This Mountain in Peru Almost Killed Me…

Trial By Mountain

This mountain almost killed me.

It’s not a tale I’ve told often, but it deserves some air time.

Despite growing up by the coast, I’ve long felt like a mountain man. Probably no surprise to those who know me well enough.

It’s hard to say when it all started.

I camped often as a kid, and that six month action-adventure saga throughout the mountains and volcanos of Central America back in 2011 definitely had something to do with it.

But one of the most powerful times that I was truly humbled by a wild god?

Well, that goes back to my first foray in the snow-capped mountains of the Peruvian Andes. Salkantay Mountain, the highest peak in the Vilcabamba mountain range.

Apparently the word Salkantay is derived from the Quechuan word “salqa” meaning “invincible, wild or savage.”

Savage Mountain.

Fitting. 

That wild god almost consumed me whole.

I’d just transitioned to the mountains from drinking Ayahuasca and Huachuma in the Amazon jungle, and was totally unprepared for the 5 day trek to come.

I ordered a bunch of steamed potatoes from the hostel I was staying in, wrapped in tin foil, and picked up some dried snacks from the local store.

For some unhinged reason, I thought that would suffice. 

I didn’t even have a map with me. And I was doing it all alone. I can’t even recall if anyone knew that I was up there.

With tent, sleeping gear, cookware, and a haul of potatoes in my pack, I hitched a ride in the back of a busted ute tray; up-up-up to the start of the trailhead.

Azure blue glacial waters were there to greet me; lagoon and flowing water. Grandiose peaks, jutting like ancient vertebrae.

But it was that first night in my tent alone that anxiety kicked in.

Heart rate up. Lightheaded. Feeling heavy in my body. Short of oxygen. Chest tight.

Altitude sickness.

I started to panic. 

I clambered out of my tent in the dark of night as sleety rain came in. Some porters were nearby earlier on, so I started yelling for help, to no avail. Clearly I hadn’t take appropriate time to acclimate to my newfound surrounds.

I returned to my tent to continue my panic attack, when eventually, a Westerner came over. 

A nurse, thank goodness. 

Or so he said.

He checked my vitals, and although he said he didn’t have any altitude medication, he gave me a pill nonetheless. 

Aspirin? Paracetamol? Ibuprofen?

I’ve no idea, but I took it.

I recall asking him if he thought I’d be okay throughout the night.

He assured me I would, but I can recall thinking his eyes were saying something different. There was a part of me that wanted to believe his words rather than the subtle look on his face.

Thoughts swirled. 

What if I packed up camp and started walking down the mountain? It’s dark, but maybe I could find the way? What about the rundown shack at the trailhead, maybe if someone was there they could help? 

Ludicrous really. 

I bargained with god. If I survive tonight, I’ll go back down the mountain tomorrow. Broken sleep had it’s way with me, and by the time dawn came, my tent was covered in an inch of snow.

I’d awoken to a white-capped mountainous wonderland.

Stunning. 

My renewed vigour for being alive got the better of me and I broke the deal I’d made last night, deciding to continue on. 

I’d be making my way over the pass that day anyway. If I survived last night, surely I’d be fine. How much worse could it get?

Well, those bland potatoes didn’t do much for my stamina and strength, and over the next few days I succumbed to fatigue and digestive distress. 

There was a section; a steady ascent, where I couldn’t even walk for more than 25-50 metres without crumbling on the side of the trail, purging from both ends, groaning in misery and defeat.

It was in that time, with no one else in sight, that I wondered if this would be the end of me. I’ve had a few moments like that in my life.

I can’t quite remember, but I wonder if I tried to bargain with spirit again. Whatever the case, a porter happened upon me, and insisted that he carry my pack until I could make it to the next downhill section where the trail was much more forgiving.

A true trail angel.

I mustered up the energy and continued on, until indeed, the descending trail became much more manageable.

There’s more to the story, but I finished the trek and obviously made it off the mountain. From anxiety, fear, panic, and overwhelm, to awe, wonder, tremendous beauty, and being rocked by the profundity of the Andean mountain wilderness. 

Severely underprepared. Naïve. No offerings to the mountains.

Safe to say, Salkantay taught me some powerful lessons a decade ago, that I still carry with me to this day.

I’d like to think those days of reckless and irresponsible behaviour have been replaced with a shred of humility and wisdom, without the diminishment of my sense of adventure.

I sometimes wonder why a growing number of people choose to spend time with me up in the mountains. A blend of wilderness immersion and plant-based shamanism.

Many reasons, to be sure, but I think that, unbeknownst to many, a transmission of Salkantay comes through and certainly plays a part., alongside all the other wild spirits that’ve had their way with me.

If you feel there’s a transmission of something that’s calling you forth, come and tune in.

You check out the Upcoming Events page, listen in to the podcast, follow on social media, or read more if that’s your thing.

Whatever the case, hope to see you in the mountains…