Our day started in the darkness of 3 a.m. Raven stuck his head out of the tent and glanced back at me.

“There are already people hiking down the the gate. I can see their headlamps,” he informed me.

Lizandro, our guide, had tasked the group with getting down to to the gate as early as possible and saving a spot for everyone. The shelter only held about 60 hikers on one long bench. After that, anyone showing up (and there would be at least 150 hikers) would need to sit on the muddy ground along the trail and hope it didn’t rain.

A first misty view of Machu Picchu

The trail to the shelter and the barred gate leading to the final leg of the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu meander by Alpaca Expeditions’s campsite. Raven and I, last tent on the end next to the cook/guide tent had a great view of occasional headlamps disappearing into the thick foliage. The shelter was starting to fill up as groups queued for the gate opening.

“I’m going,” Raven said.

I insisted he stay long enough to have the hot drink a porter had just shown up with. There would be nothing warm to put into his system until we hit Machu Picchu… and that would be around 6 o’clock. Raven still felt woozy from the sickness that had gripped him the day before. Not to mention he’d had little to eat in over twelve hours. So he drank, hurriedly packed his gear and bag, grabbed his headland to discover the battery nearly dead, took mine, and headed down the dark trail hoping it led easily to the shelter and gate.

Knowing today was the day I finally arrived at Machu Picchu was all I needed to get myself going despite the coolness and the hour. I didn’t relish the idea of sitting on a bench for two hours in the damp dark, but sitting in the mud sounded less pleasant. I finished my packing while gulping on hot tea. Ready to go when Lizandro emerged from his tent, he was startled when he asked where Raven was and I told him already at the gate waiting for us. I grabbed two of the to-go breakfasts being handed out and followed Lizandro into the jungle, wondering how long and slippery a walk it would be. Raven’s headlamp grew dimmer by the footstep.

The ruins hold more than stones!

It turned out to be remarkably close. Our site must have been one of the last perched on the mountainside above the trailhead. We found Raven stretched full length on the bench, saving seats by napping on them. We were barely thirty feet from the locked gate.

Raven felt rough and as the hour stretched on and the sky finally showed a hint of light, even rougher. He ended up laying down in an out of the way spot and eventually coming back to sit on the ground, using my legs as a rest. Food helped some, but he kept his intake light. Around us, our group and other hikers stirred in restless excitement. I laughed to see a young woman reading on a kindle while three of the Alpaca guides huddled to watch a movie on an iPad. Modern hiking and waiting is far different from when I was a teenager!

I watched the world brighten and the backside of the mountain of Machu Picchu emerge from the darkness. Two hours of waiting ended as we were the second group ushered to the booth where passes and passports were checked. Then we were through and the last leg of the Inca Trail stretched before us.

It was light enough now to see our way without headlamps. Which was good, because the right hand side was a cliff. Only one section of this short jaunt had a steep climb, which I was already dreading, but most of the remainder skirted steep dropoffs on a narrow path. I admit I fell behind as my group of younger hikers swept ahead. Lizandro kept pace with me for a bit until he was sure that I wasn’t going to walk off the edge. After that, I had sections of the trail to myself again allowing the excitement to build. I was about to walk to Machu Picchu!

The one uphill section lead to the Sun Gate overlooking Machu Picchu. It is fondly called “The Gringo Killer.” So I had very good reason to be nervous about this last marathon stretch. Though I’d caught up to my group several times, I’d lost them again after each. When I reached a section of nightmarish stairs jutting at angles that looked like something derived from by the Mad Hatter in Alice in Wonderland, I was with a group I didn’t know. After a quick relay that it was best to not try to use hiking poles was past back like the most important game of ‘telephone,’ people started scrambling upwards – on all fours. This was rock climbing more than hiking.

Worth every breathless moment on the Inca trail!

I stowed my poles and followed suit, ignoring a sense of panic when someone announced this wasn’t even the Gringo Killer yet. What could be worse than this?! Putting in a burst of determination, I pushed my way to the top and found at long last my group! They’d waited. Because that was the Gringo Killer. I’d made it… and expecting something horrible around the corner, hadn’t even thought it was all that bad. We took obligatory pictures of the gringos suffering, while the non-gringo’s of our group looked on. Lucky ducks.

