

# Darkest Peru

## Robert Cooke

Copyright © 2016 by Robert Cooke

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof  
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever  
without the express written permission of the publisher  
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Printing, 2016

Smashwords Edition

Cover design by kitfosterdesign.com

https://robertcookeauthor.wordpress.com/

For all those with adventure in their souls.

## Contents

1: How It All Began

2: The Second Day

3: The Crossing

4: Night Time Wanderings

5: The Great Mountain

6: The Shadows Of The Mountain

7: The Long Night

8: The Long Descent

9: Jungle Encounters

10: Quyllur-Wasi

11: In The Stark Light Of Day

12: The Return Begins

13: Darkest Peru

14: The Summit Of The World

15: Recompense

16: Back To The Trail

17: The Last Day

18: Consequences

About The Author

# 1

## How It All Began

How to start a tale? There are many places in which I could start this recount for there is always a background as to how events come to happen, the events that lead to those events if you will. However since there would also be things leading to those earlier points I think it better to just jump in.

I had found myself in darkest Peru; as Paddington Bear likes to call it. I suspect that he calls it such not owing to the lack of sunshine, as I can assure you it's quite toasty, but owing to the fact that he too had, at one stage, had his phone pinched by a no good pickpocket in Cusco. I won't recount the details because they aren't very interesting and don't, as it happens, have anything to do with this tale. All it serves is to frame the situation I had found myself in. Trekking along a dusty abandoned road, hours from civilisation, without any means of communication with the wider world. I'd set off with the grand hope of discovering some lost Inca ruin in the wilds of the country. I'd provisioned myself with the sort of equipment you'd expect to need on such an expedition: Tent, sleeping bag, insect repellent, sturdy machete, toilet roll, cooking gear, dehydrated meals, water purification tablets and filter, gaffer tape, a week's supply of cooled chocolate. You know, the essentials. How did I embark on such a mission you might ask? Well it all began in a small village in the Colca Valley.

***

I was hiking as many people do, the famous Cañón del Colca. The second deepest canyon in the world, behind the neighbouring Cañón del Cotahuasi, it sits at over twice the depth of Arizona's famed Grand Canyon. Instead of being an empty gorge as that is though, the Colca Canyon is filled with lush vegetation, fruit trees, cacti, a whole extravaganza of flora and fauna. I had stopped at a small village and was there met with a disapproving look from one of the village's elder women.

"Hola, bueños dias," I said in my most excellent Spanish.

The woman responded by giving me a questioning gaze as though she didn't quite trust me and just wanted me to go away. Rather than be dissuaded I decided to take it as an opportunity to prove myself, so I dug around in my memory before asking, "How are you?" in my most charming Quechua, "and many blessings be upon you this fine day."

Her tone eased and she apologised sincerely, saying how in her haste she mistook me for a good for nothing tourist and not the true friend of Peru she now saw me for. I told her that it's absolutely fine, how horrid I found it that tourists had invaded this fine area, much like they had that of Machu Picchu and increasingly so Choquequirao too. I switched back to Spanish, my grasp of the old native Quechua langauage being basic at best, cursing them, their families and their childhood pets and what have you; lamenting how they had defiled the land, all the while congratulating myself on a most stellar performance. Yes, for I too was a traveller in the country; even if I did generally try to be a conscientious one, I wasn't the White Peruvian she took me for. We continued to talk and the woman, whose name I learnt was Isabel, absent mindedly mentioned how at least they hadn't got hold of Quyllur-Wasi. Quyllur-Wasi, I thought, I'd never heard of this place. I'd scoured Lonely Planet's guide to Peru quite thoroughly and nowhere was Quyllur-Wasi mentioned. So, hoping to tease a little bit more information out of her without seeming ignorant, I exclaimed my sadness that my usual route to this great place had proved impassable recently due to a landslide, and enquired as to her preferred path. I was silently praying that this treasured place was resting somewhere in the mountains and not the low lying Amazon, or sprawling desert flatlands. I got lucky and she said, "the northern pass?" eyes digging right into me.

I nodded my head, "completely blocked off."

"Ahh," she said, "then you'll have to take the old trail."

Now assured that I was above suspicion I confessed to my ignorance as to the start of this trail, only seeing its termination at Quyllur-Wasi. She then said that I shouldn't be ashamed; that it was an old and now rarely used path that starts at a jagged outcropping of rocks, where rests a steep track, then staircase that leads up the valley; that I had to follow the riverside track from Paucartambo; and that after a couple of hours walking I should find the path. Not wanting to sound too eager and arouse suspicion I said that I'd have to pay my respects there soon as it had been far too long, before changing the subject and enquiring as to the health of her family and if she'd like a nice mug of coca-tea.

We talked for a good long while and I learnt a lot about the local area, plants, Peru's history and her own family. She even insisted upon cooking me dinner and I didn't leave till long after I'd originally planned. I won't trouble you with the details of what she said for it was a very long chat and irrelevant to the tale in hand in most parts; all you need to know is that Isabel was a lovely, very knowledgeable woman, who astonished me with her open heartedness once she had set aside her initial suspicion. A woman who nevertheless failed to realise I wasn't in fact born to a Peruvian/American couple from Mancora, but did in fact hail from the sleepy seaside town of Southwold in her Majesty's England.

***

This was, to return to the point, how I came to be trudging along a dusty riverside path. I might sound slightly disgruntled at this fact, but this was more owing to the swarms of flies and mosquitoes that were pestering me, despite my stern application of insect repellent, than anything more substantial.

The river cascaded loudly beside me. Trees that signalled I was in the Amazon basin rose up alongside towering mountain peaks. Birdsong filled the air and I couldn't help but feel that I was on the verge of a great discovery.

Now, so that you understand the situation a bit more accurately, I wasn't as you might expect, an explorer; I didn't make my living off finding old ruins. I wasn't a wilderness expert either; my mountain survival experience consisted of three days hiking in Derbyshire for my silver Duke of Edinburgh award when I was 15. This whole thing was, in point of fact, a very bad and very stupid idea. Now before getting any bright ideas about how all must have worked out fine as I'm writing this blah blah I should point out that I could be writing this en-route, maybe someone else is writing it, or maybe I'm making the whole damn thing up. Either way I shall remind you that you should never trust a writer. They get bored, they elaborate, they mess with your head and sometimes, they even tell the truth. So don't second guess.

Yes! A dusty trail. The taxi driver whom I had hired at my hotel in Paucartambo, having taken a terrifying bus there from Cusco the previous day; had dropped me off at the end of this riverside path and supposedly had no knowledge of any ruin by the name of Quyllur-Wasi, at least no knowledge he was willing to divulge. Rather than discouraging me, this made me quite content that I was on the verge of a great discovery. Truly the thought that I might be going on a wild goose chase orchestrated by a bitter old Peruvian lady, angry at the westernisation of her country and prying cameras that followed, never crossed my mind. This was darkest Peru! This was a magical land, home to the Incas, the Waris and the Chavin cultures in days gone past. Walking out into the cloud forest stretched around me and not finding something remarkable seemed to me the more improbable scenario.

The path along the river was mostly flat, easing me into my expedition. That being said I wasn't accustomed to the size of my pack. Till this point I'd only been carrying it from bus station to taxi, then from taxi to hostel. When I'd ventured on short hikes so far on my trip I would generally take a smaller day bag with me. Not to mention how my bag had taken on a fairly large amount of added weight of late due to the extra, specialist equipment I'd bought. I mean a machete, honestly? I was beginning to rue that purchase, especially seeing as any situation in which I'd need to use a machete I'd be far more likely to cut off my own limbs than do anything remotely helpful. All this weight combined with the mid-morning sun beating down on me had me questioning, momentarily, what I was doing. I wasn't an explorer, I don't want to labour the point but I wasn't Indiana Jones. I was an actor, a bad one, I wasn't even Harrison Ford; I couldn't even pretend I was Indiana Jones.

I stopped, hauled my bag off my back, placing it with a thud on the dirt path and then grabbed my water bottle and took a long swig. I wondered if I might have contracted Dengue Fever, I'd heard it was prevalent in this part of the world. I shook my head, I'd been walking for twenty minutes! Who gives up after twenty minutes? Robert Falcon Scott didn't. Of course that little devil on my shoulder whispered that Robert Falcon Scott also died in the frozen wastelands of Antarctica so perhaps it'd have been best if he had given up after twenty minutes. But then the names of all the other great explorers came into my mind: David Livingstone, Christopher Columbus, Vasco de Gama, Sir Walter Raleigh, James Cook, Marco Polo; and I thought to myself, 'meh, it can't be that hard'. So I put my monster pack back on, tightened the straps and hit the road.

With my renewed vigour I made good time. Well it felt like I was making good time, since I had no basis to judge this on I assumed that my merry strolling was at a good pace. I was, at the least, stopping less; which could be no bad thing. The sun though, intensity only increasing, was making me sweat rivers and so I crossed into the shade of some overhanging trees and there took stock of my situation. I'd been walking for an hour and a half at this point. If the old lady's directions were accurate I should be hitting the trail head within half an hour. Of course this was an elderly lady saying it was a two hour walk, I could therefore feasibly be hitting the trail-head any minute as an active man in his youth. Buoyed by this thought I set off once more.

Ten, twenty, thirty minutes... an hour passed and there was no sign of the outcropping of rock. Had I missed my mark? I was half tempted to back track my route, but the mere notion of undoing the work I'd done stayed my hand, or legs I guess. For the first time I started to question Isabel's directions. Had I been deceived? Was this just an elaborate practical joke to pull one over a gringo? Was she even now sitting laughing in her house? No, I refused to believe so. We'd had a nice chat over a cup of tea, I refused utterly to believe that I'd been deceived so. You may now be wondering if I had indeed been tricked, after all I'd tricked Isabel; no-one lies to elderly people, that's just mean. It'd be only fair after all. Was this, therefore, the end of the story? You get short stories after all, anticlimaxes. Was this one of those; an anti-climactic, unfulfilling, short story? Well the words are continuing so let's assume my perseverance paid off and there is some life left in this story yet.

***

I continued on my route, certain that I couldn't have missed a sign as obvious as the one I was looking for. I started to panic though, taking little tracks that I thought, nay hoped, might be the trail, even though they looked nothing like what I was looking for. This wasted more time as I had to work my way back to the river as it became clear the path was incorrect. But lo! With perseverance about to run out, I saw it! Light, a shining beacon, a large jagged outcropping of rocks splitting the dense forest and jungle on either side! I nearly whooped with joy. As foretold there was my path, though it was quite hidden with overgrown bushes, masking the path to any passers-by. An old, low stone wall confirmed the trail though farther up, climbing steeply alongside these rocks and reassuring me that I was in the correct place.

Despite the lushness of the surrounding forest my path itself was bone dry from the sun; much as the path along the river was. Frequently my footing would slip and send small stones tumbling far down the path. Fortunately, due to the wall on one side, and steep rock on the other, it was only really possible to fall on my face, or flat on my backside. Luckily neither of these happened, despite my backpack threatening to overbalance me.

After a while I reached the top of the rocky outcropping and the valley to my left revealed itself in all its glory. The river stretched far into the distance, winding its way left and right. Mountains stretched high around me, some snow capped, some covered to the peak in trees, others obscured from midway up by rolling white clouds. I could see the path I'd started on a pleasing distance below me, I sat down and congratulated myself on how far I'd come. I took a long swig of water, then seeing my bottle already half empty, cursed myself for a fool for not filling it up at the river. Why did I insist on drinking so much earlier; why did I not pack more than a couple of bottles? At least, I supposed, it was less weight to carry.

Checking my watch, a cheap and basic black Casio, I saw it was now 1 o'clock and decided that this was as good a time as any to stop for my lunch.

My lunch consisted of some trail mix, of which I'd brought a large bag, and some cheese and ham sandwiches. Sandwiches, of course, wouldn't keep long in the heat but I thought, why not cling on to a few luxuries whilst the opportunity presented itself. 'Sandwiches luxuries?' you might say. They certainly weren't a warm burger or a Domino's stuffed crust. They weren't even fancy sandwiches like lemon and crayfish. The ham wasn't even honey and mustard, it was wafer thin. But still, sandwiches are not trail food.

How long this trek would take I didn't rightly know, as I had foolishly forgotten to ask. I could quite easily get lost too, making my life much more difficult. In any case it was possible that my food stash could run out and I'd be left relying on whatever I could scavenge, and considering my lack of woodland skills I'd probably just be eating fruit. Even if my stash of dehydrated food were to last, I'm sure in a week's time I'd be longing for a cheese and ham sandwich to break up the monotony of rice and beans. 'But you said you have cooled chocolate...' I hear you ask, 'why can't you keep sandwiches cool?' The short answer is that given my limited amount of cooling packs it was a toss-up between the two and honestly, chocolate takes precedence. Also were the packs to fail, which they would in time, chocolate would melt, but could also reform. Cheese and ham would simply go off and taste awful. I had incidentally also brought with me a quantity of flat bread which should last a decent length of time, although with no accompaniment to speak of they would be less than appetising.

I took stock of my situation. If nothing else were to come of this trip at least I'd escaped, for a time, the well trodden tourist routes of Peru. Looking at the untrodden path in front of me I was fairly certain no one had passed this way for a while and I'd have been very surprised if that person wasn't a local.

I half wondered if I should have obscured my own tracks at the trail-head, so as not to encourage anyone who happened upon it, but then I consoled myself that if a westerner was going to stumble upon this place by chance then they would have done so already; besides I certainly wasn't going to climb all the way back down. You see now that I was back on the route any lingering doubts in my mind about the authenticity of Quyllur-Wasi had vanished. I can't express quite what I imagined I'd find as it changed quite frequently. I guess I had in my head a ruin untouched, maybe ornate, with unpillaged treasure. Vilcabamba was supposedly the lost city of the Incas, but since that isn't actually lost and got fairly smashed up by the Spanish I suppose I thought I was on the cusp of the true lost city. Who knows? Perhaps the Incas even still live there! Their demise was exaggerated, they are simply lying in wait. Realising that, as is often the case, my imagination was getting the better of me, I decided I should probably get walking again.

The path continued to climb and before long I was out of breath. Trees had risen up on both sides now so I was unable to even see how much farther I'd climbed. Part of me wanted to wander off the path and see if I could find a view down, however the sensible part of me realised this would likely end up with me splattered on a rock; in this instance the sensible part won over.

I can't say for sure but I feel everyone has these two contrasting elements in their minds. The adventurous, spontaneous, often mad part; and the sensible, mundane worrier, that keeps the other half in check. It's just the case that they manifest in different amounts from person to person. In myself I believe there is an interesting balance. The sensible part will win the war for a while, for that's what it is, a war; then thoroughly fed up, the adventurous part will take over and engage on a spontaneous trip or mission. The whole situation I found myself in, amongst the trees hundreds of metres up a mountain, was one such mission. The sensible part of me wanted to wrest some control of the situation, the spontaneous part just wanted to run amok.

I paused catching my breath, wondering how far I could walk before it got dark. It was now approaching three o'clock. The good news was that it was the dry season in this area so bad weather wasn't much of an issue. The bad news was that with Peru sitting on the equator the length of days in the country stay pretty similar year round with it tending to get dark around 5:30/6 o'clock. So using my powers of deduction I surmised I had about three hours of sunlight left. It was therefore, the sensible part of my head thought, probably a good time to start looking for a flat patch of land to camp on. Refreshed after my brief pause I set off again, eyes peeled. Now the problem with trying to camp on a mountain is that there is a paucity of flat ground, with the mountain in question being in the Amazon basin it made it doubly difficult as what flat land there is, is mostly taken up by plant life; and I don't mean grass.

