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Jen Higgins Fund - 2002
LAS HERMANAS DE LAS MONTANAS
AN ADVENTURE IN THE CORDILLERA BLANCA OF PERU
By Katy and Rachel Garton
It has been over a month since I returned from the Cordillera Blanca of Peru. Despite my return, my mind still resides on the roof of Senora Mesa’s Hostel at sunset. My body has come home, but my thoughts and feelings cannot escape the Peruvian splendors I recently experienced. 6000m glaciated peaks with both an overwhelming and inviting presence filled my optical range, vibrant sounds and unique smells engaged my auditory and olfactory systems, and a sunset struck an alpenglow on the mountains so brilliant that it sent me swirling into sensory overload. These memories of Peru constantly fill my thoughts; they create this imagery and take me back to a place, an experience that will forever shape my life and the life of my sister.
It all began with a conversation that took place between my sister and I a few years ago. It was during this conversation that a dream materialized: to explore the Peruvian Andes; to discover its hidden alpine wonders, piercing snow-feathered peaks, and rich cultural connections, and to do this, on our own, as young women and as sisters. We would call our adventure, ‘Las Hermanas de las Montanas’, in order to signify that the focus of the trip was our unique sister partnership in connection to our passion for mountaineering and our respect of the indigenous culture. Last fall, we took the first step in making this dream a reality when we proposed ‘Las Hermañas de Las Montañas,’ to the Alpine Club of Canada and were awarded the Jen Higgen's Award to carry out our dream of Peruvian adventures. This past summer we took the final step towards our vision. On June 25th, after a forty-eight hour period of complete sleep deprivation by hanging out in airports, traveling by airplane, and riding on busses, we finally arrived at the ‘Cruz del Sur’ bus terminal in Huaraz, Peru with four duffels below us, and six weeks of adventure before us.
After participating in a range of uniquely focused
expeditions, Rachel and I had developed very specific desires for what
we wanted our next expedition to physically entail. On the Juneau Icefield
we had experienced an enduring ski traverse that required intense navigation,
great tolerance of the color white, and extremely heavy sleds. On Denali
we experienced the opposite extreme; with one mountain, one long haul
up it, and of course, very heavy sleds! By the time we organized LHLM,
we were ready for a balance between these two extremes, but without losing
the beauty of exploration or the achievement of big peak climbing…and
we were also determined to never again haul sleds up or over anything!
Peru’s Cordillera Blanca seemed the perfect location to fulfill
the kind of trip we envisioned. At the end of our pre-trip planning, our
itinerary consisted of three phases. For the first phase we would spend
two and a half weeks alone in the heart of the Cordillera Blanca, climbing
three-four peaks and migrating between valleys. This phase would fulfill
our desire to be in the backcountry for an extended period of time and
to be on moderate snow routes, getting acclimatized, honing our skills,
and having plenty of time to absorb our surroundings. For the second phase
we would continue our extended stay in the backcountry but travel to a
valley and peak less visited by climbers. And, for the final phase we
would use a culmination of acclimatization, skill development, and familiarity
of the region to travel to a more demanding mountain and put to use more
of an alpine climbing ethic rather than a long-term trekking ethic. When
we left Salt Lake City, Utah for Huaraz, Peru, our itinerary was perfectly
planned in the manner explained above, however, like most expeditions,
itineraries rarely happen exactly as planned! Nonetheless, this expedition
surpassed our desires, encompassing both what we dreamt of and that which
we never expected. Here is my best account of the events that have left
such an impact on my sister and me.
We arrived in Huaraz, the urban center of the Peruvian
Ancash region. We were welcomed by smoky scents, the dry high altitude
air, the intensely bright colors on the clothing of the townspeople, and
some absolutely breathtaking views of the western side of the Cordillera.
We experienced our first taste of Huaraz-style living soon after, when
the town’s electricity went out during dinner and we had a very
enjoyable meal by candlelight! But then it was time to get to work: over
the next two days, we began untangling logistical nightmares concerning
burros, rides, camp watchers, and re-supplies.
Our adventure began at 3700 meters in a small village called Pitec at
the opening of Quebrada Quilcayhuanca, the valley where we planned to
establish base camp. A burro named Rosa traveled with us, as well as a
very sweet and smiley Porter/Cook named Marro. Marro, who was helping
us carry the first two weeks of supplies for the first three week phase
of the trip, traveled with us to base camp and would then stay an additional
two days in order to act as a camp-watcher while we climbed.
