Jeremy Evans.- Editor's Note: This is the second of two stories by Tahoe Daily Tribune sportswriter Jeremy Evans, who spent more than three weeks this summer climbing, hiking and traveling in Peru. His story on Sept. 8 was about the Cordillera Blanca and the climbing paradise of Huaraz.
Perpetually shrouded in mist and surrounded by emerald peaks, Machu Picchu is felt long before it's seen. This emotional tug originates not in Peru but at home, in a bed, where eyes can be squeezed tightly and where one's head sinks softly into a pillow.
National Geographic photos and Travel Channel images may have strengthened this magnetic pull, but the crescendo had been building for years. A dream such as watching the morning sun spill over the Andes and illuminate Machu Picchu into an orange glow can't be implanted. It would be impossible to capture such beauty with a lens.
At least that's what I told myself while hiking the legendary but not so tranquil Inca Trail.
One of the crowded campsites along the Inca Trail is seen in the Peruvian Andes. Photos by Jeremy Evans / Tahoe Daily Tribune
Despite its reputation as one of the world's most famous treks, the Inca Trail isn't even among South America's best hikes. In terms of views and surrounding terrain, a stroll along the wind-swept plains of Patagonia or through Peru's rugged Cordillera Huayhuash would rank higher. But if a trail's terminus trumps all other cri teria, Machu Picchu certainly makes the Inca Trail one of the world's most spectacular hikes.
About 26 miles in length, the Inca Trail begins in the arid landscape of the Sacred Valley, climbs three mountain passes, then ends amid jungle at the ancient city of Machu Picchu. A seemingly impossible contrast from start to finish, this spiritual pilgrimage to Machu Picchu emerges as spectacular but truly is felt before it's seen.
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Kilometer 88 marks the unofficial start of the classic four-day Inca Trail trek. A bridge with faint green towers is suspended above the Urubamba River and the glacier-covered summit of Nevado Veronica rises high above desert shrub.
On one side of the river is the first of several checkpoints, where trekkers, guides and porters are required to sign in and flash identification cards. On the other side is the trail itself, and temporary relief from anarchy.
After a two-hour bus ride from Cuzco, our group arrived at the first checkpoint behind more than 75 people. It was like waiting for a ride at Disneyland. Hikers from around the world were fixated on who could be the most obnoxious.
In the agricultural sector of Machu Picchu, the grass terraces were where the Incas cultivated various crops for survival. About 30 percent of the ruins are still hidden beneath jungle.
How I longed for 1990, when backpackers could arrive in Cuzco, obtain an Inca Trail permit for $15 and start hiking the next day - on their own terms. But the Peruvian government now requires all trekkers to be part of a guided group organized by a licensed Inca Trail operator. Like Lake Tahoe, the trail was in danger of being loved to death. Bureaucracy had to intervene.
After the National Geographic Society rebuilt the Inca Trail in 1980, the trail was popularized but it quickly deteriorated. Thieves and garbage and human feces plagued the trail, which historians agree follows the route used by the Incas to travel from Cuzco and the Sacred Valley to Machu Picchu.
Included in the government's new regulations is also a daily quota of 500 people (including tourists, guides and porters), meaning 2,000 people are on the trail for the four-day hike on any given day. While preservation of the trail remains bright, something has been lost.
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The camps along the trail are pockets of chaos. Our first camp, Wayllabamba, was eight miles from the trailhead. Surrounded by canyon walls holding a slight hint of cloud forest, it was located in the last inhabited village on the trail. Indian women wore bright-colored tops and carried their babies in blankets hung below their sunken shoulders.
It was a crowded place with occasional loud screams and serious sanitation issues. The odor of feces hovered, and underneath most rocks were strips of toilet paper. Wayllabamba wasn't unlike the other two camps.
On the morning of the second day, hundreds of people began the steep climb to Dead Woman's Pass (13,860 feet), the highest point on the trail. Porters with 80-pound loads wore rubber sandals and powered past panting tourists. A porter's mission was not to sightsee but to arrive at camp, get tea ready and start dinner for their clients. They were awarded several dollars a day for their work, perhaps twice that amount if they carried a tourist's backpack.
After descending more than a 1,000 stone steps on the backside of Dead Woman's Pass, a cluster of tents were already erected at Paqaymayu, the largest campsite on the trail. Seven miles from Wayllabamba, the desert had been replaced by cloud forest, which only intensified during the remainder of the hike.
Mist passed through the hillsides above Paqaymayu. It created a familiar scene, the one reminiscent of the dreams I had back home. However, the loud screams, toilet paper and 499 other people never made it in.
When the mist broke temporarily, tomorrow's hike was exposed, including a steep incline to the first of two passes that must be crossed. After that, deeper into the jungle.
The third day was the longest of the trail, a distance of about 10 miles, but the entire trail should be classified as moderate. Descending the third and final pass required thundering down more than 2,500 rock steps. But a much-anticipated night's sleep in the final camp was what mattered most. Once there, we were less than four miles from Machu Picchu and emotions swirled. With a 5 a.m. departure time the next day, everyone wondered what the ancient ruins would look like from the Gate of the Sun.
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Matt Towers was determined to be the first person on Aug. 17, 2005, to see Machu Picchu. A young, cocky British lad, Matt was in my group. In the pre-dawn hours, we were the first group through the checkpoint. Matt had a great shot at being first to the Gate of the Sun.
The trail hugged the side of Machu Picchu mountain and a low canopy of jungle hovered overhead. Once the rest of the tourists cleared the checkpoint, the race was on. Within an hour, several hikers passed me, some tripping and nearly taking the 2,000-foot plunge to the canyon bottom. But they were determined to be first.
Matt was forced to sprint against an American the final 300 yards to a notch in a ridge. There, among rock towers, he was greeted with the first view of Machu Picchu. The American who saw it second spent less than a minute at the vantage point before he yelled, "I'm going to be the first person at Machu Picchu."
Once at the Gate of the Sun, the Machu Picchu dream was over. The built-up emotions from the last four days and from years of curiosity release on that rock amphitheater. You have that first look and the feeling vanishes.
A thick haze choked the various canyons. The sun rose over the Andes, but it never illuminated an orange glow like in my dreams. It provided more a gray filter. I also heard engines. Buses filled with tourists ascended a dirt road that had been chopped into a steep hillside. The tourists had taken the train from Cuzco to Aguas Calientes, then boarded a bus that was taking them to the entrance of Machu Picchu. Dream pirates.
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Contrary to popular belief, North American explorer Hiram Bingham didn't discover Machu Picchu. Bingham was responsible for exposing the lost city of the Incas to the world. But Peruvian farmers and explorers, even a German poet, saw the ruins before Bingham. Although they saw pieces of the brilliantly carved rock formations, they had no idea how massive the complex was. It was hidden beneath jungle. (Thirty percent of the ruin site is still covered with vegetation.)
The Spanish conquered Peru in the early 1500s, establishing cities and dismantling the Incan civilization. But the conquerors never found Machu Picchu. It wasn't until July 24, 1911, that a local farmer named Augustine Lizarraga led Bingham to the site.
Almost 400 years after the Spanish colonized Peru, the mystery of Machu Picchu began to unravel. Bingham and his associates later returned to the site and started a fire. Burning the surrounding jungle was the only way to excavate the ruins. Bingham should be credited with that. It was his gift to the world.
Backpackers' dreams have never been the same since.