***

The light was beginning to fade and I'm not going to pretend in two hours of hiking I didn't find a single flat bit of land. What I will say is I was picky. The camping I'd done before was done solely in campgrounds; campgrounds with flat, unstony and quite comfortable grass. The flat bits I found on my route were stony, sometimes rocky, always uneven and occasionally wet too. But it was now at the point where I could no longer be picky so I'd settled on a fairly even patch on the trail itself. It was hardly ideal, certainly some of the places I'd passed up earlier on would have been far better. Still it was almost a platform, lying between two sharp rises in the path. To the left the trees opened out, almost like a window, the ground here sloped slightly, with the odd shrub clinging to life on the edge, before dropping sharply down. To the right was a barrier of stone maybe two metres high, atop this the jungle/forest (it was a peculiar mixture of both in this area) climbed up into the distance.

You might say it was a fairly decent spot to camp. What worried me though, and were it not for the fading light I'd have moved on from here too, was how small the platform was. It just fitted my tent, positioning the door it either opened to a brick wall, a sharp incline, sharp decline, or effectively a vertical drop. The guy lines were pegged in perilously at best and it seemed to me that it would be fairly easy for me to roll over in the night and take myself, the tent and my luggage off the edge of the mountain. I consoled myself though with the thought that my bag should have sufficient weight to hold the tent in place.

I secured the ropes as best I could, pegging them in at all sorts of angles and supporting them with whatever rocks and branches I could find nearby. Putting the tent up itself was a perilous challenge with a gust of wind catching the inner sheet as I opened it out and nearly carrying me tumbling down the hill. Fortunately my tent was a sturdy, yet light one, only using one tent pole to make what was almost a blade shape. This was therefore up in ten minutes. The bad side to this design was that it was reliant on the pegs holding its shape. I positioned the door to the incline and put my pack in. Next I contemplated my plans for the next day, such as I could make them.

I'd spent most of the afternoon ascending and deduced that this couldn't continue for much longer. Was I, therefore, near my goal? I had no estimate on time; it could've been a day or a week trek for all I knew. I decided it was best not to dwell on the path to come, I would arrive when I arrived. Assuming, said a dark voice in my head, that I managed to arrive at all. I quickly shut down these thoughts of distress and instead replaced them with thoughts of fame and triumph: Announcing my discovery to the news stations of the world; returning to the UK in triumph; writing books on the subject; being known as an 'academic', someone whose thoughts are actually listened to. As I got bored of this it crossed my mind that of all the things I'd brought with me I'd neglected to bring a book, which was really uncharacteristic of me,. Figuring I had nothing better to do I thought I may as well look at cooking dinner.

I had with me a trangia, a small stove running on ethanol, and so I pulled out one of my packets of dehydrated food, ripped the top off and dumped the contents into the small pan. I then added the required amount of water but nearly choked having done this when I realised that minus a dribble left in the bottom of the bottle that was it, I was out. Mission for tomorrow number one, find a stream, or lake, or puddle, or something! Pulling out a box of matches from one of my bag's numerous pockets I quickly had the stove alight. D.O.E doing me proud! Duke of Edinburgh or D.O.E, is, for those who are not British or are simply unaware, an award scheme for young people that involves having to learn a sport and a new skill, doing community service and at the end of it all doing a hike; it was my sole experience of doing what would be considered actual camping.

I resolved not to think too much about my water problem, that was an issue for the morning, instead I stared at the pan watching my food slowly hydrate. Well, I was camping, that couldn't be denied. It was a bit different to the usual camping on family holidays, this time there was no bar 100m away, or a chippy. The only alcohol I had in my possession was powering my cooker and that was the sort that would make you go blind; and when I say blind I don't mean blind drunk, I mean blind, in the eyes. As for the food, well, it was congealing nicely. Steak and rice it was supposed to be... the percentage of steak in this glob looked to be bordering on the mythical though; it was more like rice and something resembling gravy. Nevertheless hunger was making my stomach miserable and even gloop looked appetising. Apparently the body can go something daft like three weeks without food, I hadn't even hit five hours and I was struggling. A poor showing, but I was sure that as I got used to bad food my appetite would slowly diminish.

Soon my food was ready, I ate straight from the pan; less dirty stuff I figured. It wasn't like I had the ready access to water that washing my plates and pans would require. The food was actually not as bad tasting as it looked. As much as I had gotten used to eating three course meals in Peru, with the prices being as low as they are, the fare at the restaurants varied considerably between some of the best food I'd tasted and having a chicken's foot in what was being called soup. I found that my mush wasn't too much of a step up from the latter.

Before I knew it my food was gone. Slightly unsatisfied I briefly entertained the idea of making more, this idea was squashed though, more by a lack of water than by any conquering of greed on my part. So I abandoned the thought and sat back in my tent trying to think of games to pass the time.

Now it's said you can tell how interesting a person is by how they cope with being alone. If that is true then I'm sad to say I must be quite a boring person as I failed horribly in that regard. After deciding playing knife games with my machete would only cut my trip, and my fingers, short I stepped back outside my tent for fresh air. I struggled for another five minutes unable to think of a time passing game except I-spy; giving up I sat down on the hard ground and started making a tower with the stones on the path.

The locals would probably tell me this was actually a very good use of my time as these towers, or apacheta, are actually made as offerings to Pachamama (mother earth) or one of the myriad other gods the locals worshipped. In Peruvian religion it is believed that each mountain had a guardian spirit, or an Apu, and it was common practice to make apachetas to appease these spirits on a hike. They were supposed to be spiritual and a way of protecting oneself on the trail.

I'm not religious. I don't have anything much against religion, it's more that to believe in one and discount the rest as heresy, largely based on where you grew up, seems to me utterly daft. Religions preach peace and caring for all, yet religion is the cause, or at least excuse, for 90% of the worlds wars or something silly like that. I'm not saying the Peruvian religion was to blame for these wars; after all it was most often the followers of Christianity instigating these wars, as was the case with the Spanish Conquistadors invading Peru; but the conflict still arose. All this being said, making a stone tower wasn't going to hurt anyone and if Pachamama was really looking then having her look favourably on my cause would certainly help. My tower wasn't pretty though, it sat precariously on the edge of the path, wind or falling stone could quite easily knock it down. But hey if it did then that would surely be Pachamama's doing anyway, so she would be knocking down her own offering.

With this thought in my mind I went back into my tent where I decided there was no point in staying awake for the sake of it and headed for a very early sleep. I figured I could wake equally early in the morning and make the most of the light. The more time spent walking tomorrow, the quicker I'd be there was my logic. As I lay back the aches of the day washed over me and I was ushered into oblivion.

# 2

## The Second Day

I was awoken by a gentle tap-tap. Looking at the time I cursed myself, 9 o'clock, so much for making the most of the light. Sure 9am in the UK isn't drastically late by any means, but in Peru people are up by six if not earlier; certainly it would start getting light around 6 am. This, coupled with our equatorial location making the light begin to fade at 5pm, meant I had lost a few hours. Anyway, the tap-tap.

Now being awoken by a tapping in any situation is slightly creepy. On a mountain in Peru, in the middle of nowhere, I was simply confused. So I opened the tent, hoping very much that I wasn't about to be mauled by a bear, and the situation became clear. One of the guy lines had come loose during the night and was slowly knocking against the side of the tent. I took it as fortunate that it was only one.

I returned to the inside of my tent and retrieved a cereal bar from my pack. It was Peruvian which means expensive and unsatisfying. That isn't a massive, sweeping, quite racist statement about Peru; many foods in Peru are really rather cheap, cereal and most things breakfast related are not. Most cereal etc. is imported from abroad and is hence expensive. Cereal bars are very much a western thing and really haven't taken off over here; the ones that can be bought tend to not match up to what could be purchased in the UK.

I munched on my meagre breakfast, staring out from my high-up camp. The morning light was shining down the valley and birdsong filled the air; this area of the country is a hive of birdlife and the myriad sounds built a symphony at this time in the morning.

Growing up in the countryside I was fortunate to witness large impressive displays of starlings at certain times of the year, flying over the fields that backed onto my house. Whilst I wasn't witnessing displays like that here, you cannot compare the sheer variety of birdlife I was witnessing up this mountain. Hummingbirds, small swallow like birds, stalks far down by the river; occasionally I would even catch a glimpse of larger birds of prey sweeping high over head, watching. It saddens me not to be able to name more of the animals I was seeing, to be unaware of so much of the life that shares our planet with us is a real shame, but it reminded me of just how many animals there are in our world, us humans being but one. Our species could fairly be called the arsehole of the animal kingdom too, with our lack of respect for other animals' environments; whether it benefits us much or not.

***

Having eaten my oaty bar I started to pack up my belongings. This didn't take long, although fitting the tent back into its bag seemed to me something like trying to fit your foot into a shoe two sizes too small, painful and unrealistic. I quickly scanned the area, checking I hadn't left anything, and briefly peered over the ledge I'd been camping besides, attempting to see if something had tumbled down; not that I could have done anything if it had, but it would be nice to be aware. I couldn't see anything, but the shrubbery at the bottom of the drop obscured any decent view making it impossible to be sure. Content that anything truly important was in my bag I set back off walking on the steep incline.

The path continued up, narrowly skirting the mountainside for another half an hour. taring ahead, seeing the cracked stone that often made my path, it felt to me like I'd stumbled into the realms of a Tolkien novel. After that half hour or so the path cut inwards, depriving me of the cliff side views of the valley and instead dropping me firmly into the shade of the cloud forest.

I thought the path was steep before but that was nothing compared to the gradient I was now facing. It seemed at times that I was almost vertically scaling the mountain. With the leaves and fallen branches from the trees littering the floor the path itself had almost vanished. I stumbled along like this for a while, worried that were I to have drifted away from the path I would never be able to find it again.

After about twenty hard minutes of this uphill climb the ground levelled out slightly and the path once more became clear. At this point I must have been around three quarters of the way up the mountain but with the trees ahead blocking any view of the summit it was really impossible to tell. I chose once more not to worry about the path ahead and instead marvelled at the array of plant-life around me. The most spectacular were the multi-coloured orchids; though the gnarled queñua trees, numerous in this area were also striking, though at the same time creepy in the shade with their twisted limbs. These combined with the numerous mosses and climbing plants gave the whole area a mystical, fairy tale feel. The woodland was less tropic and lush than that which was close to the river but it was no less remarkable for it.

I continued walking, understanding how Little Red Riding Hood must have felt wandering in the forest in search of her Grandma's house. Not sure whether she'd arrive at the house in triumph, or encounter a wolf along the way and never actually arrive at all. I wasn't sure if wolves lived in Peru, but I didn't doubt there was some form of predator in these woods waiting for me to stumble by, whatever it might be. Such was my situation for two hours, a still fairly sharp uphill walk with a more muted level of birdsong than on the mountain side accompanying me as I strolled, dampening any thoughts of impending doom.

Eventually the path was split by a small river. Water! At this point I just dropped my bag and lay on the ground, thoroughly tired. Despite taking short breaks every so often I was finding it increasingly more taxing, losing my breath after shorter and shorter intervals. This I supposed must be due to the altitude; I was already at 2800m at the base of the mountain, I had to figure I'd climbed at least a 1000m more since then putting me close to 4000m if not higher. A heavy bag didn't help. Especially seeing as, despite all the things I'd brought with me, coca leaves were not one of them.

Coca leaves, for point of reference, are great at preventing and alleviating the effects of altitude sickness; people in the Andes have been chewing the leaves for thousands of years, whilst it is also common to use them to make tea. I suppose I didn't feel it necessary to bring them, having spent time at similar altitudes around Arequipa, more fool me. My lack of water that morning on the hike can't have helped either, making me really quite dehydrated by this point. Lying down was nice though... listening to the sound of the river, not having to move, I could've fallen asleep. I didn't, fortunately, I may have been slightly delirious at that point in time I can't honestly recall with clarity. I do know that I forced myself up and filled my depleted water bottles, purified them with iodine tablets and took the long drink denied me on the climb. I must've downed a full litre of water and you can be sure that I filled it right back up again.

This river, I imagined, must be from a glacier or fresh water spring so purification might not even have been needed; tempting fate seemed a bit pointless though, me possessing a bucket load of tablets, and a filter should I need it, for this exact purpose. As I said I drank a good litre on the spot and let me tell you I'd never had a more satisfying drink. We take it for granted in the western world, an endless supply of drinkable water. In the cities, towns and villages of Peru it's no worry, with bottled water being readily available, but it's a whole different way of life in the wilds; not knowing when you're next going to encounter water. Fortunately I was hiking in the Amazon basin, an area that sees a more plentiful supply of water than Peru's western deserts. Yup, I'd chosen a good place to hike; walking on sand is by no means fun.

Anyway, rehydrated and not wanting to tarry overly long I set myself to the problem of the river itself, crossing it; for whilst it wasn't huge, it wasn't of a size I could jump across. The depth was also undetermined and the water seemed fairly fast flowing. The onwards trail could clearly be seen on the opposite bank though so it was clear that cross it I must. Taking a bite of one of my bars of chocolate I pondered the situation. As I said it was clear I must cross; this made me wonder if this river was a new phenomenon, caused by warmer than usual weather melting additional glacial ice, or if there used to be a bridge here that had fallen into disrepair and collapsed. Either way this didn't help my current situation. First things first I figured I should test the depth. So I grabbed a longish stick and, standing on the bank, reached over and lowered it into the water till it hit the river bed. In this manner I estimated the depth to be a little less than waste deep. Thinking this an acceptable depth to traverse I took off my shoes, socks etc. and put on my bag. Then I made my first tentative steps into the river.

All was fine, the river bed was hard beneath my feet, there were odd rocks around and between them some form of underwater plant or algae made the rock slippery. I took two more steps, bracing myself against the current, took another step, then another, then things went a bit badly. My foot dropped farther than anticipated, my back foot slid on the slippery river bottom and I overbalanced, front going into the water. With a face fall of water I managed to steady myself by grabbing an outcropping rock. I pulled myself back to standing, fighting against the water rushing against me. I then manoeuvred around the rock and by taking a few more unsteady, rushed steps, I made it soggily to the other bank.

I was disgruntled, mostly at myself, of course the river would be deeper in the middle. At least my bag had miraculously remained dry; falling on my front had, it appeared, kept my backpack above the water level. In retrospect, though, perhaps I should have attempted to construct some form of bridge. The Incas must have used one because there was no way they would have waded like I did every time. Unless, like I said, this was a fairly new phenomenon; or perhaps the third option, I was missing something obvious.

What truly baffled me is that an elderly Peruvian lady could possibly have done this trek, even had it not been recently this was no walk in the park. As I've said I'm not a mountaineer, but I do like to consider myself fairly active. I'd better be on the right path, I thought to myself. I mean I was fairly certain I was, there wasn't any obvious time I could have strayed onto another. Come on, how many of these paths could there be? The answer is that the Incas actually left hundreds, but I didn't know this at the time which was probably for the best.

