We woke to a landscape covered in snow, the frozen ground and all signs of life hidden beneath a layer of white powder. Due to the acute change in weather, we would delay our start on what was planned to be the final morning of our journey to the colorful Vinicunca. We packed the tent around 11:30, just as blades of grass began peaking through their icy blanket. Almost immediately we spotted two bright orange bags carried by a couple seen opposite a massive basin lake two days prior. They were hiking the bottom of the gorge we had camped above, and now made their way along a river toward our shared destination; an isolated collection of small huts surrounded on three sides by sharply ascending mountains.

We stopped for a sanity check to inspect our GPS and noticed our tracks throughout this trek diverted substantially from the route we pieced together using Google Earth and crude maps from the web. Due to a lack of cut paths and information for those seeking to venture out independent of guided tours, the majority of this journey was made without a trail in sight. Luckily, the couple seemed to be headed in roughly the same direction so they became our scouts for this section. We kept a close eye on their packs as they moved up toward a row of peaks assumed to hold the pass we were looking for. We diverted only once along the way on a gamble that brought us up a steep incline of stone below a waypoint we marked while they wound widely around. We were pleased to find it paid off upon noticing them headed our way through a fall of boulders as we waited, offering snacks once they arrived to what was the mid-point of the pass.

After catching their breath the man proudly showed us an incredibly detailed map he made using ArchGIS data – something Mel recognized right away due to her background in geography. It turns out he was an amateur cartographer, but despite an obvious plotting prowess his demonstration ended with a single word in a heavy Russian accent, “difficult,” a shrug of his shoulders, and an emphatic gesture toward his GPS confirming a lack of trail integrity.

When we mentioned our intention of making it to Rainbow Mountain before sunset the Russians audibly gasped, pointing back to their map, and noting the nine kilometers and two passes still between us and the saturated summit. We were in a race against the clock as Mel had to return to work the following day, so with a “dasvidania,” we departed; our steps dredging the ground as we ascended the ever-steepening abra toward a massive crack holding the faint footprint of a trail which would lower us down the other side. After dropping to a point where the red rocks and soil at our feet turned a bright green, we looked up to see the Russians rounding the top of the ridge. It seemed as though we were making up for our late start.

Tall grasses surrounding a collection of algae filled lakes at the base anchored a tall embankment of rock that brought us all the way back to an altitude of over 17,000 ft. At its pinnacle we stopped to take in the sight of a vast valley which seemed to stretch endlessly northward, flanked by jagged cliffs on one side and vibrant dessert mountains on the other.

As we skirted the edge of a bouldered hillside we were lucky enough to see a pair of vicuñas, an endangered cousin of the lama which are increasingly difficult to spot in the wild. When they noticed we were on their trail they called out with a squeal that echoed through the valley, and then gracefully bounded over a nearby ridge. The pastel peaks were now in sight, so we forged through a desert-scape of fine dust and across a rolling ridge which served as a perfect lookout for the vivid Vinicunca.

We had a totally different picture in mind, expecting hordes of fellow hikers to be present when we arrived as was typical in almost every image of the area, but there was no one in sight as we approached. It was late enough in the day that all visitors had gone. Little did we know this was because we still had a three hour hike down. There was only one other person there; a woman who climbed to the central mirador everyday to pedal small wares to fellow travelers.

She quickly informed us there was no chance to make it out before the sun slipped below the horizon, but that there was a village about an hour away where we could find a small building or barn to stay. As a result we moved along in haste, unfortunately missing the opportunity to take the shot that would have captured the deserted mountain in its painted perfection from a nearby peak. As we departed the kind woman emphatically yelled out what translated as, “See you on the other side!”

After carefully crossing a lace of streams blanketing a grassy valley beyond the village she mentioned, we began to search for level ground as the last sliver of sun hid behind the shadowy mountains. We set camp near the mouth of a gorge where channels converged just as darkness enveloped the valley and moonlight began to reflect in brilliant sparks from water cascading over the edge of a nearby fall.

We woke a day late to a heavy mist forming on the river, packed our things one last time, and made progress toward our destination. We had no choice but to follow a path which spanned rows of hills leading to town and was filled with thick mud made ruddy with horse tracks. It was almost impossible to avoid the slop left behind by thousands of tourists, guides, and horses who travel the route on day hikes to and from the mountain.

With an increasing sense of gratitude for having approached from the other side, and for the amazing journey that got us there, we ran into the first of many weary hikers who had taken early buses in from Cusco. Some of the forlorn fellows had gotten up at two and three in the morning to avoid the masses collecting at the trailhead. As we made our way to the starting point we noticed exactly what they had been talking about. Hundreds of people walking shoulder to shoulder up the pass, crammed together alongside others who paid to ride atop horses in lieu of making the hike. After several days in peaceful solitude the sight was almost horrifying.

Just before a parking lot full of waiting cars and collectivos, we came upon a woman who was struggling up one of the first hills so Mel offered her our hiking poles knowing she would have a rough time ahead. All transport had just arrived and were not planning trips back until groups of hikers returned. Thinking we’d surely have better luck in town, we moved along a dirt road for another hour or so before waving down an empty bus for a ride the rest of the way. It turns out the “town” consisted of only a handful of buildings. There were two restaurants that would not be open for business until around three, there were no cabs or collectivos, and the bus which brought us in wasn’t going anywhere.

So there we were at nine in morning, stranded until the rest of the hikers joined us. Luckily, a restaurant owner allowed us in, and offered bread and coffee to hold us over until a much welcomed buffet style feast was laid out later in the afternoon. After our meal, a large group boarded a bus, and finally started back through somewhat treacherous mountain roads to Cusco.

I couldn’t have asked for a better way to celebrate a birthday, and am so grateful for everything and everyone who has been by my side through the years. Thank you so much!