As we hiked the eight miles up Quilcayhuanca to our base camp below Laguna
Taullparaju, the topographic lines we had studied for many months slowly
took shape as valley walls gave way to views of the peaks, ridges and
lakes of Q. Quilcayhuanca. To our left as we hiked stood Nevada Wamanripa,
named for the medicinal plant that flourishes on its slopes. To the east
of Wamanripa stood Nevada Jatunmontepunko, meaning “mountain gateway,”
due to its inviting presence at the entrance of the Cordillera Blanca.
As we continued hiking up the valley we soon saw the enticing slopes of
Maparaju’s north face off to the south. And, standing omnipotent
before us as we neared camp was Nevada Chopiraju, meaning “center
of the mountain,” because its massive West ridge splits Quilcayhuanca
into two valleys. Our eyes were especially drawn to these peaks not only
because of their awe-inspiring stance at the height of the valley walls,
but also because these were the peaks that we planned to climb within
the next few weeks. It was with these sights on that first day of hiking
in the Blanca that the past six months of intense planning seemed worth
every ounce of stress, due to the excitement of finally seeing these peaks
in the flesh!
We established camp at 4300 meters, a little more than a mile above the split in the valley. We were now in a sub-valley called Q. Taullpiraju. The next few days required acclimatizing and scouting our routes up Wamanripa (5,258m), Jatunmontepunko (5,421m), and Chopiraju (5,518m). These days also entailed getting acquainted with the cows that desperately lingered by our camp in hope of one glorious lick of salt; we became familiar with this during the first day in the valley (Peru mountaineering lesson #1—learn to deal with cows!). It was on our second day in the mountains that we had our first experience with what we like to call “Peruvian fifth-class grass”. We had gone to scout Chopiraju from Laguna Taullparaju, a stunning lake at the base of Nevada Taullpiraju and Chinchey. We traversed around the edge of the lake to gain a ridge, which would permit a better view of Chopiraju. As we started up towards the ridge—with a frightening jump-start from an ice-fall calving incident—we found the earth beneath our feet comprised of grass, shrubbery and gravel, and the slope was becoming steeper and steeper. Of course, there was another way around to where we wanted to go, but we wanted the “short and sweet” route. While focusing intensely on crimping little pebbles and fighting gravity against the dirt, I heard Rachel above me holler in a typical “Rachel is anxious and/or possibly gripped” voice, “Katy, I’m fifth class climbing…on grass…with grass roots for hand holds and gravel pebbles for foot holds…what are we doing?” And so we descended. (Peru mountaineering rule #2—just because the cows can climb this stuff without technical equipment does not mean the humans can). This would be our first, but definitely not last, venture onto these uniquely steep (but somehow still cow infested) slopes that rise to the glaciers of the Cordillera Blanca.
The following day we made our way towards Wamanripa. Although barren of snow and small compared to the other peaks surrounding us, we had an excellent day climbing Wamanripa. It was the perfect acclimatization peak, for it demanded a long approach, 1500 or so meters of elevation gain, loose rock to scramble up, and a very rewarding first panoramic of the Cordillera Blanca. Upon our return back to camp many hours after departing, and after a near run in with angry cows, we heard the radio blasting from within the mega mid/cook tent. It was Marro desperately trying to follow the world cup soccer finals…we later consoled him after Brazil was defeated.
The next morning we again woke to Marro playing the same tape he had played for the last three days, consisting of traditional Peruvian Ancash Music. One’s desire to experience culture is cut seriously short when she awakes to high-pitched squeaking on a thirty year old tape player! On this particular morning the music did not seem as bothersome, however (either our North American ears were getting more accustomed to this native sound or we knew it would be the last morning we’d have to listen to it!). Today was the day we would establish a high camp for climbing Jatunmontepunko—also known as Huapi—and we planned on doing this alone. Thus, Marro would head back to Huaraz that afternoon while we ferried our first monster load up 1000 meters of vertical gain in less than three and half kilometers. If there was one thing that this ferrying made us realize about our type of trip, it is that if you want to climb (both rock and snow) for multiple weeks without re-supplies, you better be prepared to haul a lot of weight! We knew this, of course, beforehand….yet we always seem to forget just how much weight there actually will be! Although we streamlined gear in Huaraz, and streamlined again when Marro left, we still had a lot of stuff. This meant that Rachel and I would have to carry packs—weighing more than half our body weight—up and down steep slopes at elevations ranging from 3500-5200 meters. When we established high camp for Haupi, we remembered how draining a task like this is. With sore necks, backaches, and tired feet, we eventually managed to carry all of our gear and ourselves to a camp about one and a half kilometers from the base of the glacier on Huapi. However, soon after our arrival at high camp all our toil was forgotten and replaced with beauty. From our perch at 5200 meters we had the most spectacular views of Chichey, Chopiraju, San Juan, and Taullpiraju. In addition, gaining elevation allowed us to escape some of the traffic occurring in the lower valley and obtain some of that solitude we had yearned for so badly for while on our previous expedition together on Denali.
