Dead Woman’s Pass Kicked My Ass

The second day of the Inca trail is notoriously known as the hardest day. The morning is spent climbing to the highest point of the trail, Dead Woman’s Pass, at 12,600 feet. And it is a steep climb. No one was looking forward to the climb.

The guide came to each of our tents at 5:30am, along with a porter carrying a tray of coca tea, to wake us up. We all groggily made our way to the dining tent for breakfast. Most everyone agreed they slept well. Though one girl did say she went to the bathrooms in the middle of the night and they were crawling with tarantulas. The bathrooms were disgusting and I felt badly for the girls who had to squat. The smell alone was enough to make us get our business done quickly. I caught one of the American girls vomiting shortly after exiting – the smell being too much for her.

I had gone to a pharmacy in Cuzco and bought what I thought was altitude medicine for the trek. The pharmacist didn’t speak English and I tired to describe what I wanted as best I could in Spanish. What she gave me seemed odd, and studying it later, I decided it was meant to go in the mouth between the lower lip and gums. I tasted a corner of it and found it very bitter, but thought nothing more of it at the time. Now, on the second day of the trail, I decided to try one before we started our hike in order to offset any coming symptoms. But first I asked my guide how to take it. After looking at it, he gave me a puzzled look and asked what I was using the medication for again. I explained I bought it at a pharmacy to alleviate altitude sickness. He grinned broadly, took it from me, and shouted something in Spanish to some of the porters, who started to laugh. He then informed me I had bought lip balm. Clearly my Spanish is not getting any better. He felt badly about making fun of me and gave me two real altitude sickness pills. The porters continued to point and laugh.

At 6:30am we started our hike. We were immediately hit with a grueling uphill climb. People had the option of hiring locals from the tiny village to carry their packs to the next destination and three of the girls did just this. The steep climb was tough even for the locals. They seemed to stop and rest just as often as we did. I was doing much better today, generally staying near the front of our group as we plugged uphill through the cloud forest. My heart was beating fast but I was able to keep my breathing steady as long as I didn’t stop to rest very often. Even when the group stopped for the longer breaks, I decided not to stay put for too long. It was always difficult to get going again.

The hike through the woods was beautiful. The trail followed a stream most of the time and there were little waterfalls along the way. There was also a dog that seemed to belong to one of the hired locals walking the trail. He was bounding along the trail with no sign of exertion. I hated that dog.

Finally we made it through the forest and into a clearing. The trail seemed to go straight up. And it got tougher. I was now starting to breath really heavy with each step. I kept pushing on, trying to keep pace with one of the girls from Holland several feet in front of me. Occasionally I would take a quick stop to catch my breath. But never for too long. The longer I stopped the harder it was to get going again. I eventually came to what I thought was a peak – not the peak, but hopefully close to it. Two French dudes were resting there. We nodded in quiet agreement at the difficulty of the trail. As I walked around them and the peak, I discovered I was nowhere close to the peak. Dead Woman’s Pass was much further up. I whimpered.

On I went. I caught up with a few others from the group. We urged each other on. The peak never seemed to get any closer, but the trail seemed to get increasingly tougher. Our guide had warned us that the last twenty minutes would be the toughest. He wasn’t lying. I struggled, pausing every few minutes to catch my breath. At the peak I could see other trekkers watching us climb. It didn’t help. I cursed them in my head, smug in their sense of completion.

And then I climbed the last step. I had made it to the top, to Dead Woman’s Pass. Where is a rock to sit on? Screw it, I dropped to the ground. And watched the others struggle up the last 20 minutes, knowing they were silently cursing me.

Eventually everyone made it to the top. We congratulated one another and took a group picture. The hardest part of the trek was behind us. Then the guide informed us that the third day is called the Gringo Killer, even though it is all down hill. Actually that is why it is called the Gringo Killer: the steep steps going downhill are really tough on the knees. Awesome.

No matter. The legs could suffer now. My lungs no longer had to. The rest of the day’s trail was downhill to the next campsite. Straight downhill. I walked it mostly alone. Others had rushed on after the group picture as I stayed back and took in the view. It was a nice walk down. Quiet. A time for reflection. Though I mainly just reflected on the blister forming on my little toe.

Early in the afternoon I arrived at our campsite to more clapping. I waved appreciatively and picked a tent to pass out in. Thirty minutes later I was woken up for lunch, but I wasn’t very hungry. I ate a bit of the soup and excused myself to head back to the tent where I slept for two and a half hours.

Dinner was preceded and followed by more card games. Everyone seemed jovial at having put Dead Woman’s Pass behind them. Even the light rain didn’t seem to dampen the high spirit of the evening. We stayed up talking a bit later this night. And when I finally went to bed, I fell asleep immediately. The Gringo Killer was up ahead, but I wasn’t worried. I had conquered Dead Woman’s Pass. And with it, the fear of not finishing the trail.