Machu Picchu: Not the Grand Canyon

I'm going to invoke for you a bit of flashback. See, the 4 day trip down the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu is not my first major trek since I've started traveling. No, the benchmark for all hikes is the Grand Canyon. Having survived Big Bend National Park no worse for wear, I figured a similar hike in the Grand Canyon would be just the same. Sure, it was deeper into summer, and sure, it was alot more uphill, but otherwise it was equivilent, right?

The hike to Machu Picchu is 45 kilometers, somewhere in the ballpark of 25 miles. We had 3 and a half days to do what could easily be done in 2. The Grand Canyon, to the bottom and back up, is around 18 miles, and it was done in under 24 hours.

The Inca Trail starts in montane desert, as does the Grand Canyon. The Inca Trail starts at around 7000 feet elevation, as does the Grand Canyon. However, the Inca Trail goes up.

I started walking down into the Grand Canyon at about 4 in the afternoon, far later than I'd intended. I slept in late at my Couchsurfer's in Phoenix, stopped to see the sights in Sedona, and dealt with the traffic surrounding Obama's poorly timed visit to the Canyon. On the upside, Obama had visited the trail I intended to go down, and had left only an hour before. This trail would normally be sparse late in the afternoon (no one is so stupid to start a descent that late), but the closure left it completely empty. I was the only one I could see for miles, perched precariously on the side of a cliff, huffing down thousands of steps to the bottom.

Allegedly, the Inca Trail has over 3000 steps down to the site, but most people's concern is the way up, the oxygen-thinned trek up to Dead Woman's Pass (named for the appearance of a face and a boob on top of the mountain) at almost 14,000 feet, a good 2000 feet higher than my previous record in Rocky Mountain National Park. I won't pretend it's the easiest thing I've done, but I still arrived at the pass 2 hours before the rest of my group, left to sit and ponder deep thoughts as all the groups I'd passed went and passed me right back.

I suspect the reason I was fast was because I'd packed light. A sleeping bag, a change of pants, two changes of shirts, two pairs of socks, sunscreen, bug spray, a hat, and two small bottles of water. The two slowest girls in our group were carrying full size frame packs. I'd brought one down with me into the Grand Canyon. Everything in my small pack, plus a water purification pump, a full tent, a big book, some food (not enough, I'd discover), and over a gallon of water (10 pounds itself). All for less than 24 hours.

My fast speed let me hike ahead of my group, and except when I sat bored at some pass or ruin, chatting with some of the 500 people allowed on the Inca Trail per day, I felt alone and it was good. I thought I was alone in the Grand Canyon, but it turns out there was one other. Another man from New York was puffing down behind me, and as he caught up to company he slowed down - or I sped up to stave off being alone - we became traveling buddies. Night fell on our aching ankles when we were only 2/3rds to the bottom, and we continued our epic trek at night.

Every night on the Inca Trail, we'd be the last group to arrive at camp. The porters, 12 of them for our group of 8, would have already set up our tents and began cooking. Huge amounts of food; platters of stewed meat, rice, pasta, bowls of pasta, fried trout, eggs, banana flambe, you name it. Food was gormet and in absurd abundance we could never finish. The porters carried it all on their bent backs.

Arriving at camp and leaving my new friend behind, I threw my heavy pack off my sagging back, and nibbled on my ritz crackers and peanut butter and craisins and bag of peanut M&Ms. I didn't bring much food because I only planned to need 2 small meals or so on the trail. I ate most of it before I went to bed, snug in my needlessly heavy tent, in my needlessly thick sleeping bag, blocking out the mosquitos that werent actually here. It was a restless, fitful sleep, punctuated occasionally by a pillaging of my camp. A Ringtail had learned to unzip my backpack and steal the remaining M&Ms from within. At first I was amazed to see such a new and strange animal, but by the third or fourth raid, I was ready to see them extinct.

As the Inca Trail went from desert to mountain to jungle, my wildlife sightings increased. I saw one, perhaps two speedy lizards the first night, but by the second night I was seeing spiders, bats, and even a fox. I also saw harvestmen eating a lizard, a disturbing inversion of the natural order. The third night, the one where we were supposed to wake up before 4am, found me romping all over the campsite complex finding dozens of species of moth, tarantulas, even a scorpion. Delayed sleep, missed my one chance of a shower on the trail, all to dig through garbage looking for things that want to hurt me. How typical.

The Trail was also a surprising botanical bonanza. Cactuses made way to eucalypt scrub to lush cloud forest. Dozens of species of wildflower I'd never seen but should've recognized - lupins, begonias, orchids. Our guide doubled as an amateur botanist, and we spent hours trading geek knowledge amicably while the rest of our group trudged slowly, unhappily behind us. I got back in touch with my plant roots, so to speak, and I enjoyed it more than I'd have guessed.

