. Though much of the time he hiked with me, at one point he noted that he would go check on the others in the group who had been much further ahead. I’d lost sight of them and honestly my focus was on just trying to breathe and hike, hike and breathe. Asking how I felt, I reassured John that I was feeling ok, at least enough to be on my own for a bit.
I was alone for maybe twenty minutes, not long and was doing pretty good. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. There was still substantial mist in the air and now larger numbers of trekkers on the mountain. At one point I saw a woman throwing up and thought to myself ohhhhh man, it’s that bad. That’s the thing, unless you’ve done this countless times, there’s no telling how your body will react at altitude.
Ascending Winikunka was challenging for me. And while I had taken the necessary measures (chewing on coca leaves, inhaling agua florida, resting as needed, taking in supplemental oxygen), I could not know what my body would experience. Not only the body, but the mind is also a major player. I took another rest and it was then that it happened.
John had already reappeared and seeing that I was seated on a rock, found one nearby and sat next to me. I looked over to my right and could see the summit in the distance. Overcome with emotions, tears rolled down my cheeks as I shared with John what all I was feeling. If I do not make it to the peak I will feel like a failure. I told him how I’m one of three children, the only daughter in my family and that growing up I’d always felt that I wasn’t good enough. I confided that if I didn’t summit it would be proof of the inadequacy I’d known as a child.
What I appreciated was that John didn’t attempt to fill the cool air with empty words. After all, he and I were strangers. He listened to me and after a few moments asked if I felt ready to proceed. I thanked him for his kindness and we started on our last leg towards the summit (click here to see short video taken ten minutes before my summit).
Euphoria and slight memory loss
Something strange happened just as maybe thirty or so footsteps from reaching the summit. I had completely forgotten the name of the mountain and I remember seeing a little indigenous girl, she may have been the same one with whom I’d taken the alpaca picture at the onset of the trek.
Unaware that I must have been suffering from a bit of delirium, I didn’t even think to jog my brain and instead I approached her. When I asked her, she replied “Winikunka,” then with her little hand outstretched, I gaver her a few coins.
The reason I’d wanted to know the name of the mountain was so I could make a short video.
Chaos & The Clock
Two hours and twenty eight minutes to arrive at the summit. Again, a flood of tears as emotions took over. My childhood trauma, the effects of altitude sickness inducing shortness of breath, and an overwhelming sense of achievement all came washing over me. And though I cried for that little girl inside of me who was full of self-doubt, I knew these tears also held joy. I had made it.
There were a handful of people waiting to get their picture taken by the mountain’s peak marker. I recall my excitement as I approached and seeing an older Asian woman standing by the sign as her picture was taken. Then it was my turn and John snapped a few. Shortly thereafter as we waited to see if the mist would rise to reveal the various shades, I noticed a see of hikers on the mountain. John had my camera and offered to take a few more pictures.
Amidst the excitement of reaching the vista point, the throngs of visitors, watching as the mist unveiled the colors of the mountain, I wasn’t paying attention to how long we’d been at high altitude. But John certainly was aware of it. He advised it was time to descend.
Paying Homage and Asking for Guidance
John had not forgotten about my query at the beginning of the trek. How to pay homage to the mountain and so during our descent, he took the opportunity to make it a reality. At this point there were three of us: me, John, and Indira, a Peruvian woman whom we’d met on the trail. We each participated in this brief ceremony.
Instructing us to find a large, heavy rock, John noted that it shouldn’t be so heavy as to cause extreme difficulty lifting. So I quickly set about and grabbing one walked over to where he asked I place it. He then said that this rock would symbolize whatever I chose (e.g., a pain, an intention, a burden) and that in leaving it in the place where I had moved it to, I would ask montaña Winikunka to guide me on my way down the route. Closing my eyes, I mentally spoke a few words of gratitude, thanking the mountain for her grace and for all that she represents.
When we finished our ritual, we headed back down.
Rain, Hail pellets & a Horse
On the trek down it started to rain, slowly at first, then heavier. I’m almost certain it eventually began to hail. The tiny pellets came showering on us and trail became muddy, slippery and scary. The rest of our group was nowhere in sight, but that was not my focus. Descending was indeed treacherous as I carefully and as swiftly as possible made my way down the path.
I don’t know how far we’d trekked, but at one point I looked over to the right of the pedestrian trail to the horse path and saw a woman seated on ground, her back to us. The horse, an indigenous man, Marcelo and Carol (from our group) waved us over. John and I immediately went over to see what was going on. The young woman, a Korean tourist, had fallen off the horse and appeared to be in shock. John realized that I too was standing among them and told me to continue my descent, pointing over at the pedestrian trail as reminder that I must remain on the “people” path and not on the horse trail.