Climbing Huapi was a wonderful experience! We had
a beautiful sunshine-filled day with a small breeze and some nice hard
snow in the morning. Luckily, we summited early enough in the day to prevent
serious glacial melt-out on the trip down. The climbing was not exceedingly
technical, but there were some sections that provided excitement and a
sense of achievement after completion! The views were incredible, and
the day was perfect. We had the feelings of satisfaction and adventure
that reminded us why we schlepped those big packs all the way up to high
camp and why we had come to Peru in general.
Moving to the Chopiraju base camp with everything in one load caused some
suffering but was short enough as to not be a major epic! Chopiraju had
a pretty steep, “fifth-class grass” approach, and we were
concerned about time on the summit day. With 1000 meters of scrambling
on slippery moraine and 4th-easy 5th class loose rock, we didn’t
know if we would be able to do all that and climb another 500 meters of
technical snow in the same day. We ditched our climbing gear half way
up and decided to enjoy the scrambling and climbing to the saddle below
the glacier. Upon arrival, we discovered the route on the glacier/steep
snow would have been pretty straightforward and probably quick! Ah well,
we’d still had a long and fun day of climbing and talus skiing anyway.
After an evening of intense rain and crazy cows (I was convinced that a particular cow truly was coming back to get me when I was sleeping, but he/she never did), we were somewhat soggy and not very enthusiastic about packing up camp and moving all the way to the Maparaju base camp. The rain started to back off around mid-morning, and we used the windows between downpours to pack up. We truly could not have known what that day had in store. Navigating through meters and meters of mean, angry willows…crossing over many, many river beds…traversing through soggy meadows that drenched and filled our plastic boots with muck…and enduring lots of rain….all the while wearing our gigantic packs. We descended Q. Tallparaju and climbed up into Q. Kayesh. One of the most frightening moments of the entire trip was when we were crossing another soggy marshland area, and this time, the little grass tufts were not enough to keep Rachel from sinking into the mud. She sank in eight or nine inches at first, and tried to pull out, but she was stuck! Then, she started sinking more. Sinking while wearing huge plastic boots and a 65 or so pound pack (on a five feet tall female) is not an encouraging sensation! I somehow clambered over to her in a split second and grabbed her enormous pack as she sunk up to her thighs. This relieved the burden enough for her to work her boots up out of the very resistant muck (which leads to Peruvian mountaineering lesson #3: muck is treacherous, stay out of it. That’s all you need to know). With Rachel covered in not-so-wonderful smelling reddish sludge, we lugged our packs through the rest of the marshland and quickly decided it was time to make camp. It was already six o’ clock in the evening, the sun had set, and a very eerie Tolkein like fog was closing in on us. We could tolerate no more, so the tent was up and water collected in all of five minutes, as another downpour had started and we had no desire to continue feeling soggy.
The next few days consisted of settling in to a nice base camp for Maparaju (5,326m), meeting fellow travelers (the crazy Danes), scouting the route and ferrying our climbing gear up the old pre-Incan steep stone road to the Col on Maparaju (1000 or so meters above camp), meeting more fellow climbers (the crazy Scots) and then attempting the Southwest Glacier route in very sub-optimal weather (blizzard, white-out, blech!). We would not have even attempted to climb that day had our gear not been stuck up on the mountain. But since this was our only opportunity to climb it, we went for it. It was a wet, cold, dark and long approach to the Col. After reaching our gear and getting prepared for the climbing, we traveled a few hundred meters beyond our gear stash and onto the technical glacier part of the route. We were then enshrouded in another white-out, and as we did not feel this to be a very safe thing right below a technical summit, we decided to descend. As we headed down, the views of the clouds lifting up and over Cayesh—a prominent pinnacle and technical ice/rock-climbing destination—were spectacular. The day felt like a worthy endeavor, even if a bit too “Alaska-like” in weather! (Peruvian Mountaineering lesson #4—the weather can get just as nasty as anywhere up north, don’t let that “sunny” South American advertising fool you!)