Ten minutes later, we’d walked to the Sun Gate. It was just before 6 a.m. The sun was shining above Machu Picchu revealing… lots of fog. The world beyond the Sun Gate was completely blank. So much so even Lizandro joked, “Oh, they moved Machu Picchu over there!” He waved a hand to a patch of fog to his left.

We collapsed on the damp grass on the terraces below the gate, contemplating the hidden end of our journey while guides assured us it was incredibly common not to be able to see anything at this hour. But the fog would lift. Not to worry. With those words, we started down.

Fitted stones

I saw Machu Picchu for the first time half way down to the primary viewing area outside of the main area. Neat rows of terraces and squares of houses emerged in a small gap in the mist before being swallowed again. The site stopped me and my breath. I hurried down the last of the path, hoping to see it again. By the time we reached the viewing area above the ruin, the sun was out and only a few wispy clouds threaded across the saddle where Machu Picchu sits.

The Inca Trail is an experience that culminates with Machu Picchu. Days of learning the history, walking through the landscape, struggling and overcoming ends at the gates to the ruin. Having done it is the reward. Getting the Machu Picchu stamp in my passport on the same page as the Inca Trail is my favorite souvenir. I was ecstatic to stand there and see Machu Picchu. I felt like I’d earned the visit. Walking through rooms I’d heard about for decades, seeing the close fitted rocks and the Inti Watana stone was a long held dream come true.

And I’m not going to tell you about it. This story was about the trail. There are a hundreds of articles on Machu Picchu and thousands of photos. I’d seen them before I arrived. I knew where I was going. I’ve been to other amazing places like Mount St. Michel and the Alhambra, but Machu Picchu took my breath away (and not just because of the altitude or the amount of stairs!).

It was the journey on the Inca Trail that made it truly special.

How?, here are 10 options.

1. How about working on one of the many farms or ranches with horses or llamas. Wwoofing your way around the world!!

2. Housesitting is a great way to travel anywhere and have a place to stay and to live like a local.

3. Live as a vagabond cheaply!!!

4. Go to a cheap country like the Philippines and live it up.

5. Buy a cheap RV and travel the country

6. Just go somewhere you want to go and get a job…like monkey training!!!

7. Simply invest in another country and get a new citizenship which opens many doors

8. Efficiency is key…do not waste time or money on extra crap

9. Travel cheaply on a motorcycle. The best way to be free in our humble opinion.

10.  Buy or build a boat to allow you to simply float away. Never worry about taxes or neighbors again.

Why the rules? It seems that Machu Picchu is such a big draw, and the Inca trail to the ruins is such a rewarding way to get there, so many people were doing it that the trail, a historical monument in itself, was being overused, damaged, and destroyed. In response, the government instituted a daily limit of users. Only 500 people, which included the guides and porters, were allowed on the trail. The tourists were supervised by the guides, who were held responsible for the actions of their wards. These actions ensured the trail was protected, and overseen, not just by the government, but many people every day, and, at least to us, seemed to work well.

How do these regulations effect the local population? Initially I envisioned locals taking advantage of international tourists by charging them and delivering little in return – just acting as baby sitters. I was very wrong. Although we did pay a handsome sum, we feel it was worth it and more. I will speak for the company we used; Alpaca Expeditions out of Cusco. They like to bill themselves as the “Green Machine” They were green, they did operate as a machine, but what separated them was their dedication to the environment and desire to protect their cultural heritage. They picked the color green, not only because no other group was green, but because it represented their commitment to the environment. One example were the ponchos they provided. They were heavy duty and reusable. They stated with 500 people a day, 3500 per week converging on Machu Picchu… how many disposable ponchos would show up and be tossed. In addition to helping the environment, Alpaca Expeditions have also assisted local children, doing charitable work and fostering a environment dedicated to environmental awareness. Such activities that start with the young are necessary to bring a country currently dedicated to excessive mining and logging to more conservation and sustainability.