Challenging Descent
Honestly, I don’t know what possessed me to think they needed my help. John spoke excellent English and so I quickly set back on my descent. Shortly thereafter, it hit me. My chest began to ache. I kept telling myself to stay positive, focused and no matter what try not to stop trekking. There was a moment when I remember thinking I might not make it. But John was no longer beside me and it was up to me to find the strength to keep going.
I remember mentally repeating to myself “you’re almost there, just a little further ……keep breathing calmly….keep going….you’re almost at the foot of the trail.” I continued down the mountain, watching my foot placement as I stepped over the rocks, the mud along the path.
Humanity of a Fellow Trekker
In the distance I could see I was getting closer until finally I’d made it to the area where we’d taken our first pictures. Near that platform area were a few steps and a tall, burly man stood to my left as I approached. Smiling at him, “lo logramos, viste?” He smiled back and acknowledged that we had indeed made it. Then I recall, I just sat down on the steps. I was so grateful to have made it down safely. As I sat there I remember grabbing for my water bottle from the side of my backpack. I don’t know from where, but Carol (the fellow trekker from my tour group) suddenly appeared and was crouched over, sitting on my left not far from where the big burly man. I don’t recall seeing him after we’d shared a few words.
Taking a sip of water from my bottle, somehow I lost the grip and it dropped to the ground. Carol offered bottle of water and I eagerly gulped it. The mind is such a very interesting and complex thing. Of course, other than feeling lethargic, I didn’t know what was going on with my body and my reflexes. Nor do I recall details of what all I said to her, but I have this memory of Carol’s voice “hablame, Lola, no te duermas.”
Afterwards, Carol shared with me that she feared if I stopped talking to her, I’d lose consciousness. That if I somehow drifted off, passed out or fell asleep, I might not wake up. I thanked her for the water and the next I realized, John and Francisco, our driver appeared on those same steps. They were there to help me back to our van. And so, with both gentlemen on either side of me holding me up, we walked down the short distance to the vehicle.
Gratitude & Inspiration
Arriving at our van I saw that the rest of our group was there. John instructed me to sit beside Julissa. Turns out that she and I had suffered the worst with altitude sickness. Apparently she had thrown up, though of course I don’t know at what point because we were not together during our treks. Because our bodies had been exposed to colder temperatures when at altitude, John suggested Julissa and I hug each other to generate heat. He put a blanket over us. We remained this way for much of the ride back to Cusco.
It wasn’t until the next day looking at my pictures that I realized I’d remained at the summit for 23 minutes. Just a bit longer than recommended. While this may not seem like much, those familiar with hiking at high altitudes understand the risks involved. Air is thinner at higher altitudes which means that there are fewer oxygen molecules in the same volume of air as we inhale (known as hypoxia). This in turn makes for difficulty breathing, while also impairing one’s judgement. Exhaustion, confusion, headache are other negative effects associated with (for further info, click link).
That night I must’ve slept almost 14 hours. And though I wasn’t yet completely recovered, I was in much better shape than I’d been 24 hours prior. The full impact of what happened to me on montaña Winikunka would take weeks before it settled in my consciousness. Sometimes I wonder if it truly has. There was a moment when I doubted if I would make it out. And while the ascent isn’t begun from sea level, it was nonetheless very challenging for me.
My gratitude is for the mountain, for in my heart I honestly believe that day she was waiting for me. I reference “she” because in Spanish the word for mountain is feminine “la montaña.” That she knew in reaching the vista point I would find my own validation and that it would be a huge step in my healing process.
And were it not for Carol and John, I am convinced that 4 January 2019 would’ve likely ended differently, perhaps even tragically. When I thanked Carol for her humanity, the kindness she’d shown me, her response was so very simple. During her travels in the Andes, she had had a similar experience on another mountain and she shared with me how a woman had helped her through it. When she found me in distress she remembered what she’d gone through and she wanted to help me. As for John, I would imagine that being a professional guide, the last thing he’d want would be to lose a client on the mountain. Clearly, that would be very bad for business. Still, I too felt his humanity and compassion for me on that mountain. I believe that both John and Carol behaved from the genuine goodness in their hearts.
Poetry as Creative Outlet for Trauma
A week after returning from Peru, I attended a creative writing workshop hosted by a library in my hometown of NYC and used my experiences on the mountain as inspiration. That day the draft for my poem was born (this is the final version).
Sometimes I wonder how I would’ve reacted had I been unsuccessful in my attempt to summit. Would I allow my ego to take over and somehow diminish my self worth? Would I continue to see myself as being “not good enough?” I’ll never know. But of this I am certain. What I experienced on montaña Winikunka revealed to me that I am so much stronger than I ever thought. And just as Rumi reminds us, we are braver than we give ourselves credit for. There are opportunities all around us that prove it so.
