Like the low rumbling of thunder after a sustained lightning strike, we woke to the sound of ice separating from Ausungate’s shelf, dispersing like shattered glass into a glacial depression filled with milky turquoise which fed into the hidden depths of the great lake before us. We quickly took to packing the site and refilling our water stores when Mel was approached by Alipio and another man named Richard. They were in the process of catching trout from the stream for their group’s dinner, and asked us to join them for a breakfast of breads, butter, cheeses, yogurt, and – yes – coffee; an invitation we graciously accepted. We talked for some time with Richard, a guide, who had gotten his start in the business by chance on an adventure with his wife twenty years ago. He now runs tours around the world, including some to the Himalayas, a long-standing dream of mine.

After breakfast we packed the rest of our gear and waved a grateful goodbye before moving on from the lake, our headings toward the second abra of the journey. For what seemed like hours we hiked a green ramp that was full of alpaca, but absent of shade to shield us from the intensifying sun.

When we came upon another lake that appeared to be only minutes away, we took the opportunity to cool off. In reality, the seasonal flux of glacial accumulation had left behind deep concentric waves of jagged rocks extending several hundred yards from the water’s edge resulting in a forty-five minute hike to the basin, and an even longer return to the grassy knoll. The torturous thrill of jumping into the frigid water, the exhilaration of swimming to its darkened center, and the burning sensation that takes over your body after an exit made it worth the effort. Swimming in glacial lakes is one of my new favorite things.

To shave off some time we cut a steep path back up, gaining elevation until cresting the next ridge where we spotted yet another lake through a developing fog. The clouds filled the air and made murky the sight of red mountains ahead as it began to hail. Luckily our rain prep had improved, so we covered up and decided to stick to the muddy trail toward a group of alpaca oblivious to the worsening weather.

The hail soon subsided and we ran into a shepherd who advised that we would not have enough daylight to get to our desired destination if we continued into the grassland still far below. He recommended we stay high on the edge of a mountain which would meet the ascending valley further around. At least that is what we thought he said. Granted our Spanish is still in the process of improvement. Nonetheless, after demonstrating his accuracy with a handwoven sling used to control his flock, we had no choice but to take his advice, and parted ways after paying six soles and some precious coca leaves for his time.

Hovering hundreds of feet above the winding river, we followed subtle hints of alpaca trails, no wider than our feet at their best, which were stamped into the mountainside. This proved to be another test for Mel’s nerve as she moved along slowly, each step taken with calculated precaution. When we ran into a metal fence spanning from the horizon to the edge of a cliff hanging over the valley, we couldn’t help but think that the wily shepherd had gotten up on us. Thankfully, there was a low area about fifty yards above us where we were able to climb over instead of having to turn around. Beyond the fence, the ground turned to iron-rich sand like that of a martian landscape. Just as it would have been upon the distant planet, the gravity of the situation was not perceived as we approached the crimson precipice overshadowing the canyon.

We scoured the crumbling cliffs and quickly concluded the shepherd had in fact done us dirty. There was only one way for us to get down and it would take more than your regular, everyday, normal guise to get Mel’s buy-in. I had seen such a thing years ago preformed by no other than Bear Grills, and we all know how crazy that guy is; but hey, WWJD right?

We would have to lower ourselves twenty feet into a narrow gash that met a steep drop of what appeared to be the sand at our feet. “If the sand down there was like the sand up here,” I thought, “this could actually work.” So after layering on our gear for protection from falling debris, and in preparation for what would undoubtedly be a muddy decent, we carefully moved to the edge.

I went first, stopping frequently to coach Mel through the required maneuvers, foot, and hand holds, that would bring us safely down the crevice. It was especially tricky as we started over the ledge, at one point our feet dangling free and out of sight. The relief was almost palpable when we finally reached the sand and our shoes sunk into the mix just as we had hoped. We stood there for a moment, backs against the wall, staring down the sixty degree slope, took a deep breath, and went for it. We leapt from the surface of the mountain, our reentry into the sand buffering our landing, over and over again in a controlled slide all the way to the base of the cliffs. In no time we found ourselves hundreds of feet below where we started, absolutely wild with adrenaline. Me, yelling with excitement, and Mel, along for the ride on my emphatic high, grateful to be grounded once again. We looked back on where we had come in disbelief. There’s no question, this was one of the most incredible things we’ve done!

We stopped at a nearby creek to wash off our mud-encrusted packs before making our next move. We could go deeper into the valley or continue following the subtle tracks around a gorge, the edge of which remained level with our destination. We were on top of the world, so we stayed our course, skirting the gorge and racing the incoming clouds which obscured the sun as it dropped behind the mountains ahead. We set camp on a highpoint overlooking the valley just as darkness fell and the clouds let loose their cache of icy hail.

The cold cut through the thin tent walls as we laid there thinking back on the day’s journey, knowing in our hearts that this was the stuff of life. “Its not about comfort, its about challenge!,” we said to ourselves. Just then a flash of light ripped through the night sky and the most intense rolling thunder shook the ground. A heavy rain roared and then subsided to a whisper that lasted for hours. Soon the ceiling and walls of our rain fly were sagging heavily, and we thought in our haste to beat the sleet we had done a poor job securing the stakes, so we got up to inspect. As we unzipped the door we found a thick layer of snow reflecting the remarkable brilliance of the moon and stars that now lased between the atmosphere and our whitewashed world.