One significant benefit of the regulations were to the local population. The treks provided much needed employment to locals who needed work to support their families. The porters worked very hard, and were very happy to have their jobs. The regulations protected them from carrying too much and ensured their well being as well. When we passed through the small villages, they benefited from the food we obtained, objects purchased, and awareness that was raised. Even our guide, Lizandro, although college educated and very aware of the world, was from a small local village with a tiny trout aquaculture production operation. Peru is a very poor country with much of the population living on a few dollars a week. They are poor and any job they get is like a westerner hitting the lottery.

I think it is safe to say that although I still wish I could have done the trail solo, I believe the supported trek with Alpaca was well worth the added expense. It not only supported the local economy, but also helped in a humanitarian and environmental mission dedicated to improving the future of the country as a whole.

In 2008, Raven and I visited the very small island of Saba in the Dutch Antilles. We were there to learn scuba. But the off days we spent hiking the numerous trails on the island, which spans micro-climates from near desert to cloud rainforest.

Almost can see the summit!

It was those clouds shrouding the summit of Mt. Scenery, as the volcano forming and dominating the island is named, that inspired a small obsession while we were there. We really wanted to see the summit!

At just under 3,000 feet in elevation, Mt. Scenery isn’t a huge volcano. But sitting as it does in a little patch of the Caribbean, clouds attach to the peak and seem to never let go. Our first hike up to the summit got us lost in clouds and mud. Finally on a day when we decided to hike to Spring Bay, we had a few minutes where the distant summit revealed itself. Very briefly.

It was on the last morning as we sat on the deck of our rented efficiency that I looked up and saw what had remained hidden most of the week. Unfortunately with less than an hour before our flight, racing up to the summit to see what must have been an amazing view wasn’t an option. But at least I got a photo of it!

What illusive photos have you tracked down while traveling?

Oh THAT is what the volcano looks like!

In the morning, we had to wake up our guide. Lizandro had originally said wake-up was 5 a.m., but after lots of whining and a bit of drinking, we managed to get that pushed back to 6. The porters served us our morning tea, I’d sworn off coca by this point, and Raven, slightly hung over was the first up to enjoy the misty dawn, including trekking down to see free range llamas that had slept on a nearby hill. Breakfast came, but Lizandro hadn’t appeared. We had to do something about that.

A morning view back to our spectacular campsite

Despite the teasing the day before, kindness ruled the morning. It was quickly decided we needed to wake up our guide and that we should do so by bringing him breakfast in bed. Well tent and sleeping bag in this case. An omelette, assortment of fruit, and bread were organized on his unclaimed plate and topped with three cocoa leaves in the traditional Inca blessing. We poured him tea and then headed out to see who was brave enough to “knock” on his tent door.

The porters and cooks followed along to see what resulted when a rowdy group of hikers pestered their sleeping guide first thing in the morning. As we shouted morning greetings along with “time to get up!” to Lizandro, Ivan and Cooper shook his tent. A groggy, but delighted, Lizandro stuck his head out of the door, receiving breakfast as well as teasing – some of it coming from the porters!

Lizandro was quick on his feet, eating food and checking the time. Which made him wave us forward. He’d catch up, he promised, but we needed to head out.

Today was an easy day, promising a slow rise to Phuyupatamarca and then HOURS of downhill on Inca steps. Okay, it was easier than the day before with its 10 hours of hiking and two mountain passes and Inca steps. The sun escorted us as we hiked upwards, guide-less, but as we climbed mist moved in. Or maybe we moved into the clouds. We were climbing to 12,073 feet after all.

Mist shrouded ruins

Lizandro caught up to us at a jog with a smile. He’d showered, finished the breakfast we’d made for him, and was in great spirits. When we reached the misty heights of Phuyupatamarca, we took group photos next to the marker. The actual ruin was best visible from a ledgy height up a few hundred feet. Hoping for a break in the clouds, Raven, myself, Tami, and Stephanie scurried upwards and braved the steep drop to peer down for fitful glimpses of the Inca structure nestled amid trees and mist. It was breath taking, not just for the drop off, and fueled excitement.

Tomorrow was Machu Picchu!