After Maparaju, it was time to head down the Quilcayhuanca for a re-supply. Two and one-half weeks of our trip had passed and it was time for more food, more film, and a different region of the mountains. This was also the start of phase two: when we traveled into a more remote region and planned to ascend a peak not as heavily traveled by other climbers. The fact that our next destination was not a common one was apparent as soon as our porter/cook, Pelio, arrived and we headed out to Quebrada Makana, attempting to skirt extensive foothills, farmlands, valleys and streams for eight-nine kilometers. We finally arrived at a huge looming hillside that supposedly would lead us towards the high alpine valley where we were headed. No trails, of course! Fortunately we had Pelio to help us in our discussion of where to start climbing up. The three of us were able to use the maps and descriptions and then we located the cairns which dotted the hillside. And then it was up, up, up! The idea of heading to Q. Makana and seeking out a peak called Wamasharaju had been planted in our minds by a close friend and climbing regular of the Cordillera Blanca. We promised to keep details of this place secret to help keep it in its pristine condition, so I apologize for any vagueness on the approach description.
Fortunately we had a burro to assist us in making this high camp. Gaining the 1100 or so meters in elevation over several kilometers would have been tremendously difficult with huge packs, especially after already having traveled for numerous hours that day. After dropping into a small, beautiful alpine valley with huge slabs of granite leading up towards the high peaks, we gained the next section of 3rd class granite that would lead us higher. Unfortunately, Suzy (the incredible burro!) would not be able to go further, so we ferried loads to camp. After scrambling up the 3rd class granite for 30 minutes or so, we reached a plateau area and an incredible vista! Wamasharaju (5,434m), the mountain we were planning to climb, jutted up and out over an incredible ravine, with a huge deep alpine lake, a higher alpine meadow, and a steep waterfalls in between. Enormous granite slabs jutted into the dark blue lake, and the overall effect was highly dramatic and extraordinarily scenic. It would have been another 300-400 meters down to the lake, so fortunately, the route to the higher alpine meadow appeared to traverse the steep lateral hill and there was a narrow and steeply exposed trail that led us right to a great campsite. After two load ferries, we had all of our gear. After that long day, Rachel and I enjoyed a wonderful evening of cooking with Pelio, eating a three course dinner and drinking our favorite beverage all night: mate de coca. It was this particular evening that planted a seed for our next and 3rd phase endeavor. Pelio was also a guide, and we were asking him questions about Artesonraju, another famous Peruvian peak (the ‘Paramount Pictures’ mountain!). We became very interested in climbing it after this particular discussion.
We were more than pleased with this beautiful place—a pristine, granite, alpine wonderland with no cows and no people! It was beautiful, and just what we were hoping for. We sent Pelio off the next morning, and continued the adventure by ourselves. We scouted and dropped our climbing gear about half way up the route on Wamasharaju, below the technical glacier, and then the next day enjoyed an incredible rest day replete with yoga, mate de coca, candy and sunshine!
The very early morning was cold and clear when we went for our summit day. The views of the rest of the Cordillera were amazing from the flanks of Wamasharaju, and we watched in awe as the sun slowly crept onto the borders of the eastern mountains. It was still quite chilly over on our cold western side, however, and we quickly hustled up the sometimes precipitous moraine….and more moraine….and then finally to the start of the steep glacier. The snow was very firm and icy, and the initial slope started out at an ‘in-your-face’ 50 degrees. The climbing was fun and exciting, and we carefully placed gear the whole way up. There were some exposed crevasses peaking through on the more southern aspect, and we skirted more and more towards the western ridgeline proper to avoid them. We reached a nice flat staging area below the last 300 meters of the climb just as the sun hit. We could not have chosen a more brilliant day for climbing—the weather was ideal, the sun was warm, there was no wind, nor a single cloud in the sky! There are not many things in this world that surpass being able to look up on a stunning day like this, feel your heart pounding, and see only glaciated mountains before you and a smiling sister tethered to the other end of the rope below you.