Anyhow, on the opposite bank and not liking the idea of walking in wet clothes, I removed a towel and change of clothes from my bag and was quickly feeling less battered again. Ordinarily in this situation walking in wet clothes would be the better approach as they dry whilst you walk, your body heat speeding up the process; you also don't risk making everything else in your pack damp. But with the dense canopy overhead limiting sunlight, and relatively high humidity, drying wasn't going to happen. So I just ensured my wet clothes were double bagged in old supermarket plastic bags, and kept somewhat separated from the rest of my stuff.

***

I persevered on my uphill mountain climb, the altitude continuing to hinder my progress. After a while though the heavy uphill walking, intersected by sharp segments of 500 year old steps, started to ease and gave way to a more gentle slope. This slope got steadily flatter and flatter till I was walking through level woodland on what must be the highest point of the mountain, certainly in the immediate area. The heavy canopy overhead had disappeared, the trees in this area being much shorter and more scarcely spread, rising up from tufted grass. At one point I thought I spotted a couple of animals akin to llamas, perhaps vicuña; though as I went to investigate, whatever they were dashed off and disappeared into deeper woodland. The path didn't continue in this way for too long before I gasped. The trees gave way altogether and the mountain dropped suddenly down revealing what appeared to be a lagoon, ringed by tall tropical trees snaking their way into the water. There seemed to be one open area on the lake bank, the one adjoined to the steep descent I must soon attempt.

I had been walking in the assumption that my target was nestled somewhere amongst the trees I had passed through. Evidently I had been living under a false idea. Now I was blind to my destination. Was it sitting in a forest, jungle, cave? Was I to scale another mountain, one of the many in the distance? I lambasted myself once more for failing to bother to ask more about this route. People hire guides to Machu Picchu and Choquequirao for a reason; the paths are not easy. This one had remained undiscovered despite modern technologies: scans, radars, satellites and planes. Of course it wasn't going to be a casual stroll, sitting just two days from civilisation. No, I feared I had a long way to go yet before I would lay eyes on my final destination, my prize.

***

I broke for lunch, trail mix and some flatbread, and sat appreciating the way the light was dancing across the waters below me; sunlight and shade from the trees gave the water a bizarre array of colours. Not for the first time I thought to myself that bringing a camera might have been a good idea, certainly there was no particular reason not to... it doesn't take up much space. It would also have allowed me to document any discoveries I might make. The one camera I'd brought with me to Peru though had reacted rather badly to the airport scanners coming into the country and had simply stopped working. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that I'd simply just not thought about buying another one. Annoying, I guess, but at the same time it was actually quite nice to be safe in the knowledge that I'd be seeing nature, landscape and old ruins with my own eyes, not through the lens of a camera. I could experience these places unburdened by the thought of getting the right angle or lighting state. I could, in short, actually live it. A hark back to the journeys of old; my tales of this place would be carried back by word of mouth, the scenes for my eyes alone. At least till others come. After all they say a picture's worth a thousand words, but those words are often false and do not tell the whole story.

I decided that as I couldn't document with a camera, writing a journal might be a good idea. I did have a small notepad and pen in one of the top pockets of my hiking bag, stashed there from a previous trip and never removed. I took this out and set about recording my journey so far, taking care not to sound too amateurish. It's amazing how much detail you forget in a short amount of time. In the moment the sounds, smells, images all merge seamlessly to create an impression. Standing, watching a scene, if anyone asks you that impossible question, 'what do you see?' you would be hard pressed to answer fully. The eye sees so much, how can you describe all that you see in a moment? The human language is limited, words just aren't available and you tend to focus on one image, one small part of the image I should say. Your description is but a glimpse of the whole. Impossible, and that's in the moment, with the scene playing out in front of you. Looking back a day, two days later all you remember are the key facts of the scene, the detail is lost or blurred. Even the happiest memories, images you are determined to hold in your mind, blur as time passes. So that already vague description is watered down even further, what's more the emotional immediacy is lost; the description becoming that much more cold and analytical.

My point I guess is that as much as I laboured to record my journey it would only ever amount to an account or guide, a series of steps. It could never truly replicate the feelings I felt seeing the sun setting over the mountains, or offer those same images my eyes saw to readers staring at my words; but that, I decided, was fine. You can see endless pictures of Machu Picchu on the internet but it doesn't compare to actually seeing the site with your own two eyes. Once I returned to civilisation and on the understanding I was successful in my endeavours, assuming too that people actually listened to my story, I imagined that they wouldn't merely nod their heads, say 'that's interesting' and then forget all about it. I'd hope they would be curious, to want to know more, to see it for themselves to confirm if my words were true or just falsehoods. Thousands of people flock to ancient wonders around the world to see if they are quite as spectacular as people say. I wondered for a brief moment if my trip would be the start of an influx of foreign tourists, in ten years time would I be able to buy a bottle of coke at this viewpoint? Will there be a signpost declaring it a viewpoint? I sighed, if that did happen would it be my fault? I put my notepad away and prepared to leave. I told myself it was out of my control what others do, but nevertheless perhaps there would come a time when I would have to consider the consequences of my own actions; now was not that time though.

***

I put my mind back to my immediate situation. It was now in the early afternoon and I decided the lake side might prove a nice campsite for the night, not wanting the blind struggle I'd encountered the previous night. I estimated the walk to be around two hours. The lake was in sight but keeping balance on the sharp descent would slow my pace. Also the fact that the lake was in sight didn't necessarily mean it was close; it just meant I had a very good vantage point. Either way I had plenty of time, so I started walking in a calm mood.

Having been solely walking uphill on my trek so far, to be able to walk downhill for a change was invigorating, but that's not to say it was easy. The path wasn't firm, with loose stones and dusty sand making stable footing hard to come by. I'd encountered similar ground at the start of the previous day, but this was on another level. With my bag on my back and the added help of good friend gravity, when I slipped I didn't half slip and it was much harder to steady myself, momentum doing its work. There was also the nagging thought in my head that this was undoing all the good work that I'd done that morning and the previous day. Still, it was great to have a target to aim at, even in the short term, as prior to this point the dense vegetation had prevented any such target from being seen.

I walked slowly, minding my footing, my knees taking the brunt of the work. However, after a while the constant small slides and tension in my legs were starting to cause a dull ache in my hamstrings. I could see my progress though, my viewpoint above me was disappearing out of sight and the lake in front of me was creeping nearer and nearer. It's remarkable how much easier it is to put up with discomfort when you have some idea of when it will end. When climbing seemingly endlessly with absolutely no sign of progress the mind starts to give into despair, sapping energy and weighing you down body and soul. Your brain, that adventurous part, tells you it quite obviously can't be endless; yet the other part, the boring anxious one tells you how much easier it would be to just sit down. I fortunately did not have to face this problem right now as I had my goal; so I walked, slowly, but calmly towards it.

***

I reached the lake side around 4 o'clock. It took I guess slightly longer than I originally anticipated, but I still arrived with a good two hours of daylight to spare. I quickly set up my tent in a sheltered area towards the left hand side of the lagoon, where trees just started to encircle the water's edge. Depositing my belongings I took my torch and water and started to explore the immediate area. Why take my torch you might ask? Well despite having near two hours of sunlight I didn't really overly trust myself not to end up getting lost if I explored too far, so thought that in case of fading light it was better to be cautious.

I should also say that here my clear trail ended. This potential cause for alarm surprisingly, wasn't worrying me too much. As I said there was no clear path heading either left or right at the lagoon; so I supposed the logical route was to cross over the water, much as I had with the river. The problem I had was how to do it because I certainly couldn't swim, not that far, and not with my bag. I could skirt the lake on foot but the chance of me being able to safely navigate through the trees and brush all the way round and then strike upon the correct path seemed slim at best.

To paint the scene better I should attempt to give some scope as to the size of this 'lagoon', a very vague term, I've also been using lake which is similarly misleading. The body of water, I should say, that I was facing was actually at least a mile long. It was no small pond. The size was such that from this vantage I could barely see the far bank of the lake. Going around the thing would, therefore, take a long time, especially if the walking wasn't straight forward. In the worst case scenario I could attempt that and try to stumble upon the path, and were I to fail simply continue around the lake and come back to where I started; this seemed an awful gamble and possible waste of time. Up till now the path was clear and I felt it should remain so. No, crossing the lake seemed more sensible, less time consuming, less effort and much more fun. So I searched, I figured were people to have crossed before they must have had a means; and before long would you believe my luck I'd found three small, canoe like, boats tied at the right hand bank of trees at the opposite side of the glade to my camp.

At last! A sign that other human beings had used my route and I hadn't just been walking on a well trodden animal trail! My spirits lifted considerably, the path must be across the lagoon. I studied the boats: two of them seemed to have been cracked at the base making them useless; fortunately the third seemed intact, it even had a rudimentary paddle. I untied the boat and carefully hopped into the vessel and picked up the oar, a wooden single-paddle, before starting to get to grips with the craft. I am, it must be said, a fan of canoeing, kayaking and most things boat like. Not so much white-water stuff, though I had been rafting once on some grade five rapids. No, my experience was more in leisurely paddling. It was a frequent summer activity for myself and my high school friends to rent a canoe and row at a relaxed pace down the river to a nearby pub. There is exhilaration riding rapids, but it's nice to float along knowing that the only danger to yourself is one particularly bitter swan that happens to live on the river. This is what I told myself before the thought hit me, don't anacondas live in Peru?

I peered over my boat into the water, surely I was too high up for anacondas; they live in the Amazon proper, not cloud forest lagoons. At least that's how I reassured myself. I'm no zoologist so this could have just been wishful thinking; but my better sense told me that I should be correct.

I continued paddling around letting worries and fears wash away in the gentle swishing of the water on my paddle. I let out a small chuckle and smiled at the situation I was in. I was totally removed from civilisation and hadn't seen another human being in over a day; observing birds flying through the air above a lagoon surrounded by trees, trees surrounded by mountains. This, I told myself, this was why I was travelling. Even if I were never to find the ruin I was looking for, if I had to retrace my steps all the way back to the town I set off from then this had still been worth it. To escape the incessant rush and drone of city life, work life. The mind crushing, soul destroying routine of working 9-5 looking for a job I actually wanted to do. Here out in the depths of Peru I was experiencing life, not merely letting it pass me by. I could only feel bad for my friends who right that second were probably serving canapés to the snobbish elite.

I floated around for a long time, till the light started to fade, lost in thought. Eventually I made my way back to my tent, tying the boat to a tree branch and pulling it up the beach-like bank. I say 'my' boat, whose it was I couldn't say but I certainly hoped they wouldn't object to my use of it. There were certainly no houses in the area to lay claim to them. The boat was to me a sign, a marker that I was in the right place; not only on my path but generally in life at that particular time. It was reassuring and there was simply no doubt in my mind that I should be taking this boat. Were someone to lay claim or take acceptance I was in such a cheerful, relaxed state of mind that I would simply buy it, trade it or work for it; but as I said I hadn't seen another living soul since I'd set off so there was little fear of me having to resort to such measures. Still, the mere fact of the boats existence proved people must walk this path, or this area at least, so it was somewhat puzzling that I hadn't encountered the odd person. Maybe it was out of season. Yes, in the middle of Peru's standard trekking season this path was out of season... good logic. But, I mused, maybe people only came for a festival at a particular time of year. I truly knew nothing of the place I was aiming to find so anything at this point was possible. All I knew was the place was called Quyllur-Wasi, and that that was not an English name.

At this point of the walk I'd come to the steady realisation that the elderly woman who had set me on this path couldn't have possibly walked it herself for quite some length of time, not unless she possessed super-powers, or reserves of strength and endurance hitherto thought impossible for people in their old age. So perhaps this path had gone out of favour recently, others taking the northern pass I'd bluffed knowledge of when trying to stumble my way to some information. It would explain the lack of a river crossing earlier that's for sure.

Deciding it was fruitless worrying about it I retrieved my cooking gear from my bag and set about cooking, or more accurately heating, my mush once more. After it had heated I realised quite how hopeless I would be at surviving were I to have to fend for food myself. Were my stocks to expire for instance, short of looking for recognisable fruit trees I would be totally out of my depth. I therefore decided there would be worse uses of my time when I returned to the UK than taking a wilderness survival course. I'm sure it wouldn't turn me into Bear Grylles overnight, but it might stop me getting poisoned by berries, or teach me to actually make a snare. There is a veritable treasure trove of skills and knowledge that 99% of the population do not have. I regrettably fit into that category and it's something I resolved to work on.

As time passed and the sun finished setting a chill arrived with the darkness. Peru was strange in that the days could be very warm, but as the sun goes down the temperatures plummet. Therefore, taking some dried branches from the floor nearby, I made myself a rudimentary fire. I used matches of course. With a wilderness survival course behind me I might have been able to rub sticks together, or use a flint; sometime in the future perhaps. For now I made do with the easy option.

My clothes, a pair of chinos and an old t-shirt, had become damp in the kayak so I sat and let the clothes start to dry. Warming myself by my little fire I looked up at the sky, it was a pity it was a cloudy night. I could imagine the stars out here, reflected on the lagoon, would have been incredible. In the current state the darkness was oppressive, not really even moonlight to provide some visibility.

It did occur to me that were anything to happen to me out here, a broken leg, virus, wild animal attack, any number of things; I would be screwed. The chance of someone finding me, on current evidence, was probably near the odds of winning the lottery. I was happy enough though that the sensible section of my brain would be able to keep me out of most trouble.

At that moment, surrounded in darkness, my small fire the only light around I recalled how predators could be drawn to light. Peering into the night I saw, and heard, nothing untoward. All birdsong had faded with the light, the birds returning to their nests to sleep; what had replaced them was the occasional sound of crickets and other insects, and also a quiet squeaking that could well be the sound of bats. I was enjoying the fire, but the nagging paranoia that I might be being watched meant that as soon as my clothes had dried I doused it. Taking one final stare into the night I entered my tent, where I curled up for an uneasy sleep.

# 3

## The Crossing

My dreams of undiscovered highland predators were punctuated by the sound of rain pitter pattering onto my tent, but the rhythmic tapping soon became routine and pushed my semi-conscious self back into sleep. As the force of the storm outside my tent rose it was not enough to wake me from my slumbers again.

As an actor, writer and general layabout one of the things I'd learnt to do very efficiently in recent years was sleep. There are many examples of dramatic events I'd managed to miss having a nice nap; friends would recount to me alcohol fuelled escapades I'd missed entirely having fell into a comfortable doze. Dramatic shouts and cries, it transpires, do nothing to dislodge me from sleep. One thing that does wake me, it turns out, is water dripping on my face.

I came to confused, noticing a low level of water on the floor I scrambled up and quickly opened my tent. Rain was still hammering down; a full blown tempest had unleashed itself on the plateau whilst I slept. The water level of the lake had risen through the night with the excessive rainfall and was edging closer and closer to my tent. When picking my gear I wasn't really anticipating this level of downpour and my tent had, it appeared, started leaking in the night; the nearby trees providing nothing decent in the way of shelter. Realising that shelter was indeed needed from the onslaught I unpegged my tent and dragged it, bags and all, deeper into the shelter of the neighbouring trees. I say shelter, it was all a bit relative; drops of water still found their way through the trees but the branches above me drastically lessened the effect.