The pass where we had stopped was quickly becoming crowded as other groups arrived. Lizandro ordered us out, which meant down, with warnings about how slippery and steep the Inca steps would be – especially here at the pass and in the clouds.

Steep steps and an Inca cave!

Down a narrow slot on steps that felt to have been made for someone with the stride of a giant, we edged downwards over slick rocks and crumbling soil. The steep drop eased after the first half hour, with sections of gentle downhills on the stone trail spaced between steps, steps, and more steps. Over two hours of walking on jaring stone steps with sweeping views of the Urubamba river valley, and mountains rising around us as we dropped lower.

Lizandro kept us together, stopping us to point toward a steeply sloped spire of a mountain. “That,” he said, “is Machu Picchu.”

The name means old mountain in Quechua and really belongs to the larger of the two peaks holding the famous ruin. From where we stood, gazing in awe at our destination, the buildings were hidden by the forested mountain. But it was there and so close. We would see it tomorrow. We still had the remainder of today.

We took a left at the first sign we’d found civilization, well a portion of civilization at least in the form of an electrical tower. There we headed on a muddy track through the forest to reach Intipata. But we hit a roadblock.

Two Llamas waited in the path, one lying down and facing us. Neither looked at all bothered by our close presence, or that we wanted to go forward. After taking advantage of the unexpected photo op, we eyed the llamas. They eyed us. With no way around, we yelled at them to move. The llama lying down flattened an ear. Laughing, Lizandro charged them. Finally, they scattered and we followed the trotting beasts into Intipata.

The terraces of Intipata stretched up the steep mountain both above and below where we stood on the widest with amazing views of the Urubamba river and valley. And our llama escorts. Talk about a chance morning photo opportunity you can’t arrange without a lot of time and money. But we had luck.

Our break and lesson of Inca history lasted a short time before Lizandro sent us onto the trail again, sneaking ahead of the group by racing down the old Inca stairs connecting the terraces. He met us at the bottom where we could finally stand and see the ruin stretching into the forested slope of the mountain far above us.

Legs and knees, especially knees, aching from hours of walking down rough stone steps, we hobbled the short forested section to the large campground outside of the ruin of Winay Huaayna. The campground was built as a labyrinth of earth terraces, and guides had to help us find our campsite. Where we discovered we not only had lunch, but a break of a few hours, the opportunity for a warm shower – provided by our porters kindly heating and lugging hot water to a shower stall, and then an evening visit to Winay Huaayna.

Raven had a search going for Andean soil… since we were in the Andes and all!

It was after our shower that Raven admitted he didn’t feel well. Chills and aches cramped his body. Lizandro arranged for hot chocolate for him as Raven admitted an evening visit to the ruin wasn’t in his cards. I left Raven with the porters and went with the group on the short hike to a ruin similar to Intipata for the number of terraces but wholly unique, as every ruin had been on the trail, with its two clusters of buildings, one above us and the other far below, and a fountain that dropped along the steps linking the two sections.

Winay Huaayna means forever young, we learned. After a final lesson before reaching Machu Picchu, Lizandro presented the group with Alpaca International t-shirts and the freedom to explore. Evening shadows were quickly racing over the stone structures as I walked down to the small cluster of buildings, finding vibrant red begonias growing between stones and whispering silence but for the pounding of a nearby waterfall.

Before falling ill, Raven helped rescue this. I’m not sure how many karma points that is worth… should be a few!

By the time I made it back to the main terrace, after a detour to the upper sections to make up for not having seen Sayacmarka the day before, the group had already left for camp. I hurried to catch up to check on Raven as much as to not be out wandering the myriad of paths alone in the dark.

Raven was still ill but functioning. He didn’t last long through dinner, which was a shame as it was pizza – his favorite – and a celebratory cake. We were given a final choice for the next day: up early, extremely early, in order to queue for the gate opening for the last section of Machu Picchu and to allow the porters a chance to pack and make it to the train so they wouldn’t have to camp a second day. Or sleep in and cause everyone a headache. It was an easy choice, not only for the kindness of it but because tomorrow, TOMORROW!, we’d arrive in Machu Picchu. As tired as I was, and as worried as I was about Raven’s sudden sickness, I half wondered if I’d be able to sleep.

