The Reluctant Adventurer tackles the Cordillera Blancas (and very nearly wins)

I'd been in Huaraz for just about a week and a half when Joe, Nina, and I decide to try out one of Lonely Planet's recommended "starter" hikes to a mountain lake called Churrup in one of the many peaks surrounding the town. Huaraz is already at almost 10,000 feet elevation, which takes a bit of getting used to for someone who grew up at sea level (I don't think living at the top of Capitol Hill counts for elevation preparedness). Our combi, a local form of public transport that's something like a 15-seat van, took us up into the mountains about another 500 feet or so to a hamlet called Llupa, from which we began our walk up to the trail.

I could already feel the slight increase in elevation so this easy beginning presented a challenging preview for the rest of the day. We made our way slowly up the hill; the one-lane dirt road eventually turned into a long and rocky set of steps which leveled out onto a narrow, muddy dirt track covered in various animal prints and droppings and which was miraculously flat for the most part. We reached the trailhead about an hour and a half after leaving the combi, and after a quick break for water and some electrolyte gummies we began the climb in earnest.

And I do mean climb. Had the blazers of this trail never heard of a switchback? The rocky path cut straight up the unforgiving ridge leading to the lake, and every time the trail seemed to level off ahead, we would reach the plateau only to be faced with another steep climb.

I was clearly unprepared.

The trail ahead and the steep side of the mountain seemed to go on forever. We- I- needed frequent breaks, and with every few steps I could feel my feet dragging again as my lungs struggled to fill themselves with as much of the cold thin air as they could. It was challenging. At several points I found myself chanting like the Little Blue Engine That Could, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I. Think. I. Fucking. Can." Which seemed to help, if only by giving me something to focus on other than feeling like my head my pop off and float up into the heavens and the fact that I still couldn't see the end to the hike coming anytime soon.

Progress.

Eventually the steep ridge did become a slightly less steep path on the side of the mountain, and we followed it until, after meeting a small stream, it turned into more of a choose-your-own-adventure scramble.

Obstacles.

After about a hundred yards or so of picking our way through rocks and over boulders, we broke for lunch. We'd passed a hiker coming back down who told us the trail would level off and meet the lake soon, so we set off again with high hopes of meeting our goal. There was something like a trail again, but it didn't look like it was getting any less sleep any time soon, and now the clouds and rain were coming in. I don't know how Joe and Nina were feeling, though they seemed in better shape than I was; my feet were heavy and my head was empty, and I wasn't sure I'd ever have enough air again. This hike was without a doubt one of the most challenging things I've ever tried, and I decided at this point that I wanted to live to see another one someday, so I threw in my towel.

Where we turned around. Joe and Nina's satellite tracking device tells us we were at about 14,500 feet. About a 4000 foot elevation gain in two hours.

Joe and Nina were kind enough not to abandon me, though I'm going to assume they were struggling just as much as I was and were glad to have the excuse. The descent was much much quicker than the climb, and as we got back down the mountain I quickly felt as though life would easily go on again. All I had to worry about the next day were sore quads, and I was left with a feeling of satisfaction that at least I'd made it as high as Mt. Rainier, and the knowledge that probably everything else I try in life from now on will be a piece of cake.