I was at a bit of a loss. There was no way I was going to be canoeing with the weather like this. I tilted my tent off the ground and pointed the door to the floor, draining as much of the water out as I could. I then pegged it back down, there under the trees, not caring at all about the twigs and stones and then crawled back in and waited. It was a fairly miserable couple of hours I spent, soggy and cold. I munched on one of the bars of milky chocolate I had and felt marginally recovered. It wasn't the healthiest breakfast I'd ever had by any stretch; this being said chocolate's depression relieving properties have been well documented by scientists and I can't fault its effectiveness in this instance.

My favourite kind of chocolate is not easy to come by outside of the UK, I won't name the brand as that seems a bit too much like shameless marketing. In the States any U.K chocolate you find is normally imported or a pale, anger inducing imitation not worthy of the name. That was the States; in Peru it could be argued it was more difficult. By luck though, whilst in Cusco, I stumbled across a foreign foods market and there I was able to haggle over a whole box of imported chocolate. It was one of the strangest things I had done in the country, especially seeing as I insisted upon first buying a single bar to ascertain that it was in fact, the proper stuff, before committing to an entire box. The looks that the stall owner had given me were a mixture of amusement and shock at my pickiness. I should probably return to the point in hand though...

***

The storm broke around ten o'clock, a strong morning sun beating down, the only evidence of the night before being the raised water level and increased number of fallen branches. I moved my tent and belongings back into the main clearing and spread all the damp items out on the rocks, trying to keep them off the wet ground and hoping that they would dry in the sun. I looked to where my canoe was tied up and my mouth dropped; it was gone. Looking more closely I quickly realised what had happened. The storm had broken the branch I'd tied the boat to and it was now floating 50 metres into the lake; sitting a damn sight lower than it should be too. I cursed my luck, I needed that boat. 50 metres, that's not too far to swim; 'I'm sure there aren't any piranhas, anacondas, crocodiles...' I told myself hopefully. I mean Lake Titicaca must be on a comparable elevation and that only contains something like six species of fish, the only reptiles being frogs and those not the poisonous kind. I decided I was probably safe and so stripped down to my underwear and stepped into the water.

It was cold. I started to think I might be more at risk of hypothermia than animal attack. Now I like boats, but will openly admit I'm not much of a swimmer having not really swum regularly since I started high school. Wading out initially was fine but the water quickly went to waist depth and at that point I really had to start swimming. It didn't take long before I was thoroughly out of breath, the boat still painfully far away, I went to put my feet down and felt that chilling shock that comes with realising there was no land beneath my feet. Struggling suddenly I started treading water and sighed, guess I wasn't resting. I lay on my back and started doing a less energy consuming backstroke, letting the sun beat down and warm my face. I turned every so often to make sure I was still on course and after a few minutes had reached the boat.

Taking care not to damage the vessel I pulled myself out of the water and into the canoe. I let out another sigh, this one of relief, as I found the oar still sitting within the craft. There was as I suspected a decent amount of rain water in the boat weighing it down but I was able to comfortably manoeuvre myself back to the shore, shivering slightly as the light wind blew against me. Once back on dry land I made no chances with the boat this time and hauled it out of the lake and up towards my belongings, before upturning it to let all the excess water drain out. I took my towel from out of my bag and dried off before putting my clothes back on. One night, that's all it had taken to remind me why I hate the weather in England. Rain sucks, especially heavy downpours like the night had seen, and rain is sadly all too frequent in England.

***

The bright morning sun soon dried out my belongings and before midday I was on my way. I'd packed my gear up and took it all down to the edge of the lake where I put it into the small canoe and hopped in, attempting to maintain a decent weight balance. Straight across the lagoon, I thought, that must be my path. The air was now once more filled with birdsong and the cheerful mood of the previous afternoon started to return to me. I spotted one particularly peculiar bird nestling in the trees, well a host of them I should say. Of a bright, orangey-red colour with a small crest on their heads; the way they looked around made them seem like a strange, tree-climbing, jungle chicken. The rain had washed a lot of dirt and debris into the lagoon making the water a fair bit murkier than when I had first laid eyes upon it. As much as I peered into its depths I couldn't see any movement, though fish must surely live there even if more exotic animals did not. The lagoon was large, as I said on the bank by my camp I'd estimated it as being a couple of miles long. It only began to become apparent quite how large it was though whilst trying to cross; yet it was only when I had finished crossing that I realised the true scope of the expanse.

After roughly an hour of paddling I reached what I believed to be the far bank, although this I discovered was a misapprehension. What I saw from afar to be the opposite bank was actually an outcropping of land. A channel, not particularly wide, of maybe ten or twenty metres provided a link to what proved to be another, larger expanse of water; a true high altitude lake to rival that of Titicaca that stretched to the base of two towering snow capped peaks. I first saw this whilst stood up in my boat trying to view the path ahead and gaped. I quickly manoeuvred the canoe through the channel wanting a better sight; trees hung over the water from the banks giving the impression from distance that the channel was smaller than it was; they also acted as a bit of a screen to the view ahead. The spit of land was actually of a fairly large size, wider closer to the bank and narrowing as it got closer to the opposite side. Putting my oar into the water I noticed that the water level of the channel was low and wondered if, over time, rain like I'd experienced and perhaps landslides had caused the lake to slowly silt up at this point and over years created the odd geography I was now seeing.

I passed through the channel and the lakes second section revealed itself to me. The trees continued for a while on both sides of the lake before becoming more scattered and easing into mountain planes. As stated at the far bank the land rose up steadily more sharply where two snow capped peaks rose high into the sky. Beyond the plain on the left bank the forest continued into the distance. On the right bank smaller hills and mountains wound up and down. It was somewhat mind boggling that people weren't here, with incredible views existing all around. The thing is though it wasn't so special in Peru, everywhere I seemed to go there were scenes of incredible natural beauty. Even catching a bus thirty minutes out of Cusco grants you brilliant mountain paths. I shouldn't say it wasn't so special because it was, just that it wasn't out of the ordinary in this country.

I took in everything around me. I saw nature in its pureness but right now I was looking for one thing and that thing was man-made; another boat, for I had to hope that there were also boats at the next point in the path for anyone travelling in the other direction. That was of course assuming I was indeed on the path. I must be. I hadn't just stolen a local person's boat had I? Westerner taking liberties... No, this was too perfect to be wrong. I kept my eyes peeled; I saw no boats on either the left or the right bank. I rowed roughly across the centre of the lake to keep an optimum vantage. Despite this with the lake being as wide as it was I had only the barest view of the banks. It wouldn't therefore surprise me if I had missed a boat, or evidence of a path as I crossed. In all honesty though I think I wanted to cross the whole lake, I'd started now and I could always go back after all.

***

Up to this point the only wildlife I'd seen clearly on the trip had been limited to birds and insects. I'm happy to say that changed as I paddled across the vast expanse of water. I heard the sound of splashing, splashing that was not my own. I stopped paddling and looked around; at first I saw nothing. I started slowly rowing again, keeping extra quiet, and then I saw it. It leapt out of the water briefly, an otter! A large one at that, I smiled as I watched it swimming slightly under the water. Not wanting to spook it I let the boat just float along, pushed as it was by whatever wind and forward momentum was behind me. Otters are one of my favourite animals; it's a combination of their fluid grace, ferocity when necessary and utter playfulness at the same time that endears them to me. This was a giant otter though; far larger than the more common sort I'd encountered in the past, this one being over a metre in length. I observed as it moved around, exhibiting the same flexibility the smaller breed are known for. Watched as it dived under water in search, I imagined, of fish and was proved correct as it resurfaced with a trout in its mouth. My boat edged closer to it and attempting to avoid contact I gently turned the boat and pushed forwards. Alas hearing the movement and looking up at me the otter dived back underwater and quickly disappeared out of sight.

It is an unfortunate side-effect of humanity's destruction of habitats and poaching of wild animals that now we are feared by animals such as these. It is a defence mechanism, one sadly entirely necessary, but one that means casual observers such as myself are unlikely to witness much in the way of animal life unless we seek it out. I continued on, keeping my eye out, but was unable to see the magnificent creature again. I was also unable to spot a boat.

I neared the far bank of the lake and my search had to this point been in vain. As I said, I could have missed something on one of the banks, but if I had it couldn't have been obvious. The lake was also narrower at this far end so by now I had a better view of the banks and was safe I hadn't missed anything in the last five or ten minutes. I kept my eyes scanning around but to no avail. As I arrived at the far bank, mountains towering above me, I had to accept that there were no other boats on this end. I was still completely and inexplicably alone out there.

I got out of my boat, pulled it up the bank and secured the aged rope tightly to one of the scattered trees. The trees on this bank were unlike the lush jungle like forest on the opposite side. Smaller and more rugged these were the sort that would survive in all but the harshest of environments. The tree I tied my boat to was twisted and knotted with short stumpy branches; I was confident it could weather a storm more successfully than the tree I'd tied it to the previous night.

I checked my watch and seeing that it was now mid afternoon suddenly felt the inexorable pang of hunger hit me. As much as I was worried about finding my path I accepted that it would be more productive me looking when I didn't have half my mind occupied with the thought of food. So I opened my bag and retrieved my lunch: more trail mix and flatbread. It did occur to me that I'd under stocked myself for lunch. I had an endless supply of dehydrated meal pouches; but these took time to prepare and were not particularly suitable as a quick lunch time snack. In retrospect I felt I might have made a mistake in not foraging around for fruit a bit more when I was actually in amongst the jungle like trees. On this side of the lake fruit trees looked to be in rarer supply and I don't doubt I would've been better off appreciating what I had around me before it was gone; a lesson I continued not to learn in life. I'd made that mistake with water once though on this trip and wasn't about to do it again, so I drank a hearty amount of my remaining water before filling my bottles from the lake.

The water was cloudy to say the least. Sighing I realised that iodine tablets alone wouldn't be good enough for this water; I'd have to either boil it or pass it through a filter. Fortunately I did buy a filter for this very purpose; though as to its efficiency I really couldn't tell, having never used one before; however, I'd been told you should be able to pass muddy water through it and it become drinkable so I figured this should be fine. I started slowly scooping water into the nozzle; it certainly wasn't a quick job I can tell you. Drip, drop, drip, drop, it was driving me slightly mad but it was necessary and I was getting there. It took me a good fifteen minutes to fill both the bottles from the filter, I then stuck a couple of iodine tablets into the now much clearer water and shook them up for good measure. That should do the trick.

I packed the filter, water and other clothes and stuff I'd had to turf out of my bag back away and set my mind to the task of where I was actually going. I decided the best thing for me to do would be to look around a bit. So I left my bag by my boat, figuring it safe and had a bit of an exploration. The whole area was fairly bare, with short tufted grass only covering patches of the ground. It was rocky in parts, more evidence of the peaks above, but flatter than most of the places I'd been walking so far. I scanned the area along the lake bank, left and right; it took me about an hour and a half. No joy. I looked back at the mountains, surely that's where I had to go... I was starting to doubt. Maybe I'd missed something on the other bank. Should I go back? I resolved to explore towards the peaks first before resorting to drastic measures.

The time was now four o'clock. I was running out of time for the day; if I was re-crossing the lake it certainly wouldn't be tonight. I had time enough to find a path and make a camp though, positivity! That's what is needed in times such as this, I mustn't let despair take hold. Nestled amongst two towering peaks, that is a place for a stronghold, a true temple to the Peruvian Gods. I just had to find the way up. So I looked at the way the mountain rose up, looking for flatter sections or what could be steps. My eyes though, were simply not good enough, I was too far away. Closer I must get, so walk I did.

The sensible part of my mind told me to at least take a torch. I set off and stopped, should I just take my pack with me? It's harder work and if I found nothing then I'd have wasted energy, but take it and I could always camp farther away from the lake, even if I must return in the morning; also if I were to find the path I'd be wasting even more time returning then trekking back. Taking the bag was definitely a better idea, I mean I dreaded to think what I'd do if someone, or some animal, were to stumble across the bag and take it away or scavenge from it. I couldn't take that sort of chance. Why I hadn't realised that when exploring along the lakeside I don't know but I cursed myself for a fool for not thinking it sooner. Fortunately no harm had come from it.

***

I set off walking with my bag once more weighing me down. I hadn't put it on all day and I can't say I'd missed it. Rowing the canoe had been a welcome relief even if it had been fairly hard work with my belongings in the boat. As I walked towards the twin towering peaks I couldn't help but feel the storm of the last night would have been more appropriate now. Dark ominous clouds spread across the sky; the odd flash of lightning illuminating the snow high above me; thunder so loud it felt as though it would shake the very mountain down on top of me; it would have been perfect. This was, though, not the case with the sun shining bright making the high reaches glisten in the afternoon light. I walked for perhaps ten minutes away from my lakeside pit stop before I saw it: A path! A proper one too not the dirt track I'd followed through the forest the previous morning. A large stone arch presented its start, unlike the dirt tracks this one was rudimentally paved with odd miss-matched stones. Some had long been broken or chipped; moss covered sections; and through gaps small weeds clung to a living. I was most glad I'd brought my bag. I eyed the path ahead, it rose up steadily before snaking its way behind the left hand of the two mountainous peaks.

I examined the stone arch: it was remarkable it was still standing, with some of the original stones seemingly missing, whilst others had been worn heavily by the weather. There were three carved figures attached at intervals on the top of the arch, what they represented I couldn't tell you. Be they Gods, people or creatures; they had suffered the same weathering as the main arch and as such had become disfigured with times ravaging. I searched for any text, any written message but if one once existed it was no longer visible. I walked under the arch and continued on my way once I was satisfied there was nothing for me to learn.

***

Another ten minutes later and I was aware the light was beginning to fade. I was unsure whether or not I should continue any farther that day; it seemed to me like I'd wasted/lost a lot of time already. The storm had delayed my departure that morning by three hours and once I'd crossed the lake I spent a good two hours attempting to find the path. Then again unless I wanted to walk by torchlight up the mountain I'd only have 40 minutes or so of daylight walking left. The ground had been fairly level before I started on this path and if there was no navigable land off it higher up then I'd struggle for somewhere to pitch my tent. The stones beneath my feet looked like they would struggle to provide support for my pegs, and even if they did I'd be hard pressed to get any sleep on the uneven floor. If the weather were to turn again I'd also be a sitting duck on the mountainside with no trees to provide me with cover. Should I walk back and find a better place to camp? I was already frustrated at my delays but there was no sense in letting that frustration impair my judgement. I sighed and decided that backtracking twenty minutes to flatter ground was preferable, I'd just camp there for the night; it was a nicer place to spend a bit of time, being close to the lake, and I could top my water up again in the morning too. So walk back I did and before long I had passed back under the stone archway and returned to the lakeside.

***

I found a nice flat patch of land a few hundred metres away from the lake, just before the land started to climb at a sharper incline and pitched up my tent. The light was beginning to fade and with the sky now largely clear of cloud I was witness to a wonderful sunset over the lake. As the sun dropped behind the bank of trees separating the two parts of the lakes the sky slowly turned a brilliant orange. I sighed. There are many things different in countries around the world; one thing you can rely on though is sunsets. It was the one thing I enjoyed when living in Suffolk; the view from my bedroom window over-looked a field. It meant clear, undisturbed sunsets that would, on a good night, set the sky aflame. I'd witnessed beautiful sunsets all over the world: in cities such as London, in the countryside and out here in the mountains; all the same in many ways and yet all different. I supposed it was the time of year, proximity to the equator etc. that made the difference. As a witness those aren't the things you think about, you just see the shadows, the last cry of light before the encroaching darkness settles on the earth for a time. It could be seen as a sad thing; but for me the slow creep, the beauty was always reassuring; the sun's way of saying 'I will be back'.