The Urubamba river behind Raven and I. You can tell we are excited, right?

But I know its hold is dissipating. I have a dog with muddy paws to prove it! And so it doesn’t seem so chilling to share a beautiful panoramic of Moosehead Lake – our largest lake here in Maine.

Raven got this photo a week ago. The lakes are going to be frozen for awhile longer. And, actually, this is three photos stitched together. Lending to the cool weather feel are the not-green trees. They’re more of a frozen blue. Because the photo is in infrared!

Raven has always loved black and white, but taking a color digital photo and turning it to B&W doesn’t result in the same crispness of black and white film. The end result usually has too many greys and not enough true whites and blacks. It feels flat. But IR… it captures the nuances color turned black and white misses. The contrast on the hills and in the texture of the snow, something that would have been completely lost in color, are visible in IR.

So what does this mean? I expect to see a lot more IR images coming from Raven! I’m wonder what a whitish-blue palm tree will look like…?

Sanitized frankenfood

I’ve been disturbed by hospitals since I was a young little bastard, who preferred walking barefoot to shoes. This barefoot tendency generally reached into areas that included grass filled with bees, and my parents favorite…the garage.

Our garage, unlike modern versions, was built in the 1930s and had years of absorbed floor oil, as well as, most importantly, pieces of broken glass in the numerous cracks. My feet were like magnets for glass. Although it was probably only once or twice, my adult memory remembers it as a monthly… seemingly weekly occurrence of being rushed to the hospital screaming and bloody where I was carried into a scary operating room. There I was restrained… because at one point I punched a nurse.

Eventually, after I wore out, they managed to sterilize and treat my cut foot. I never did forget the trauma of going to the hospital, and as an adult I cringe when I so much as smell that hospital odor. As a result, I have not been treated in a hospital in almost 10 years, choosing activities that build my immune system while avoiding activities that would put me in the hospital. What happened to me following a trip to Peru has me changed forever…

My fear of hospitals has actually been expanded to grocery stores as well.

How in the world could I compare a majorly sanitized and organized building, a building filled with sick people that is managed by professional staff dedicated to running an efficient operation while providing good products and services, to one that sells food? How is a grocery store that has sanitizing wipes at the door, clean and organized produce, perfectly temperature controlled fish and meat with attending staff dressed in protective garments anything at all like a hospital? It’s not like they use the same disinfectant. Wait, I think they do. Food sanitation and hygiene is very important to our country, and is actually a national security issue.

I was not always aware of this hospitalization of our food systems, and only made it following a trip to Peru where I observed how the locals obtained their food. It was not immediate though. I had seen open air markets in Boston, complete with fish looking at me with their vacant eyes. I believe my realization may have followed the day I happened to look in the back of a car and see a few hundred chicken eggs, or possibly with the old lady pushing the cart of hard boiled quail eggs, or even perhaps the half a cow I observed being hauled out of the taxi and into the Chinese restaurant across from our hostel. The same taxi probably picked up some unknowing tourists an hour later. I wonder how TSA will handle the blood on their luggage?

A typical scene at a non-american food market

I guess I should be happy my food is safe and sanitized? That my government protects me from nasty things like E-coli. That stores are decent enough to offer anti-bacterial hand wipes. The producers are kind enough to feed their animals a good dose of antibiotics which we are lucky enough to have passed into us. I should be thankful for this protection. Not every country has these controls in place to keeps it’s population healthy. But… am I really being protected. Of course not!!!

All measures taken to protect us are slowly harming us by creating supergerms, or germs resistant or immune to traditional methods of treatment. It is Darwin in practice… the strong survive. By waging a war on bacteria we are killing off the good as well as the bad.  While the survivors may be super good bacteria, we are also isolating the super bad bacteria. The concentrations are multiplying and further evolving. The problem does not stop there… this sanitation is leading to weak and sickly people, people with no immunities, allergies, and hyper sensitivities to the natural environment. Lets not even start on the discussion about GMO foods, and the effect on health and native plants.