The last part of the route looked as if it might be problematic: we could see a definite bergshrund cutting through the whole upper snowline, and the slope appeared to get quite steep. We quickly hustled up to the ‘shrund, as the slope steepened to 55-60 degrees, with a large drop off on our left and large crevasses down the slope below. We led out to scout the crossing. We originally thought we could somehow step over it, with one of us belaying tightly on a good anchor for the whole upper section, and then setting an anchor up top and belaying the other up to the summit proper. However, the bergshrund was impassible! (Peru Mountaineering Rule #5—if you can see it from base camp, it is too big to cross!) Like usual, it was much larger than it had appeared from below, four or five feet wide and very, very deep. Yikes! There did not seem to be a safe way of crossing it (or any way, for that matter!). Far right led to a huge moat and an overhanging ice wall. We hemmed and hawed for awhile, but knew our only option was to descend, 50 meters below the summit. It was very frustrating, and we were disappointed. It had been such an ideal day….and such a dazzling mountain. We had wanted the icing on top of the cake!
Our departure from Wamasharaju had some interesting events in store. The night before we planned to leave we had spiced up our dinner with what we found later to be ‘bad’ cheese. Fortunately, only one of us suffered the consequences. That someone happened to be me. As the nasty cheese unleashed its bacteria into my body I writhed in pain and longed for a moment of rest. That wish was never fulfilled and my distress only worsened throughout the evening. With me insisting that I absolutely could not spend another night sick in the backcountry, Rachel packed up camp and attempted to get me to drink and eat. But with my body desiring to purge all bacteria, nothing stayed in my stomach for long. However, I was determined to leave. I somehow hiked over talus, granite, and back through the thirteen kilometers of up and down farmland at high elevation while completely exhausted from not sleeping all night, with no food energy reserves, and with continued sickness and pain. I did make it back to Huaraz that day but it was one of the most grueling days I have ever experienced. I have never been so happy to return to town and a real bed. This tale of course leads us to Peru Mountaineering Rule #6: however tempting, and however blessed with a ‘steel stomach’ you might be, do not take unwrapped dairy products into the backcountry! Especially when everyone has already told you this and you do it anyway.
Ahhh, it was nice to be back in civilization after over three weeks out! Showers, flip-flops and all the food and tea that we wanted! We relaxed and did extensive logistics in Huaraz, preparing for the final phase of our adventures in two days. We decided to attempt Artesonraju (6,025m), the peak mentioned above in our discussion with Pelio. Artensonraju is a majestic peak in the Northern Cordillera with a very “classic” mountaineering route: an approximately 1200 meter face of 55-75 degree hard snow/glacial ice. We knew it might be a bit of a challenge for us, with a very large and sustained moderately steep ice/hard snow climb requiring ice tools, and some steeper climbing at the top of the route to gain the final ridgeline to the summit proper. We were very excited, however, looking forward to the mental and physical challenge of the huge elevation gain on summit day and the endurance required for the climb. In Huaraz, we met back up with our friends, the folks from Scotland, who entertained us with wacky climbing tails and gut-busting UK style humor. Our friends were also planning to head into the Paron Valley, where they would attempt a climb on Piramide, a wild looking peak with crazy flutings and huge cornices. We also met some friendly Canadians from Calgary who were planning the same route on Artesonraju. All of us decided to share the five-hour ‘collectivo’ ride to Laguna Paron at the foot of the valley and hike in together before parting our separate ways.
Artesonraju provided us with as much adventure as we had been desiring! Quebrada Paron was another incredibly scenic valley, surrounded by the high and mighty peaks of Piramide, Churup, and many more mountains with names that are not only hard to pronounce and spell but also have at least five different other names! Unfortunately, my ‘illness’ decided to pay me another visit on the hike in, and I spent the first night at base camp in the Bibler tent, in a state of agony! I somehow managed to hike the 1000 meters and nine or so kilometers up to high camp the next day, despite not having had a decent meal in twenty-four hours, and despite my sister’s wish that I rest. The journey to high camp was tough, with big packs, high winds, and then the last final angst-inducing stretch: one and a half miles of “dry” glacier. Those of you who have been on Artesonraju know what a lie that is…as ‘dry’ actually connotes “full of little nasty pools of water” that you cannot ever see! We finally arrived at base camp, which was actually on true glacier, nestled at 5400 meters in a “valley” between the south face of Artesonraju and the north face of Piramide.