As the sun made its way slowly down I decided to combine two things I liked, sunsets and skimming stones. Pickings were fairly slim but there were a few flat stones on the lakeside and with the water being still it made for good skimming conditions. Crouching low to get a good angle of entry I slung a stone towards the water and watched as it bounced once, twice, three times then dropped for good beneath the surface. I'd skimmed stones often on holidays and at the beach with my family, the competition between myself, my Dad and my two brothers had made us hone our techniques. I don't know if there is a correct technique when it comes to skimming stones, I know my brother uses a fairly different one to myself and still achieves similar results. Honestly I don't think it really matters. Skimming stones for me has always been a calming exercise, almost meditative. Doing it here in the fading light was certainly very peaceful.

I found another good looking stone, a flat bit of slate with a decent amount of weight so wind wouldn't catch it, and skimmed again. Five bounces this time, better, though nowhere near my record. My record was, if memory serves, fourteen bounces. Fourteen! I was chuffed with that one I can tell you, that was at a mountain lake too, no a reservoir. It was in the Alps in France. It was years ago now, the rest of the day is lost to me but the hour or so by that lake I still remember clearly, the conditions were perfect, endless slate, a completely calm day; I doubt I'd ever repeat the feat. I'd rarely even come close. Seven is a good skim for me but fourteen? Madness. I continued for a while at peace with my surroundings till I'd exhausted the usable stones and returned to my nearby tent.

# 4

## Night-Time Wanderings

I was back at my tent only a minute, before I grabbed my torch and resolved to set off exploring. Peru is one of the most biologically diverse countries in the world and personally I thought it would be a shame not to seek out a bit more of the native life. The logic in my head figured that if people rarely frequented this area then there was absolutely no reason why there couldn't be a local animal that had remained as unknown to the world as the ruin I was seeking out. I could, therefore, end up returning to civilisation with not one but two remarkable discoveries! Glorious optimism would outweigh my complete lack of knowledge about the local fauna. That is, if I were to simply set my mind to it. Which is what I was endeavouring to do instead of sitting around bored in my tent. A lot of creatures are nocturnal in any case so I would have been unlikely to see certain species in my daytime hiking. Humanity is far different to those night time wanderers. We don't have any particular qualms staying out late; but throughout history as a species we've attempted to banish the night. From the development of fire, to candles, to gas lanterns, to electricity and torches such as the one sat in my hand that very instant, we keep coming up with ways to defy the darkness. Looking from space you can see whole cities crying out against the night. Proof, I believe, of a long held and inbuilt fear of the dark from the days when humanity hadn't completely subjugated the whole planet. Personally I think it is nice sometimes to just embrace the night, listen to the different sounds and pace of nature.

Saying that I wasn't about to discard my torch, I'm not nocturnal, I cannot see in the dark. So if I did want to discover a night time creature I would probably need a torch to shine on it to actually see it. Torches, now I have had a number of amusing conversations with American friends as to the correct word for this handy device. Myself, being English, I tend to call it a torch; the Americans as a rule would call it a flash light. They would argue that 'torch' reminds them too much of a medieval torch, the actual flaming Indiana Jones style of torch, with fire and everything. Whilst I would counter saying that 'flash light' is no better and is thoroughly misleading as the device in question doesn't flash. We therefore, after a good long debate, decided that the international standard name for the device should be the handlight. A light that fits in your hand, simple, in the spirit of our joined decision I will call the torch a handlight for the remainder of this recounting.

As I set off, the last remnants of the day's sunlight still gave brief visibility and temporarily held at bay the stars attempting to shine their own light down upon the night; it was therefore unnecessary for me to use my handlight at this point in time, it also allowed me to preserve the battery life as I was quite unsure how much the device actually had left. I hadn't gone far before I realised, hang on a second, I bought a machete. Now this was in my mind one of those circumstances where a means of defence would actually be a good idea. Suppose I got set upon by jaguars? What was I going to do, ward them off with a flurry of witticisms? No, so I quickly popped back to my tent and unstrapped the machete from my bag and attached it to my belt. Whilst I was there, and properly preparing myself for this night-time venture, I decided it might also be a good idea to add an extra t-shirt below my jumper to somewhat ward away the night's chill. Now feeling adequately prepared I removed that last essential, a chocolate bar, from my pack and set out in earnest this time.

***

I pondered the best place to search and came to the conclusion that a flat, open area was less likely to be populated than the forested area to the side of the lake, on what was from my new perspective now the right hand side. I headed in that direction though it was, I estimated, at least an hour's walk away. I stuck close to the lakeside on the off chance that I spotted something going to drink from the dark waters.

After my messing about trying to decide what to bring the last vestiges of sunlight had disappeared and left a sight to behold. Gone were the clouds of yesterday blotting out the sky, now I was greeted by a complete kaleidoscope of stars stretching right across the heavens. There's nothing like a clear night sky to give you some perspective. Staring at the hundreds and thousands of stars that are all millions upon millions of miles away, you realise how small you are in relation to the universe.

I mean in my small village you could say that in perspective my one life is fairly insignificant; in a larger town that becomes even more so. What about in the city of London? You only have to walk down Oxford Street, or get on the tube at rush hour; seeing hundreds of people walk past you it makes you realise how small your own life and troubles are. That's one city, one city of thousands on the planet Earth. Our planet Earth is but a speck in the solar system, well in our solar system, there are countless others, the universe is constantly expanding and we are getting smaller and smaller in relation to it. Humanity strives for new technology, sends communications out into these stars, crying out to be noticed, striving to see the bigger picture when we can't even see how much of a mess we've made of the smaller picture. I sighed taking this all in.

We see ourselves as the only sentient species on the planet, 'aware of ourselves', but that doesn't seem to apply to a large proportion of the planet's population. We are not aware; the world is so full of beauty, life and possibilities that if we were truly aware we would stop destroying it all. It's easy to get caught up in your own insignificance in the wider picture and think that it doesn't matter what you do. Screw the wider picture, if you get your small picture right then that's a start. A masterpiece isn't born in a day, or a single piece; Van Gogh didn't clap his hand and that was that. A painting it could be said is a collection of smaller pictures. When building a house if a brick in the bottom layer is the wrong size then it creates instability all the way up. As soon as we as people think that our one life doesn't matter in the scale of things then it becomes something of a sickness and society starts to rot from within. I feel that until we as people learn to be more aware of what we are actually doing, till we care and stop being so selfish, then we as humanity have no place to pass judgement or declare ourselves superior. I only had to think about my time over the past couple of days to see what a difference it made to exist in a place relatively untouched by humanity.

That's one thing I realised looking at the sky. Well I'd hardly say it's something that I suddenly came to understand; it wasn't an epiphany, more a reminder of a thought that had been there for a while. The stars, awe inspiring and beautiful as they were, also filled me with a small amount of loneliness. I was in a different hemisphere, the stars were different, gone were the familiar constellations I'd see looking up at the sky in England. It just hit home quite how isolated I was, how far removed I was from my own life. That isn't to say I wasn't living right now, far from it, if anything this was living on a different level; but coming here I had basically removed myself from all the other responsibilities and aspects of my life. Looking at the unknown stars above me it made me realise how successfully I'd managed to do that, for better or worse.

I pulled my eyes down and looked at the lake. The moon sat behind me, its light making the water glimmer, and I noticed how much of a different atmosphere it was at night-time. During the day you had birdsong and the heat of the sun shining on you. Right now there was just a slightly eerie silence, the only sound being the wind and water slowly lapping against the bank. There's something to be said about the calm and the stillness that presided over the area, but I couldn't shake that primordial unease in the pit of my stomach. Despite the clear, moonlit sky, I couldn't see very far in front of me. I'm sure there's a historical and perfectly valid reason why people fear the dark, I don't know what it is, but I did wonder if it was a case of fearing what you cannot see, when you don't know what is out there. Squashing these dark and unhelpful thoughts I switched my handlight on and let my eyes adjust to the sudden light. Swinging my light around in an arc I was satisfied that so far as I could see there was nothing in the surrounding area but the same stunted trees, shrubs and rocks that I had seen in the daylight.

By this point I had been walking for around forty minutes and had just begun arcing to the side of the lake, the trees that were my goal were vaguely visible in front of me. I stopped suddenly. I thought I glimpsed some movement out of the corner of my eye so I spun towards it. At first I saw nothing but then spotted again a darting movement in the sky slightly above the lake, bats, it was just bats. I mean I say just bats, I assumed they were bats, they were that or some kind of fast moving nocturnal bird; by the flight style though I suspected bats. Bats are generally harmless so I wasn't overly worried. Stories of bats drinking people's blood are pretty much always fictitious with the large majority of bats living off fruit. Judging by the fruit trees I'd seen on my climb up to this level I imagined that this was the case here; so nothing for me to worry about.

Thinking of fruit I cursed myself for not bringing a small carrier bag; I'm sure there would be fruit trees in the direction I was heading and it would have been nice to pick a decent amount to supplement my lack of lunch food. I wasn't about to head back for a bag now though, I was far too committed at this point. If I really wanted to bring some fruit back with me I'd just have to stuff my pockets, or heap my arms. I wasn't too sure what kind of trees grew wild in this kind of habitat, but I felt sure I would recognise something, be it common or something I'd been introduced to in the Colca Valley.

As I continued to walk it did occur to me that re-finding my camp might not be the easiest thing later, especially if it were to cloud over. Not that it was worth worrying about now, there wasn't anything I could do about it; it was a challenge I would have to face at one point or another.

Suddenly a piercing shriek shattered the still night; my blood froze solid in my veins and I stood deathly still. My mind was racing, what on earth was that? Bats have been known to squeal but not like that. That was the sort of cry I expected to hear when watching Jurassic Park, not going on a night-time stroll. I swung my handlight in an arc once more causing shadows from the trees and rocks to dance; it did me no good, all it was serving to do was draw attention to me so I switched it off and let the darkness surround me once more.

I crept towards a fairly large rock and sat down behind it keeping my ears pealed and letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light once more. Visibility towards the lake was higher with the moon, as I said, reflecting on the water; turning away towards the trees and mountains and seeing clearly more than ten metres in-front of you however was rather difficult.

I must have sat there unmoving, hand on machete for about ten minutes. With no other sound forthcoming I began to entertain the possibility that I might have imagined it. I was deep in thought, it's easy enough to play out entire conversations in your own head; I'm sure my brain could conjure up a phantom scream, feeding off my nervousness and dark thoughts. Or maybe it was simply a bat, it's hardly as though I'm a skilled biologist; I don't have an intimate knowledge of the bats of South America, in fact this would register as perhaps the first time I'd witnessed any outside of a zoo, and I hardly visit zoos frequently. Yes, I was reasonably certain I was simply being paranoid, I certainly couldn't stay sat next to that rock all night. So gripping my machete tight I got up and again looked around me, there was nothing.

I let out a breath of relief, calmed myself, and set once more off towards the trees trying to force my mind back towards adventure and away from disaster. Then again were they perhaps one and the same? I mean I could discover a whole new animal species! Though were it to eat me it would do me little good. No, a predator wasn't really what I had in mind to find when I set off from my tent, more something a bit friendlier, an interesting sloth like creature or maybe an adorable rodent; but then again I suppose you can't be too picky when it comes to making discoveries, after all if you knew what you were looking for it's not really a very good discovery as it wouldn't need discovering.

***

The next half hour passed without incident. I was still a little apprehensive turning my handlight back on though, which resulted in me tripping a couple of times on uneven ground; nothing overly dramatic, but enough to make me slow my pace slightly. Soon I was in the presence of the trees I had come to find and now had little choice but to turn on the light. I had heard horror stories of the sort of venomous animals and poisonous insects that inhabit parts of Peru; they are predominantly in the Amazon proper though, insects such as fire ants being particularly troublesome, so I shouldn't really have much to worry about in this sort of cloud forest. It isn't wise to ever be too blazé though, always better to be sensible.

Now when I say sensible you would be perfectly valid in saying, 'wait, aren't you exploring a forest on your own at night time on a high mountain plateau an hour away from your camp with no means of communication with the civilised world? Having done no survival training, bought no map, nor even asked for proper directions?' You would of course be perfectly right; but there is a difference between that and just assuming that nothing in an untouched foreign forest is poisonous or in any way harmful. I mean even England has poisonous berries and plants that will prick or sting you; I didn't doubt this forest possessed at least similar troubles.

Before entering the trees I tried to decide what it was I was actually doing. I needed to make sure I was able to find my way back for a start. This wasn't like the forest I'd walked through earlier in my expedition, there was no path here. As a gust of wind blew into me I did start to ask myself what the hell I was doing. I could be curled up nice and comfortably in my tent right now; but nope, I decided to go exploring.

Squashing the negative voice in my head I focused on the present and the task I'd set myself. Noise tends to scare off animals; with the forest being as thick and overgrown as it was, and with stealthy not being a word normally used to describe me, I figured my best course of action was to walk in a straight line a sufficient depth into the forest and there find a comfortable perch to observe the area. Then I could occasionally put on the handlight to illuminate my surroundings and see what was there..

So I set off into the forest, the twisted trees and rocky ground providing numerous obstacles for me to navigate. I kept on the lookout for any familiar fruit, bananas, pineapples, oranges, those sorts of things but for the moment I had no luck; the trees were not the sort I needed, it was closer to a pine forest than a tropical one. I did spot some berries in the gloom but I had read far too many books and watched far too many movies to trust them. They could just as easily poison me as provide any form of nourishment; and me being a couple of days away from the nearest town, let alone the nearest hospital, eating poisonous berries probably didn't constitute a good idea. As I said whilst in the Colca Canyon I had been introduced to a number of more obscure fruits so I also kept my eyes peeled for these, but the ecosystem there was wildly different to the one I now found myself in so the chance of me encountering them probably wasn't very high. Anyway fruit picking wasn't the object of this trip, more a nice diversion; animal life, that's what I was looking for.

After ten minutes of walking, ducking and climbing I decided I was deep enough to set up base. So finding a reasonably dry spot I sat down and waited. The trick, I had been told, was to stay quiet for a good ten minutes; by that point the local wildlife should have become used to your presence. Well that's the case with bird watching anyway. I can't rightly say whether it holds true for animal life too but I guess I would be finding out.

Now I will be honest this little night-time trip was just another one on the long list of things that I haven't really thought through properly. I wanted to find some interesting wildlife, something I could do, but any thoughts of discovering a new species were pretty farcical. After all, how the heck was I supposed to know if any animal I encountered was a new or unknown breed? I will stress once again that I'm a struggling actor, not a biologist or environmentalist or even anyone with a useful hobby. I had no way to record or profile anything I found, I had no camera, all I had was a notepad and pen; a notepad and pen that I had left in my tent. It would have been easy in such a situation to lose heart, certainly one half of my head wanted me to do this; the other half though was still motivated, filled to the brim with the prospect of new stories and tales to take back home. After all what were most people doing right now? I can tell you now that they probably weren't sat perched on a rock in the middle of the forest, in the middle of the night, in the middle of Peru. Even if it proved a pointless venture it was at least a new venture for me, a new experience. More worthwhile than sitting in my tent anyway, I would say.