What happens when we have a generation who’s experience with the outdoors are not sunny days in fields of clover playing ball and swimming in the lake, but rather major allergies and contact dermatitis with the fresh water lake algae? It will be a generation that would rather stay inside and eat sanitized food, choosing to watch Netflix and play video games than go outside. These same people will not care about the environment, they will not protect it, nor will they understand it. This is where we are headed.

So… me. I will now avoid grocery stores the way I do hospitals. Give me an organic apple purchased and grown by a local farmer. No need to wash it. If I get a bit ill… good my body is getting stronger. We have an immune system for a reason… it’s about time we use it.

If you haven’t been there, you should really try to go. My best description is… wow. Amazing, huge, unique, and diverse come to mind as well. Conservatories, water parks, topiary gardens, wandering paths through woods, tree houses (there are three!), and acres of meadows. I’d love to visit for several days, really taking the time to explore, or sit and absorb the beauty of it all. And that isn’t just my plant starved brain talking!

Geologic survey Marker at Dead Woman’s Pass

We were up before dawn. It was day 2 on the Inca trail, known for those on the four day trek as the hardest day. Though we’d camped at over 10,000 feet in elevation. Ahead of us lay 10 hours of hiking to summit the 13,800’ Dead Woman’s pass, a drop down to 11,700’ for lunch, back up to 13,123’ for a second pass, and finally a short drop to 11,800 feet to our camp that night. The map for the day labeled the distance with 16 kilometers over 11 hours as ‘challenging’. The drawing of elevation gain and lost looked like the outline for a rollercoaster. And we were going to walk it.

Everyone was nervous about rain. Our trip commenced at the beginning of the rainy season and the forecast had warned of showers. We woke to fitful clouds where our tents perched on the side of a mountain. Dead woman’s pass, so named due to the profile of a woman in the rocky outcrop, lay hidden behind us by terrain and clouds, and, when we first woke, dark.

We were served coca tea in our tents and given warm water for washing. Then it was packing up our sleeping gear, and stuffing anything we didn’t want to carry that day into the bag for the porter. The day before had taught me success was more important than a great photo. I deposited my good, and bulky, camera and lenses into the porter bag. And, after a glance at the sky, most of my rain gear, keeping a jacket and gloves, my hydration pack, and my little point and shoot camera. I wore layers to deal with the exertion and altitude changes. Then I tried not to feel guilty for asking someone else to carry the crap I’d just abandoned. Especially when the porter’s physically didn’t reach higher than my shoulder.

Raven and I are early risers. Our bags were stashed on a tarp and the porters were disassembling our tent before we were called for breakfast. Mindful of lunch the day before, I ate sparingly. And then Lizandro gave us news I didn’t want to hear. We would hike together to the day’s first Inca ruin Llulluchapampa.

Team resting at the top of Dead Womans Pass

I knew I’d made it through the day, but only by hiking my pace. Which wasn’t the group pace. But what can you do but try? Tammy and Stephanie bucked up my spirits, laughing that the three of us would bring up the rear of our group. With that, packs went on and we starting hiking… up.

How do you prepare yourself mentally for something that you know will challenge you on every level? Everyone was in good spirits, especially as the sky cleared and rain appeared less likely. I was ready, determined that I would make it through the day, knowing that the hardest part of the Inca trail would be behind me by dusk.

It was a promised two hours to Llulluchapampa. We made it in an hour and three quarters, and I was the last of our group to arrive. Beyond that, I can’t tell you much of the hike upwards other than I was out of breath, I stopped to gaze at, and photograph, flowers, enjoyed the breeze sweeping down the valley to my right, and marveled at the view of high mountains surrounding me. There were fitful clouds masking and revealing summits, and merging with distant snow on the tallest. The struggle seemed so much less amid such a place. Those hiking past me were mere blips in my journey to a place far ahead.

At Lulluchapampa, we had not only a rest stop, but deeper education into the Inca culture. Perhaps this is where schools go wrong. It is easier to appreciate, absorb, and remember history when surrounded by its ruins, and the lecture is given by someone related to the legacy created by the events he told. I might get the names wrong, but I can now rattle off the events prior to, during, and following the Spanish arrival in Peru. Some of the names I even get right!