We rested the next day while several parties went for the summit. Our Canadian friends summitted successfully that day, as we zoomed in with our video lens to see the tiny little spots on the summit ridgeline! We went out to scout the beginning of the route and get a feel for the snow conditions. The winds picked up, and that night a low-pressure system started to come in. We started the ascent at 1:00 am, surprised by the warmish temperatures, and trekking out into the full moon! It was amazing; we did not even need our headlamps on! We quickly made our way up the crevassed approach, and came to the area below the first main obstacle, the bergshrund, where the technical climbing began. There were five parties on the route that morning, so things were a bit congested for a while at the bergshrund. Right below the, shrund we encountered two groups that had turned around. They told us the snow was horrible above and they desired only to return to their tents. As we waited for them to descend below us so we could climb over the ‘shrund we started to get cold. After bypassing the obstacle, we were rather dismayed at the loose, sugary snow on the steep slope; this must have been what they were talking about. At this point, the real hand over hand climbing was necessary, however, it was very difficult to get purchase in the sugary snow! You would climb up a meter only to slide down half a meter! It was frustrating and slow-going and quite on settling when on 60 degree snow. Apparently, the low pressure had allowed for increased temperatures and some deterioration of the snow pack. Since there had been some huge storms a week or so previous, there was still quite a bit of thick snow that was somewhat “rotten” and unstable in the warming temperatures. The slow climbing made us cold, despite having started out so warm and enthusiastic! Now we were deliberating. We hadn’t expected we would climb this slow, and since we already had a sixteen or seventeen hour day ahead of us (if we were fast) this might put us way over twenty-four hours. And we did not know if we had enough food or physical reserve for that length of time on this enormous peak with some seriously long down-climbing and necessary repels. However, we had a hope that the snow would be firmer higher up and this might restore our motivation, so we continued up. After climbing up another 100 meters or so, we made our decision—these were not the conditions in which we wanted to climb the peak, and we were apprehensive. So we descended. Although I wish the factors determining our decision at that moment would have lead to us continuing to climb, I have never been so exhilarated on a descent. It seemed as though at the moment we began our descent the sun began to slowly rise way out in the east and the moon began to set. Seeing a full spectrum alpenglow sunrise putting the moon to rest at 5400 meters in the Cordillera Blanca is what comes to my mind when people ask me why I enjoy mountaineering. Words never do the trick, but if they could see the visions that dance in my mind like these ones, and feel the corresponding emotions that they conjure up, they would understand in a heartbeat!
Despite our conservative nature and not having summitted most of the peaks we attempted, we still came out of Quebrada Paron satisfied and content with our adventures in the Cordillera Blanca. We had seen great beauty, explored and hiked in many a valley, and wholeheartedly enjoyed the drama and excitement on standing on at least the higher flanks of all the mountains we had planned on climbing! We are not the obsessively goal-oriented type, that is to say, not overly concerned with the actual summit-bagging. We are both more experience-oriented, preferring the present sensory events of the adventure over the actual ‘accomplishment’ of it.
We completed our journey by spending the last five days in Huaraz, without any logistics or hurried business to accomplish--just time to soak up Peruvian culture! We were able to fully take in all the markets, spending time with the porters we had befriended and the Mesa family (where we were lodging), enjoying the fun and celebration of Fiestas Patrias, the national independence day of Peru, and spending time relaxing over tea with each other and our new found UK, Canadian, and American friends. We ate, we danced, and we reflected on our exciting adventures. Peru Mountaineering rule #7 is that you should have just as much fun vacationing and partying in Huaraz as you did climbing in the Cordillera! Our six weeks gone in a blur, we finally headed home…exhausted from the all-night bus ride, loaded with dirty gear and too many food products and gifts…
On our trip to Peru, Rachel and I made it through
some intense adventures and together reached new levels of physical and
mental strength. We also worked through some intense emotional issues
and reached new levels in our relationship. As Rachel stated in a message
to the Alpine Club of Canada…“I feel that I learn individual
lessons on most expeditions, but on my expeditions with my sister, I learn
the most about relationships and I am required to grow in my communication
and conflict resolution skills more so than in any other situation.”
It was on this Peruvian trip that I observed that we do these trips together
because of our relationship and our ability as partners to work together
to overcome obstacles and push ourselves to new limits, but the reason
why we have such a powerful sisterhood in the first place is because of
these trips. They force us to grow as individuals and as sisters in a
way no other experience could.
In the end, we were able to experience the wonders of Peru, its mountains
and its culture, together! This is something we will always have very
dear in our hearts that we can share with each other until we are little
old white-haired ladies! And we are both inspired to return, to climb
those peaks that we did not get to summit, to climb new peaks in the range,
(ski?!) and also to learn more about the Ancash region in general…
…and of course, on the airplane ride home, we were already planning the return trip to Peru!
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