I sat there listening, trying to ignore the cold that was slowly edging past my layers of clothing. I'm not sure what I was really listening for, signs of animals I suppose; but then wild animals don't tend to act like humans in forests, unlike me blundering through branches and cobwebs they know how to move silently. I heard the rustle of leaves and gentle creak of branches but it was only the wind. I shone my handlight around the area and couldn't glimpse any movement, nor any reflection from any animal's eyes. I turned the light back out and drifted off into thought, the sort of self reflecting crap that seems to possess you when there is no other form of distraction.

Thankfully this didn't last long as I felt an itch on my shoulder; I say thankfully, it turned out it wasn't an itch. As I glanced towards my shoulder I noticed a fairly sizeable tarantula sat there, looking at me with its countless eyes. My own eyes were agape; trying not to agitate the spider I slowly slipped my machete off my belt and moved it towards my new found friend. Then, careful not to stab myself in the neck, I slipped the knife underneath the tarantula and flicked it off my shoulder. Once it was off my shoulder I scrambled to my feet and the urge to shake myself manically, that till then I'd been holding in, took over. I doubted I would trust lying back against anything in this forest again. I put back on the handlight to scan the area to see where I had flicked the thing and was relieved to see it scurrying away in the other direction, deep into the forest. Well I suppose I did want to find some wildlife, though again that wasn't really what I had in mind.

I squatted down, trying not to let one unexpected experience deter me from my objective; I took out my chocolate bar and let the creamy taste lift my mood. I frequently scanned around the forest but saw very little, there was one small rodent like creature I espied with my handlight, a large jungle rat, but nothing that was particularly interesting. Perhaps I needed to be deeper in the forest, or perhaps there just wasn't an abundance of nocturnal wildlife at this high an altitude.

After forty five minutes of waiting in that spot I was cold, irritated and I just wanted to go back. So I set off back towards camp. Using my handlight to navigate myself back I did notice some more bug life. One particularly large caterpillar was in my path and when I say large I do mean large; it was chunky, roughly of a size with an average shampoo bottle. I contemplated quite how large a butterfly it would be once it larvated and hoped I might encounter one of these later in my trip. There was also a sort of stick insect like bug; I would never have seen it, but for the fact that it moved slightly as my light passed over it, so well disguised it was as the leaf of a small bush. It's amazing how certain creatures camouflage themselves, some for protection, others to aid hunting; it did make me wonder how many creatures might have passed me by whilst I was sat observing, without me realising them blending into the background.

As I navigated myself through a particularly overgrown section of woodland I really hoped that I was heading in the right direction. I mean I'd just walked straight, or at least that's what I thought I'd done; but I realised it would be so easy to veer off at an angle by accident whilst attempting to manoeuvre around rocks and trees. The lake was there though, the lake the saving grace. Even if I were to go off at a bit of an angle I should still end up at the lakeside, even were it to be slightly farther along than my point of entry. This set me in better spirits, better spirits that were immediately quelled by another bone chilling shriek.

I froze once more. Okay, this definitely wasn't a figment of imagination; once maybe, twice, oh no. The sound had seemed to originate from in front of me, off to the left a bit. In short, in the rough direction I would be heading once I exited the forest. My heart was pumping, one hand on machete, the other trying to keep the handlight still. It's funny; well I don't know that funny is the best word, maybe curious? I found it curious that my heart was pumping, racing even; I'm not ashamed to say I was slightly terrified. I don't even know why I was, a shrill cry in the night? It could be anything. Like I said it could just be a bat, or a bird, an insect or even a strange phenomenon with the wind. But I was filled with terror, I'd stopped moving. Should I continue on? Well I could hardly stay there all night could I? So I crept on, not even wanting to blink.

I was soon at the lakeside; fortunately I hadn't strayed from my path as I'd feared and was in my anticipated location. I surveyed the open area in front of me and once again could see nothing but the open landscape. How I wished at times like this that I had the nocturnal eyes of an owl, or the sonar detection of a bat, instead I was left squinting into the distance. I set off at a brisk walk now decidedly fed up with my night time wandering; I'd been in such a haste to leave the forest once I'd heard that second scream that I honestly had no idea if I'd missed anything or not. I had entered a sort of trance, focused only on getting out of the forest, and then back to my tent. I could have passed ripe banana trees, exotic flowers, a damn magic unicorn and I wouldn't have paid any attention. I guess it was the fight or flight response and my body had simply gone into autopilot. Was I being paranoid? Maybe, did I want to take any chances? No I did not. With the lake and lush forest this area should be teeming with life; so either I was being pretty blind or the local animal life knew something I didn't.

"Damn it!" I told myself, "get a grip of yourself." I over think things, I always have, it is perhaps the biggest bane of my life. It would be fair of you to say that were that true then I wouldn't be in my current predicament. But you see the issue is that I am aware that I over think things; I often over think things to the point where I reject the logical course of action and end up doing something stupid instead. I get so irritated with my own indecisiveness that I end up trying to be spontaneous, which ends in silly situations such as this. I only ended up in Peru because of such a situation. I was completely over-thinking what it was that I wanted to do in terms of life, career etc. I couldn't decide, didn't know what was best, what would make me the happiest or be more successful. So I just booked a flight to Peru, for seven days later. I'm fairly certain that that could be considered foolhardy and reckless, but the terrible thing is that it only happened because I actually tried to think about what I was doing. I can't say I regret ending up in Peru, often my spontaneous decisions seem to be the better ones I make; but walking off looking for wildlife in the middle of the night was turning out to be one of my less positive choices.

Personally I was rather regretting not simply carrying on walking to find a camp farther up the path; but it's hardly like I can predict the future. I could be walking back with arms full of the delicious Peruvian fruit cherimoya right now, instead of walking back empty handed, plagued by the noises in the night. But then who is to say that if I had stayed in my tent I wouldn't have over thought and ended up with an even thicker idea. I mean that awful shriek would have still been there, I imagine I would have still heard it. Would I have even had the guts to leave my tent to piss? I have to hope I would have found the courage, eventually. What would have happened if I hadn't decided to come out on this trip? Had instead stayed in Cusco for a few more days? Would I have discovered a really nice restaurant? Found a local walk that would have taken my breath away in a similar way to this expedition? Or would I simply have had my passport stolen to go along with my phone? I'm rambling; but I think the point I'm making is that I seem to get too caught up in what might happen or what could have happened, that I never seem to take the time to grasp what is actually happening. I was trying to do more of that on this trip. Live in the moment not in the past or an imagined future. I was trying more to be present in my own life and notice what was happening around me, notice things such as the shadow out of the corner of my eye that had definitely just moved.

This isn't me being paranoid, again. No what I had passed off as a tree had definitely just moved, I'm not talking a swaying of the wind, what I took to be a branch had moved and drifted into the shadow of a large boulder. This isn't middle earth, as much as the scenery may occasionally make me believe it to be; trees do not move. I'd been introduced to a poll tree in the Amazon that does technically move; but we're talking thirty centimetres in a year, not five metres in the blink of an eye. No, something was moving in the shadows and if that was the same thing that had put me so on edge with its ungodly call then I wanted to be nowhere near. Once more I was painfully aware of how much my light made me stand-out. Would the creature be drawn to it like a moth is to a flame? Or would it shy away as most nocturnal creatures do? Deciding that the latter would probably be the more likely scenario; being as moth's are really quite stupid animals, and also owing to the fact that personally if I was going to be attacked by a wild animal I'd rather at least have the chance of seeing it coming, instead of, quite literally, being in the dark.

I held my torch, sorry handlight, onto the boulder where I saw the creature slink. Nothing, nada, as I continued walking, keeping the light trained on the spot and as my vantage changed no creature was revealed behind the rocky mass. Either I'd imagined it, the creature had moved elsewhere, or we were playing out a Scooby Doo routine. As much as the latter idea made me crack a brief smile it was the second scenario that I believed was the more likely. The creature had moved with such speed when it thought I wasn't looking that I don't doubt it could've snuck away undetected.

Needless to say my brisk walk transformed itself into more of a light jog, me wanting to try and put some distance between myself and the elusive figure I felt was watching me from every shadow. My tent though was an hour's walk away, sure at a jog that would be slightly less but after ten minutes of my increased pace I was slightly out of breath.

I stopped and scanned the area to see if I'd been followed. I saw nothing but that didn't necessarily mean I was alone. I looked around at the moonlit landscape again, it really was quite a different sight in the twilight; the whole landscape was so far removed from what I was used to at home, in a different scenario it could almost be called magical. However, with fear nagging at the back of my mind, in that moment it just seemed creepy. I continued to walk back to my tent and it was a cold, tense and unpleasant forty five minutes before my handlight finally shone upon my camp; but at least there were no more screeches or monsters to disturb the night.

***

It was only once I had sat down inside my tent in relative comfort and let the excursions of the evening wash off me that I realised quite how hungry I was. It was now gone nine o'clock and having had a pretty poor excuse for both breakfast and lunch I was starving. As much as I didn't want to leave my tent again that evening I had to set my stove going; dehydrated sweet and sour chicken was the order of the day. I perched just inside the doorway of my tent as the food cooked writing down notes and thoughts about the long day I'd had. It was hard for me to believe that only that morning I'd been woken by a fearsome storm. I hadn't even set off on this walk three days ago, it seemed like I'd been gone nearer a week. We measure time as a fixed entity, but more and more it seems to me to be entirely about perspective. Some moments in life seem to last a lifetime, the best and the worst; but all that middling, day to day work and bore seems to just pass in a blur.

I tried to think where I'd been a year ago, I'd have just moved back to London, surely that wasn't a whole year ago? More than that I was now at an age where I could clearly remember events from a decade ago; now that is frightening. It's one of the things we have no control over, time marches ever onwards and as much as we wish we could turn the clocks back; as much as we dream up inventions like time machines the simple fact is that once a choice has been made we cannot go back and unmake it, we cannot turn back time. It's why my habit of over thinking and reflection is an unhelpful one.

As my food gently simmered I tried to recall more information about the creature I'd glimpsed. Alas all I'd caught was from the corner of my eye, I'd had no clear view; it seemed to be that the fact I saw anything at all was pure chance. Unintentional on the part of whatever creature it was. It reminded me of the stick insect I'd seen; how adept it was at camouflage and hiding. I'd earlier wondered about how many animals I might have passed by unaware, now I could tell there was at least one. The troubling thought I had was whether or not it was alone? It might not even have been anything worth worrying about; maybe it wasn't even carnivorous, maybe it simply fed off berries or something.

I do apologise to anyone thinking that I was beginning to fixate on this matter, but the truth was that I was indeed fixating upon it. I was alone out there and didn't have anyone else to distract me from such fixating, short my notepad and pen I didn't have much in the way of pastimes. I think I had a deck of cards buried somewhere in my bag; but the only one person game I knew was solitaire and besides that being deeply frustrating it also quickly gets boring, so I didn't even entertain this as an idea. So as I said, I sat in an unhealthy state of reflection and paranoia. Solitude is supposed to do odd things to people's psychological state and whilst I had spent most of my time travelling around Peru alone, I was encountering people as I went. These past three days were the first time I had truly been in solitude, truly been alone. I hadn't yet decided if it was having a positive or negative impact on me, I guess only time would tell.

Once my sweet and sour chicken had cooked I zipped up my tent and tried to let it warm up a bit. I tasted the food and was again reasonably surprised that it didn't taste dreadfully, it was actually kind of okay. I mean it didn't really taste like sweet and sour chicken normally does; but it was alright, fairly alright. Okay I'll admit 'fairly alright' isn't exactly the best of compliments in the world, but there is a lot of really bad food and this wasn't, considering it was dehydrated Chinese food it was passable. It wasn't even because I hadn't had Chinese food for months and had simply dropped my standards. Peru actually has a fairly large number of Chinese style restaurants, or Chifa restaurants, the Peruvian take on Chinese food. The portions are big and as with a lot of the food in Peru, pretty darn good.

I say they have a fairly large number, that isn't true; it is actually one of the most popular kinds of food in Peru, there are a lot of restaurants. Peru's capital Lima is hardly alone in having a Chinatown; most of the big cities in the world have such an area. But having visited Lima's it is on a scale that dwarfs that of London or New York's. I remember standing in a street, the masses milling all around me, I felt like a lone ant in an anthill. It was that same idea of being dwarfed, it was a similar feeling to that which I'd mentioned walking down Oxford Street in London; only here you had street sellers everywhere, the dust and smog of cars was on a grander scale, people calling out everywhere. In London everything seems more regimented, in those streets in Lima it was almost like life condensed, a microcosm of human existence. As interesting as it was I can't say it's the kind of place that I could spend a great deal of time; wildlife and the country is more my pace. Granted the sweet and sour chicken wasn't of the level I could get in a Chinese restaurant in Lima or most places in the world for that matter; but it was better than anything from Burger King so I suppose that was something.

My food eaten I stared at my dirty stuff and the old student in me took over, that can wait till the morning. The thought of walking down to the lake at this time and attempting to wash my dishes in, what had proven at midday to be, fairly unclean water didn't fill me with a great amount of joy. I'd had a long and eventful day so I instead curled up in my sleeping bag and wrote about it all instead. Settling down to write I was once more faced with the trouble of trying to accurately represent all of what I had experienced with a few measly words. The events were all still relatively fresh in the mind and as words tumbled onto page I quickly realised that everything I'd said was a jumbled mess.

That's fine, you might say, a poet would certainly say that in any case, 'your jumbled words are representative of your jumbled state of mind.' This was supposed to be, first and foremost, an exploratory expedition; my note-taking and writing an exercise to record my findings and serve as some vague proof of what I'd done, a point of reference should I need to explain to people. My writing at this point in time, aside from looking as though it was penned by a five year old, so messy was the handwriting, also looked like it had come from the mind of someone who had let their imagination run wild; so yes I suppose that of a five year old might fit. It certainly didn't look like the work of a calculated and trustworthy scientific mind. This shouldn't really come as a surprise to me; I am a theatre practitioner after all, given to the dramatic. But I like to think I have many strings to my bow. I'd hardly be the first actor to involve himself in scientific research. I would therefore hope I'd be able to compartmentalise; push the wild, carefree half of the brain aside for a moment and let the cold, worrying and analytical part take over for just a minute to set the record straight. No such luck.

I tried to fill my notes with as much information, thought, feeling and reminders as I was able to; in the hope that I would be able to look at it afresh at a later date from a more removed perspective, then write it all again, write it in such a way that someone might actually be able to read it. The computer age has somewhat killed the ability to write on the go, to write concisely at the first time of asking. You learn to do it at school but then once you've left the necessity disappears and the skill diminishes through lack of practice. When typing on a computer it's so much easier to just edit as you go, so less thought seems to be put into the writing, it naturally loses some of its urgency. There was no editing for me in my notepad. There was the odd crossed out word but on the whole what came to my mind found its way onto the paper and relative or not it was staying there.

Once I had exhausted all inspiration for writing, noted every minor detail I could remember, I read over what I'd written and thought how incredibly inadequate it was. It was a damn good job that I was an actor not a writer. Your own thoughts on my musings at that point in my adventure will no doubt vary considerably; whether you find what I thought ironic, funny, brutally honest or proof of a long held belief that your time would be far better spent reading something else entirely, it really doesn't matter. I had come to the realisation, or rather acceptance, that it wasn't the standard of my writing I wanted people to judge, but the facts and events that they told.