After our stop, Lizandro released us for the remaining two hour hike upwards to Dead Woman’s Pass, a portion thankfully taken at our own struggling pace. I was quickly playing leapfrog with a set of other hikers from a different group. We exchanged encouragement along with backgrounds. We were all on the same hike, struggling and overcoming. Below in the grass valley, llamas dotted the edge of a field. A few appeared on the slopes around us as we walked, and stopped, and walked onwards.

The punishing upward steepness eased toward the top. I knew it was the top as on my frequent, not really breath catching stops I had plenty of time to study the terrain ahead. At the head of the valley-wide ravine of grass and scrubby trees a few figures waited at the notch between higher peaks. As faster, desperately out of breath hikers trudged by, I told them the pass was just ahead and gave time estimates. They shook off their daze with a relieved smile and kept going.

Raven was the first thing I saw as I made the last bend in the trail that had been all dirt to this point. He sat on a rock where the path merged with the flat of the summit and offered a smile along with, “finally made it?” Lizandro took my blood oxygen level which read 82, telling me it wasn’t bad for our altitude. Raven’s was, of course, 89 and he’d been one of the first at the pass. The altimeter read 13,800 feet.

We sat and surveyed the valley with its clouds as the cold air of Dead Woman’s Pass dried well earned sweat. For me, it wasn’t a long break, I barely had chewed on the sandwich the porter’s had given me, before Lizandro gathered us together and advised we head down.

Down to lunch, down to a break, down 2,100 feet on a trail that was now stone and mostly steps: steep, old, alpine steps of stone. Living in Maine, I felt like I was home.

Finally no longer the last in the group, but instead in the middle, I stretched my legs on the short flatter sections and used the hiking poles on the crumbling staircases that dropped farther and farther down the mountain’s flank. A small stream rushed along to my right, first far below me and eventually above me as it tumbled over the steep hillside. Other waterfalls came into view far above me to my left. Lizandro told us later there were seven lagoons nestled amid the mountain summits which fed the falling streams.

I loved the walk down, but by the time I reached the lunch spot nestled in the valley the sight of the trail weaving up the next mountain made me nauseous. Raven and I napped in the grass as the remainder of the group arrived and lunch was prepared. The food served was truly a feast for the eyes and us with skewers of chicken stuck into a turtle made from a pineapple arriving to applause. But eating was another matter as we tried to convince bodies that only wanted sleep to consume the calories we each needed to go on. Because we had another four hours to go on. Cooper was the first to opt for sleep over food. Lizandro looked over his group and gave us an hour to nap. Everyone happily headed out to the sun and grass.

After break, Lizandro told the group to head out, stick together, and he’d catch up. The instructions led to some confusion when we reached a small lagoon. Half of the group thought we were supposed to meet Lizandro there. The other half wasn’t sure. So we waited. Which began with a story promised the day before by Ivan. He crafted a grand tale of lost dragon love that resulted in the expanse of water before us. Somehow that led to plots to scare Lizandro, who had yet to appear. As Ivan hid, Tammy, Stephanie, and Cooper called Lizandro over with a question about the lagoon. Unbelievably the shenanigans worked as Ivan leapt out from below the ledge where Lizandro stood with a growl. Lizandro jumped and yelped, we laughed. And then were told to get moving.

Now with our guide, we kept the pace upwards through switchbacks. During pauses Lizandro pointed out the profile of the woman for whom Dead Woman’s Pass was named, though we argued sleeping might have been the better term. We looked back to the tiny ruin of Runkuracay with the waterfall dropping to the valley where we’d had lunch, and mountains stretching skyward around the valley.

The summit of the second pass of the day had a fine dark dust coating the pace between rock outcrops. The rest there was friendly after the shared joke on the way up. So we took Lizandro’s warning of more steep steps, and our first Inca tunnel, which we were told was dangerous, very seriously. Our tents were a mere two hours of downhill walking! The sun was getting low, though now that we were on the western side of the mountain we were descending with the light.