I was surprised to discover any plants at all exist in the Grand Canyon.

I started my way back up the Grand Canyon around 5am, shortly after sunrise. It wasnt hard to get up, since I'd never really slept during the night. At first it felt easy, despite the mother and young child effortlessly passing me by, but by 9am it already felt like I was inside a broiler, and I was nowhere near the top.

We were woken up the last morning by the porters at 3:30, breakfast by 4, packed up and ready to go by 5. It was only 6 kilometers or so to Machu Picchu, and there was plenty of time to go at a leisurely pace, if you didnt want a ticket to climb Waynu Picchu Mountain and get the stunning postcard view. I wanted it, so I ran. Well, power-walked. As opposed to the thousands of knee-crunching steps down from the day before, the road to the lost city was all uphill. I shoved my way past the groups in front of me, and quickly pulled ahead. I wanted to be the first through the famous Sun Gate, to watch the sun rise over the Sacred Valley. Challengers were close on my tail as I scrambled up the last steep 50 steps on my hands and knees, to crest the hill and pass through the gate...

... and was met by a dense, opaque fog. Sun Gate my ass. Still, I wanted a ticket, and continued speeding downhill. It had rained during the night, and the flat smooth rocks were trecherous. Every minute or two I seemed to skim across the surface of one, managing somehow to maintain my balance. Except the time I didn't. I fell, nearly cracking my elbow, but I succeeded in winching my pretty painted and carved walking stick into a gap in the rocks. The stick bent, then broke, but it gave me the time to put my hand out and catch myself. I carried on, walking slowly now, broken souvenir in hand, the rest of the way to Machu Picchu.

I was walking slowly uphill. Very slowly. Carrying an illegal walking stick I poached from a sotol plant I found on the trail; if the rangers noticed, they forgave it. The sun and the weight had sapped all my energy. The hike up the Grand Canyon was cool near the bottom, a hike up through geologic time. But now, midmorning, I was regretting ever coming down. The one blessing of the trail was the abundant piped water, so I drenched my body and clothes every chance I got. The water was cool and life saving, but didnt change the fact that I was wet and miserable. I found myself walking maybe 2 minutes, maybe less, before needing a break. A shelter with a roof was to be found every 2 miles, but walking between those shelters, up the endless, shadeless, unforgiving switchbacks, seeing just how little progress you've made, sapped my will to continue. I walked only so I may eventually stop walking.

Plus, I was out of food. Hunger only made things worse. I was honestly tempted to throw myself off the switchbacks, into some sharp ravine, if only so I could get helicoptered out. Thankfully, the further I went, the more people there were. Of course, none of these people had been or were going to the bottom, so they were still peppy and happy with their snacks and small packs. But they saw me, the human mule, the sad Eeyore, and had sympathy. Some talked with me and gave me encouragement. Others gave me food (a generous French family in particular who I never got to thank). At the end, when my foot was one giant blister, and I was honestly limping, one man stayed with me, stopping every few seconds with me, chatting with me to distract me from the pain, helping me find my car. I wont forget the cruelty of nature or the kindness of people in the Grand Canyon.

Machu Picchu was still foggy and rainy when I arrived, an hour after leaving camp and an hour before anyone else in my group. You couldnt see more than a few feet in front of you. Worse, tickets up Waynu Picchu had sold out when I was still at the Sun Gate, I'd never had a chance. Still, I was determined to make the most of it. Our tour was genuinely fascinating, and as the morning went on, the fog thinned, and Machu Picchu began to reveal its secrets slowly. The famous Lost City of the Incas, one of the 7 man-made wonders of the world, really did earn its reputation. It was stunning. Words wont cover it, and I wont try. However, great as Machu Picchu was, what I really enjoyed was the hike. Running through a misty cloud forest chasing sunrise, hoofing through moutains thrust out of the ground with no warning, standing at the top of the world looking out, standing at the bottom and seeing how far you'd come. Getting there was the real magic of Machu Picchu, and I felt sorry for the poor lazy slobs who took the train here. They'd missed the point.

When I reached the top of the Grand Canyon, still weezing and limping and in pain, I called my mother on the phone to tell her I'd made it. Turns out, she had no idea I was even headed for the Canyon.

"You hiked the Grand Canyon?" she asked with incredulousness. "I didnt know you exercised. I thought you were a computer nerd."

No mom, I'm a scientist. We do things like this. We do it the hard way. We learn from our experiences. No trek has ever been as hard as the Grand Canyon, since I'd learned what I really needed and learned how not to bitch at the mild tribulations. It wasnt fun, but I'm glad I did it. That was the difference between me and the rest of my group on the Inca Trail. I knew how to take it. I knew how to enjoy it. Like an Inca, bitches.