I packed away my pen and pad and dug out my wash bag. I quickly stepped outside and used some of the water from my bottle to brush my teeth, wash my face etc. As much as I wasn't encountering any people, at some point I would have to rejoin civilisation so I was making an effort to keep up a modicum of self hygiene. I did a quick scan of the area around my tent with my handlight; not entirely able to shake the feeling I was being watched from the darkness, but of course I saw nothing untoward. Ablutions done with no incident I once more curled up in my sleeping bag and settled into sleep. As I dozed I tried to steer my dreams towards thoughts of Quyllur-Wasi, that mysterious location that had inspired me to seek the wilds, and away from the monster in the shadows that could even now be circling my tent. When a shriek split the air in the middle of the night I sat bolt upright, not even trusting the shadows in my own tent. I lay with the light on, shivering, and it was a long time before sleep found me again.

# 5

## The Great Mountain

I awoke, birdsong once more punctuating the air, drawing a marked difference from the fitful night. As I left my tent the whole area seemed lifted. With the faithful sun once more warming the plateau it was as if a shadow, both literal and metaphorical, had been lifted from the area. Thankfully I hadn't slept in for once, giving myself the full day to push on and make up for lost time. I wasn't sad to get moving again, wanting to put some space between myself and this haunted place. I still wasn't sure what it was I'd witnessed and experienced the night before but I didn't really fancy staying around to find out, alone as I was.

I had my routine breakfast snack, had a healthy drink of water and went down to the lake side where I cleaned my pans from the previous night and refilled my water bottles. I then had a wash in the cold lake water, a quick wash as the water was really quite icy. With the water still looking fairly murky it was also questionable how much cleaner it was actually making me; it would get rid of some of the sweat and dust from my walking, though, if nothing else. Returning to my tent I packed all my belongings up and set off once more towards my path. I took a last look around my campsite, with the twisted alien trees and scattered boulders, and turned back towards the towering mountains.

Within a half hour I was back at the old path. With the ancient stones beneath my feet it seemed like I was finally back on track. Sure I'd crossed the lake and found this path the day before but it seemed like yesterday was something of a diversion, my focus had been taken from my goal and I'd spent a lot of the day meandering or fixing my own mistakes. Now though I could push on, and with the mountains towering high above me who knew, maybe today would be the day I reached my goal. The going was steady, but walking uphill once more did slow my pace; at least the stone path, despite being broken as it was, provided good grip for my feet. It wasn't like the dusty paths I'd been walking at the start of my trek. This was more like what I imagined when I set off on this hike, an ancient road, a path used by people in ages passed.

Who knew how old these stones were? The Inca empire only actually lasted around a hundred years, a minuscule time compared to that of the Roman Empire. The Inca civilization itself was older though and people had lived in this area of the world for centuries. Maybe this ruin I was looking for surpassed it all, maybe it had been taken over by the Incas when they rose to prominence but had stood for much longer. These stones certainly looked as though they could be older than five hundred years. But then I suppose you never can tell with ancient things, once things get to a certain age it's really quite hard to differentiate between them being old and very old. Certainly if this place Quyllur-Wasi had remained relatively untouched over time then it could have survived intact.

***

The path wound up the mountain and as I walked there was little to talk about, wildlife was scarce, there being few trees to support them. The birds therefore seemed to stay at the bottom of the valley, a few butterflies flitted past, but none especially noteworthy. Nothing like what I imagine could emerge from the monster caterpillar I'd seen in the forest the previous night. The lake began to shrink as I rose higher and looking back I was granted a comparative view to that which I had seen before descending to the opposite side of the lake. From here the barrier of trees also obscured anyone from seeing how the two lakes merged to one. Looking down, though, it made it even more apparent that the expanse of water on this side was definitely the larger. The mountains where I was climbing were topped by glaciers though so I guessed that in the summer months the ice would probably melt and feed the lake far below. Peering over the trees in the middle of the two lakes I could see the land rise up again, the mountain I had descended from, whilst it was too far away to see the path I'd climbed down I could imagine roughly where I would have walked and also the point at the top where I had stopped for lunch and first viewed the lake. It was an interesting exercise trying to retrace my path in the distance. I tried to trace my route back in my mind to place my point of origin, the village I'd initially set off from, and came to the conclusion that it must be off over the bank of mountains and hills to my left. The walk seemed to have taken me on a fairly twisted and roundabout route initially. I'd followed the river to find my path, only to probably walk back in the same direction on the opposite side of the mountain. At least that's the way it seemed in my head. But with the paths in the trees turning slightly, the river itself not flowing completely straight it was really impossible to tell. My sense of direction wasn't good enough for me to be sure of anything.

The continuing path occasionally turned to steps when the gradient became too steep and as I walked I decided that it was a good job that I actually had a path and was not merely relying on my sense of direction. I mean I didn't even bring a compass with me? Why you may ask when I brought so much crap? Well simply because I would never be able to use it to good effect. I could follow north, or follow south, or any of the points on the compass it's all the same; but that doesn't really help you when you don't know where you need to go. This area hadn't exactly been mapped, I couldn't just get out an ordnance survey map like on my Duke of Edinburgh. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, I had little choice. It was that, or go back.

The stone path had been climbing steadily and getting thinner and thinner as it went. It was now hugging a sharp wall and looked as if the very rock of the mountain had been cut out to make space for the narrow ledge. Considering how high I had already climbed, the peak of the left mountain, of which I was currently skirting, was still miles above me. Before too much longer I would be along the left hand edge of the mountain if the path continued as it was, so I figured I should have a view of the land on the other side soon. Looking down at the moment the land in the immediate area was barren. The trees were even rarer than they had been by this side of the lake and the whole area just seemed an expanse of half dead looking grass, the land grey and uninviting. It was probably just the altitude limiting the plant life. Certainly I was now approaching the altitude I'd been at before descending towards the lake and I could feel my breath getting shorter. Then again there was a decent enough amount of plant life at that level and the land below me wasn't exactly much higher than that by the lake. Maybe it was something to do with the constitution of the soil. Anyway it mattered little to me, clinging as I was to the edge of a precipice. I wondered if this path was once wider, but had crumbled over time and fell tumbling to the ground far below. I hoped that wasn't the case as that would raise questions over the sturdiness of the rest of the path.

I looked up towards the peak, trying to see if there was any sort of structure up there, but I had no luck. I pushed on, my pace slowing as tiredness and the lack of oxygen started to get to me. The sun had begun to be obscured by cloud and there was a chill in the air. The clouds didn't look like they were going to usher on another storm but they were nevertheless unwelcome. It's far more pleasant walking in reasonable temperatures than in cold ones; then again were it too warm then it would slow my progress with the heat draining my energy and dehydrating me far quicker. One thing is for certain, the more you think about something, the more it affects you. So complaining to myself that it was getting a bit cold was really unproductive, me then thinking about getting tired was even worse.

I tried to distract myself with the scenery off to my left. As I said the land was rather bare in the vicinity, though there were a few large shrubs to catch my gaze; their long and thick leaves were arranged in spiral patterns, yellow flowers rising from their centres. Farther off into the distance were more mountains, seriously it was basically mountains everywhere, but then I suppose that's why they are mountain ranges. The Andes, of which I was in, is the longest range in the world too, even if it didn't have the highest mountains. But then some of the mountains in the Cordillera Blanca section of the Andes, near Huarez to the north of Lima, feature peaks well over 6000 metres which are not to be sniffed at. I rather hoped I wouldn't be climbing quite that high on my trek, I doubt I'd manage it without an oxygen tank, but I felt relatively reassured by the fact that people wouldn't have had access to such equipment when this path was made, so it couldn't climb to too unbearable a level. I certainly didn't have the clothing for alpine climbing, just a couple of thick hoodies and an alpaca jumper for the evenings.

***

I had accomplished a good hour and a half of walking before I finally decided enough was enough, I could afford to sit down for a bit. I dropped my bag feeling the refreshing freedom of movement that comes from losing half your effective mass. I stretched, feeling my back make a satisfying click before, laying my bag flat and using it as a rudimentary seat. I took a sip of water and tried to catch my breath. I was wary of drinking too much as I wasn't sure when my next opportunity to stock up would be; I didn't really fancy running out, as without water I couldn't cook any of my food. Of course without water I couldn't drink either which, as I've mentioned, is more of a problem than not eating; but for some reason the prospect of no dinner tonight was more unsettling than the prospect of no drink. I'd fully stocked my water that morning though so it really shouldn't be an issue at all today; but you can never be too careful. Better I drink sparingly now than get to tomorrow and wish I had.

I have to say that I was three days into my journey and I was actually pretty chuffed with myself: I was on track, I hadn't really got myself lost at all, my tent was still in one piece, food was going well (I still had over half of my chocolate), I'd even been filtering my own water; who needs survival training? From my current experience it all just seems like common sense to me. Common sense... the problem with the world right now, in my personal opinion, is that common sense is all too uncommon a thing. Imagine how many issues would be avoided if people possessed a bit more common sense. But then if I possessed more common sense than I do, I probably wouldn't have been on the side of a mountain right then.

Thinking of the mountain I wondered what it was called, whether these two twin peaks even had a name. I supposed they must do due to this path having been walked in ages past. Humanity loves naming stuff, mostly I guess for ease of communication, but the English language is expanding constantly. Daft words are being added almost daily now. 'Selfie' is now in the official Oxford Dictionary; I don't honestly know how I feel about that. The bard himself, Will Shakespeare made up hundreds of words that have now found themselves into modern use; often I think most of them were invented just to make his speeches rhyme, but nevertheless it shows creativity and how other people are willing to accept language development.

Supposedly the human brain has an entire section devoted to language; it's one of the reasons, I suppose, that it's hard to forget language you have learnt. Nevertheless it is curious how languages do die, Quechua for instance is rare amongst indigenous languages in that it is still widely spoken in the Andes. It has assimilated words from the Spanish language, as Spanish has taken on Quechua words, yet neither language has eliminated the other; however Latin for instance isn't spoken at all really, just in odd religious ceremonies. Latin at one point, though, was one of the most widely spoken languages in the world, a curiosity and really a shame that it has disappeared so much. I mean I think I would care less if emerging language was more articulate and refined than selfie, or twerk, or words of that ilk. All the words that seem to be emerging into modern language just leave a sour taste.

I've gone off topic again, it's a bad habit. The original point I was trying to make is that perhaps humanity's love of naming things stems from an inherent need to gain ownership. Naming something makes them feel they have power over the said object, some manner of control. Anyway I didn't know what these mountains were called, what the lake was called either, or any of the woods I had passed through. I wasn't about to name them myself though, apart from being terrible at naming things it seemed somewhat unnecessary. Although I suppose it would make me more like one of the explorers of old, naming things. Half of them were fairly terrible at naming things, lack of imagination there for all to see on world maps; Newfoundland in Canada being one of the most impressive examples.

Anyway I had spent by far enough time thinking about matters of language and, fully rested as I was, I decided to set back off again. After a short period the path flattened out. Still the slab stone ran underfoot and I marvelled at the amount of work it must have taken to make it long ago. The awe was somewhat tainted by the idea that popped into my head supposing that they could well have been laid there by slaves. Would they have been? I wasn't honestly sure if slavery was prevalent in South America in those times. It's common knowledge that the great pyramids in Egypt were built by slaves, but that occurred over a thousand years before the Inca empire and in an entirely separate part of the world. But again I didn't know the origin of this path, how far back it dated or anything of use really.

It depresses me how little I know about the world around me. I try and learn, pick up knowledge here and there but so much is forgotten. Nothing I could really do about it there and then of course with no library or books to read, no internet to trawl through. I did resolve to research more when I got back though, maybe find an archaeologist who could come here and carbon date the stones, or at least an expert to consult about their origins. Of course in my head I still had fantastical notions of strolling into the British Museum and declaring my discoveries to a group of learned academics who would argue vociferously as to the truthfulness of my tales, before finally deciding that the most prudent course was to send a group to verify my discovery. I should say that most of what I know of archaeology and adventure was learnt from books and films; and most of those focused on events that wouldn't exactly be considered recent.

The route passed around the widest part of the mountain and as this happened I was granted a better view down the valley. The land to my left had, over the course of the past while, become gradually bumpier; no longer the barren plains it had been but the rocky foothills of the mountain. At this particular point the area to my left had come to its highest elevation in the near area, short of the mountain I myself was on, it showed how this small section of the Andes continued off into the distance. They were little more than tall hills from my high up perspective, but certainly mountains in their own right; some rivalling the height of these two could be seen if you traced the hills into the distance. This mountainous, hilly, band created a barrier between the plains I had passed and dense jungle that I could now glimpse beyond. More than that I could not tell at this distance, a canopy of greenery was all I could make out. It seemed at a lower altitude than the lake I'd passed over. Certainly it seemed like the land was sloping much farther than I had climbed but this could just have been pessimism, I can't rightly say. I was sure that more would become apparent as I made my way around the mountain. Living in England where the land is flat, I was unused to being able to see places so far away. The idea of viewpoints and looking that far into the distance was somewhat alien to me, though Peru was doing its utmost to educate me. These past few weeks I was like a baby opening its eyes for the first time, fascinated by everything; wide-eyed I was spurred on by the thought of views to come.

***

Minutes passed, another half hour; suddenly I halted. A wall rose up in front of me; the path had stopped. It was, it appeared, a dead end. Well what I can only suppose had happened was a landslide. A 20 foot mound was in my way, 20 feet of dirt and rock. I threw my bag down and let out a cry of anger. Was this how it was to end, a damn landslide? It looked fresh too, probably a result of the storm two days ago. I wondered if it would be possible to climb.

The wind and cold temperatures overnight had sucked the moisture from the earth so it was fairly hard. It was predominantly rock in any case; either loose boulders that had slid down from above, or sections of the mountain itself that had been hewn out by lightning. Yes, no point giving in too soon. The mound was steep, it was typical of my luck that the landslide hadn't left a nice gradual hill for me to climb; but even so it didn't look insurmountable. It might even be possible to scale the wall to my right and manoeuvre over the blockage that way. I'm a fair climber, even if I hadn't done much in a number of years.

I started trying to scramble up the rocky obstacle. I made a decent effort; as I made it to about head height though I put my foot down on a little indent and, applying my weight to it, the earth gave way and dropped me back down to the ground. I fell onto my back as my feet landed at an angle, body leant back as my hands tried and failed to maintain their hold. It hurt, a lot. The wind was completely taken out of me and I lay groaning for a good five minutes on the stone floor before I managed to haul myself slowly to my feet. Maybe scaling that wall wasn't such a good idea.

I turned my attention to the right wall. There seemed a decent amount of handholds, and it should be sturdier, it being a mountain and more of a permanent fixture, so I started climbing once more. I hadn't climbed very high though before I realised I'd made a massive oversight, my bag. My bag was still lying where I'd thrown it on the ground. There was no way I was going to be able to make the climb with all that extra weight. I did try incidentally, but it proved impossible with the weight off balancing me, pulling me from the wall. I was in a bit of a conundrum, I couldn't turn back now. The mere thought filled me with anger and frustration. I've never been good at abandoning an idea once it's set in my head. Once I come to a firm decision it's near impossible to persuade me to a different course of action; but if I couldn't go forward I would have to turn back.