A few hundred feet below the summit, the stone path entered the mouth of a small cave. Warned to watch out for spiders, watch our step, and not to touch the walls, Lizandro walked in first. I heard startled yelps as one group member after another entered ahead of me. Uncertain what I faced, I eased my way down the steep stairs, feeling my way in the dark. I could see Raven ahead as the trail flattened out before exiting the cave. Watching him, I never saw Lizandro until he jumped out and growled. I yelped and laughed, joining my similarly accosted hiking mates. Lizandro hadn’t waited long to payback the teasing we’d given at the lagoon.

With an hour and a half of Inca steps ahead, the group spaced out. There were times I walked alone on the trail, no one visible ahead or behind. The sun dipped lower. My legs began to feel the constant jarring of step down after step down onto hard stone. Many places had to be navigated carefully due to loose pebbles or slanted surfaces. After eight hours of hiking with only an hour break, it was no time to stop paying attention.

Finally the trail evened out, dropping from the alpine grasses to a lush forest looking more jungle like than anything we’d seen on the trail. Moss and lianas hung from branches. Ahead the walls of Sayacmarka reflected the fading sun where it perched on the mountain side. Only seventy-nine steps up, steep and awkward steps covered in moss, lay the Inca ruin waiting to be explored. Lizandro had said it was optional. I watched a few people walk through it longingly, hating to walk by while knowing the chances of standing there again were small. But I kept going.

As I dropped farther into the valley and the campsite didn’t appear, I decided I’d made the correct choice. A small ruin lay along a stream, the site already lost to shadows. The trail wound onward through the jungle-like forest. The path here was mud and there were few other hikers. Exhausted and stumbling in my pace a bit, I hurried forward. Finally the trees opened up to a wide flat plateau. The tents appeared.

I found Raven who led me to our tent set amid the most amazing campsite I’d ever seen. The setting sun lit the mountains in before us while a deep forested valley trailed off toward the southwest. The view was spectacular and mesmerizing, made all the more rewarding for having achieved it after such a day.

For most groups, the story of day 2 ends there. Exhausted, happy, fed snacks and then dinner, it was to be an early night. But… we weren’t the average group. Dinner led to some after dinner drinks. As a few of us pushed our tolerance levels, we laughed loud enough that we knew we were the most hated group in camp at that moment, keeping everyone from sleeping. But we couldn’t stop laughing. It might have had something to do with Cooper’s Shaker Weight demonstration, but I can’t say more than that. I swore I’d keep most of what happened off line.

When we finally spilled out of our meal tent so our equally tired porters, who’d walked the same trail as us carrying more gear than we had, had set up tents, and made two meals, to clean up and then finally get some sleep (they slept in the main tent where we ate), it was only eight thirty and not another sound came from the groups camped around us. Finally curled into sleeping bags, we faded to sleep only to hear one group mate giggle. Which set off the others. Laughter rippled down the line of Alpaca tents until we fell silent again. And then someone would giggle. I finally fell asleep with my stomach hurting from laughter far more than my legs hurt from the Inca stairs. And we still had two days to go.

I always admired those photos of exotic ruins or sweeping beaches whose emptiness spoke of undiscovered havens and exploration. But what are the chances of having an empty beach if you can’t pay everyone to leave on a day when the sun is just perfect? Well sometimes fate is kind…

In 2007, Raven and I along with my family found ourselves in the ‘Mayan Riveria.’ On a day trip, we visited the water park of Xel Ha, but left early for an afternoon visit to the seaside Mayan ruins of Tulum. An afternoon visit to see a rarity of Mayan architecture on a cliff over the ocean didn’t sound like the ideal timing for pictures devoid of other people. Every visit I’ve taken to tourist locals has involved the place being packed by 11.

But no… not Tulum. Instead we found only a dozen other tourists perusing the off white buildings. And the light… only the tropics can paint such light. The timing of afternoon was perfect to capture the sun hitting the face of the buildings… which was good, most of the other sides were close to the cliff!

Sometimes you only need a little luck to capture a photo that looks like it should adorn a brochure. Or be featured on a travel blog.