I walked to the edge of the path and laid down flat, peering over the edge and to the side to see how far along the path was blocked. From what I could see the blockage appeared to be perhaps five metres across; but it should be pointed out that I'm not a particularly good judge of distance so this ought to be taken into account, along with every other estimation I've made/will make in this account. As I leant, carefully, I thought I could see the cobbles farther along. The path didn't end here; well so long as I could come up with some sort of plan.

As it turns out I was about to be granted some good luck, as my head dropped in relative despair I was granted a view down to the rocky hills. I was also given a sight of a small ledge just over a metre below me that ran along the cliff side for some distance. It wasn't very wide, half a metre at most, but it looked like it might well carry me past the landslide. That is of course if it were able to support my weight, rather than sending me plummeting to doom. My head was torn, take a risk, take a chance to continue; or just return the way I'd come. I'd had a good hike, I could always come back with a group and proper equipment. Certainly the sensible part of my brain insisted that I should give up this foolishness and return home. The devil on my shoulder was whispering though, 'You've gone this far, why give up now? Nothing is going to happen. Fortune could be just around the next corner...'

I'm sure the ledge was secure. It was part of a mountain, granite is supposed to be a solid enough material. I could lower my bag down, drop off the edge; I could even crawl if I felt the need. Yes, no negativity, I must endure. I didn't want to return only to say I'd failed. I've experienced enough failure due to my own inaction to persuade me that I couldn't allow this to be added to the list. Sensible me raged inside my head that I would regret this foolishness; but the truth is that you always regret things that you haven't done far more than the things that you have. I imagine that's because in the end at least you tried, you aren't left wondering what might have been.

Resolving myself with this idea I began to execute my plan. I retrieved my bag from the ground and took a bit of time to work out the weight balance of the bag, what way it would lean. After all I didn't want to lower it over the edge only for it to fall away from the mountain wall and tumble down the cliff. I determined that my bag would lean onto the side holding the tent; as you would imagine, but I thought it better to check than to assume. I crouched down onto my knees next to the edge and keeping a tight grip on my bag I dragged it off the side of the mountain. I had to steady it and brace as the fairly considerable weight dropped. Then, oh so slowly, I lowered it down to the point where I was laying flat down, face in the dirt, with arm outstretched and then dropped it the remaining small distance.

My heart was in my throat as I unclasped my hand and it fell those few centimetres, the repercussions of losing my bag playing over and over in my head in that fraction of a second. Time almost froze as it landed on the ledge, then tilted, tilted and fell. Fell onto the mountain wall. I breathed a sigh of relief. In retrospect it might have been better for me to have dropped to the ledge first and then reached up and grabbed the bag; but saying that, my balance would be much more questionable on the small ledge. It was better I didn't risk over balancing and taking myself and my bag with me to an unpleasant death on the mountain hills.

Now for myself; I picked myself up from the ground and moved along slightly from the point I'd dropped my bag, trying to spot the part of the fortuitous ledge that was widest. Finding an appropriate point I turned backwards, as you would when climbing down a ladder, and slowly dropped one leg then the other over the side of the cliff edge. Keeping a grip on the stone path I lowered myself the short distance to the ledge.

It was a very unpleasant feeling, blindly searching for something that wasn't empty air. Once my feet found the ledge I undertook what could be described as a scared scramble as I brought my hands from off the path, slowly bit by bit down to the floor where I dropped down to my knees. I tried to resist looking at the unsettling drop next to me, it proved difficult, nay impossible. It was after all apparent looking in any direction except the cliff wall and I couldn't stay facing that. I slowly, in the safest way I could, turned in the direction I had to crawl. For yes I was going to crawl, call me a coward but I preferred to think of it as being cautious.

I will be honest I'm not great with heights. Okay that's maybe doing myself a slight disservice. I don't mind heights, what I've generally had a problem with is towers, being able to look below me and see the fall. To be relying on someone else's engineering. Here on this tiny ledge I found myself in a similar situation. I didn't like trusting that by placing my hand in front of me the rock/earth wasn't going to break off and clatter two hundred metres down. I've seen far too many adventure movies to be calm in a situation like this.

As much as I wanted to just quickly scuttle along and get back on the path, the proper path that is not the makeshift one I was now on, and be once more on solid trustworthy ground, I first had to deal with my bag. It was propped behind me, so I reversed I suppose you would call it, I had little wish to attempt a 180 degree turn; there seemed scant room for that me being on all fours. Once by my bag, I gripped it tight and carefully put it on my back, keeping steady on my knees. I did up the straps and I have to say that in that moment I had never looked more like a tortoise in my entire life. And like a tortoise I really wanted to just put my head into my shell and forget my surroundings, unfortunately that wasn't a wise idea right now what with me having to move eventually. I proceeded instead like the tortoise I was, slowly. I tried to distract myself by pondering quite how this ledge came to exist. It was quite flat, very few bumps. I did wonder if I was in fact wrong about the landslide, maybe it wasn't a recent occurrence. That this little ledge had been deliberately carved as a way round did present itself as a possibility; I wasn't particularly sold on this as an idea though, I had to believe that if they wanted to carve a new path they would have made it slightly wider and less precarious.

With wind buffeting my side this was about as scared as I'd been in my life. It's hard for me to express quite how close I was to falling. It was basically me and then nothing, a hands width gap for breathing space. I now had the landslide mound to my right; it must have been pure good fortune that had kept this ledge from being blocked as well. I suppose the ledge was just too small to support any falling rocks. I resisted the urge to look below to see if I could spot any such rocks, not wanting to succumb to vertigo. I kept on shuffling. Occasionally small stones could be heard falling as I brushed them with my legs.

I considered the possibility that this level of the mountain was a divide between two different types of rock; with the wind and rain eroding at a quicker rate the less dense upper layer and leaving this harder ledge. It was a possibility, though the presence of granite higher up muddied this theory; but that didn't necessarily mean that there weren't bands of sandstone. Who knows, I'm not a geologist.

These sorts of theories did at least help distract my mind from the perilous situation I was in. What would people think if they saw me now? They'd say I'd gone mad; but then they say true genius' all possess a touch of madness. Not that I'm calling myself a genius, but madness isn't necessarily a bad thing, in moderation. I do like to use the phrase 'living on the edge', but quite frankly this isn't what I normally mean.

Anyhow I was frequently checking the progress I was making, keeping an eye on the path above, not wanting to travel any farther on this ledge than I had to. It wasn't long before I'd passed the blockage, little more than a minutes crawl really, though it seemed much longer than that; once more that blurring of time taking effect. I stopped as I tried to work out the best way to get back up onto the path. Sections of the path above were slightly overhanging the lower ledge so I had to shuffle to a point where this wasn't the case. I unclipped my bag and dropped it off my back. I then slowly stood, trying to force my knees to be something more solid than jelly. I turned side on keeping a firm hand on the wall; knees were bent for added balance. I then picked my bag up. I'm not the strongest person in the world and lifting the bag to what amounted to around my head height was not easy; I had to hoist it up with both hands. Before I knew it though my worst fear had come to pass, with arms above my head I lost balance, the bags weight carrying me backwards. I was gripped by a state of panic and out of instinct put one foot back to steady my balance, it caught the edge of the ledge and the ground crumbled. I blindly pushed off on my other foot, throwing my whole weight forward; I ended up throwing the bag as I went, adrenaline taking all thought from my head. The adrenaline and momentum did their work, carrying my backpack the short distance that allowed it to land on the edge of the path above, just as my face collided with rock and I blacked out.

# 6

## The Shadows Of The Mountain

I came to, head ringing. I checked my watch and saw that I could only have been out for a minute or so. I pushed myself with a groan as close to the wall as I could and checked my head for damage. I was bleeding slightly from a couple of cuts on my face, but nothing that seemed too bad. I could feel a large bump rising up on the corner of my head though, throbbing viciously, this was what was causing me pain. I couldn't really think straight enough at the time to realise how fortunate I'd been; apart from not slipping off the mountain in the first instance, it was a miracle that, having knocked myself out, I'd collapsed to the side, rather than falling backwards again. I'd never actually been knocked out before. I'd fainted, but never been knocked out. Sums me up a bit that the one time I get knocked out isn't from a fight or anything like that, but by head butting a stone wall. Anyhow, forcing back the pain I got up, I needed to be back up on the path. The small amount of trust I had in the little ledges stability had well and truly turned to dust.

I reached up and put two firm hands on the path above. I looked carefully for one good foothold, for that was all I'd really need. Thinking it wise to test, I brought my hands back down once I'd found a decent hold and checked its stability by pushing and pulling with my hands. Once I was satisfied I re-gripped the path, put my left foot on the hold and pulled myself up. I reached up with my right leg and put my knee onto the path, hoisting the rest of my body back onto the old yet blessed firm slab stone path.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Honestly I feel there has never been a period of my life with this many 'sighs of relief', I must have been experiencing five or six such occurrences a day, it wasn't good for my nerves.

I felt now was a good time for me to stop for lunch, or a snack in any case such as it would have to be, and recover slightly. I had a healthy drink of water to supplement my food. I was beginning to become accustomed to the plain lunches, though that isn't to say I wasn't missing Cusco. I was looking forward to the point when I returned and could once more feast on a three course meal for five soles. Five soles was, if curious, equal to £1 at that particular time, so really very cheap.

Luxury isn't one word that could really be used to describe any aspect of my living at the moment, excepting, I suppose, the chocolate I had for dessert. Not that I really think it should have to be a luxury, but dessert of any sort couldn't really be called basic living. After my traumas of the past twenty four hours it was certainly quite welcome. Am I obsessed with chocolate? No, but we should be able to enjoy the good things in life.

I did incidentally visit the chocolate museum in Cusco. I learnt that England is second only to Switzerland in the world when it comes to the number of chocolate bars consumed per person per year. I probably don't help that ratio. The museum did have a large amount of free samples so it wasn't as if they were discouraging it. I sampled: milk chocolate, dark chocolate, white chocolate and hot chocolate; chocolate jams such as peach, strawberry and maracuya (a fruit I hadn't even realised existed); I had six different types of chocolate liqueur too. It shouldn't be possible to walk into a museum sober and leave tipsy, but then maybe Peru have just nailed it when it comes to museums.

My head really was throbbing something fierce, so I used the cool pack that was keeping my chocolate slightly chilled as a substitute for ice, it didn't work. Four days into my trek the cool pack was just lukewarm water by now. It was only a lack of prolonged heat that was keeping my chocolate from melting now.

Giving up I looked back at the landslide out of curiosity, I wondered if it would be any easier scaling it on this side for the return journey. At first glance I would have to say that no, no it wouldn't be. I couldn't tell for sure without having a proper look, but that wasn't something I really wanted to think about right now. I knew I had to make a return journey, but it wasn't at all worth me stressing myself out about it until I'd actually completed the outgoing walk first. The thought of crawling along that ledge a second time wasn't a happy prospect.

I got myself ready to start walking again, hoping that putting my attention to the road and new scenery would distract me from the aching in my head. As I walked I noticed how I hadn't heard any birdsong in quite a while. I remember thinking it odd, as I imagined birds would roost amongst the high cliffs; but then again the lack of sound doesn't mean that isn't the case, it just meant no song birds. I suppose I'd been spoilt, a few gliding birds of prey would be an impressive sight though; still they don't grant the same prolonged pleasantness that birdsong does. I kept my eye out, looking at the sky on the off chance I might catch sight of an Andean Condor. I'd seen a few around the Colca Canyon, mostly at the famous Cruz del Condor, but seeing one out here, away from the hordes of tour buses and cameras, would be that little bit more special. No luck so far.

***

I was walking for perhaps ten more minutes when I came to a lofty wedge of rock, jutting out from the main wall to my right, that forced the ragged path around it. This wasn't exactly unusual, I'd passed a few, what was unusual was what I saw when I walked around the outcropping. I could still see the jungle far off in the distance beyond the mountain, there was nothing to speak of there. No it was more the fact that the path ended, again. Though this time there was no landslide, the path disappeared into a cave. Imposing, looking like it would swallow me up whole; it was, well it could only be, my onward route.

I wasn't particularly happy about delving into a cave, I enjoyed going in caves as a kid, but not so much on my own. At least I did have my handlight so I wouldn't be groping around blindly in the dark. Caves have as well been, and still are, well known treasure troves. Whether it was ancient gold, goods smuggled away, or gemstone mines there was much for me to potentially discover. I was making a conscientious effort to stay positive. I was, for instance, frantically batting down the thought that caves in Indiana Jones, Tomb Raider, almost any classic adventure novel, whilst normally being home to treasure, also invariably contain traps. In horror films they tend to be home to monsters and, after last night, I wasn't in the mood for that either. I turned my mind to other genres. If this was a mystery novel I would probably just disappear. Science fiction? Well I suppose you could class Journey to the Centre of the Earth as that, they covered the idea of a cave pretty well. If it was H.G Wells or the like he would probably tell you that aliens or mole people inhabited this cave. What sort of story was I in? What could I expect? Often we use stories to comfort ourselves, to teach us lessons, to forget briefly about the troubles of real life. This, I decided, was not really a time for it. Caves in stories take on many forms and fulfil many roles, most of them not so good. In real life though caves are more often than not just caves so I could comfort myself with the thought that the worst I was likely to encounter was a bat or two and as I've previously stated most of those are harmless.

So I flicked on my handlight and set off into the cave, bidding goodbye to the sunlight. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I began to make out my surroundings. The path continued in a rudimentary fashion within the cave, though it now merged with more natural stone surfaces. Sections of the path had been created where the floor was less even and steps created when necessary, but in general people seemed to have made do with the natural rock formations. It wasn't exactly flat going though, the path rising up and down frequently. As the faint light from the entrance disappeared I discovered something that made me grin widely. Built into the walls at regular intervals were old torches, torches of the fiery kind, though obviously not now alight.

I took one out of its rusted iron container and looked at it. It was, as I said, old; how old I couldn't tell, not being an expert or even a decent judge. The wood wasn't in good shape, the damp conditions not being conducive to preserving it. It wouldn't have surprised me to be told it was a more recent replacement. People had obviously used this path fairly recently, even if not frequently, so it would have to have been kept in a reasonably usable state.

I took my bag off and dug out my matches. Let's face it I would have really regretted it had I not at least tried to set it aflame. Keeping torch, handlight and box of matches carefully balanced in one hand, I eased a match out of the box and struck it along the lighting strip; alas it was too damp and wouldn't catch light! I was undeterred and fished out the ethanol used to power my stove from within my bag, then I wet the fabric on the end of the torch with the ethanol and tried once more. This time the torch sprung alight and I felt the heat wash onto my face. I let out a whoop of glee. This! This was what I wanted from an exploration!

The light from fire makes a completely different atmosphere to electronic light. Shadows danced and flickered all around me, enjoying the fire as much as me. I temporarily put the torch back in its iron holder as I hoisted my backpack on once again. I turned off my handlight and put it into my pocket, retrieving the torch from the wall. I couldn't resist humming adventurous tunes under my breath. I was walking, brandishing a flaming torch. Sure the wooden handle was old, somewhat rotten and not particularly pleasant to hold, but it didn't dull my spirits. I took this as a sign that things were looking up again after the recent bump in my trail.

The cave was a large one, I seemed to be travelling towards the centre of the mountain, so I quickly came to the realisation that this was no small tunnel. The cave was natural, that much was obvious, though whether or not man had assisted in sections was unclear to me. Peering into the dark corners along the cave walls I could spy small off shooting tunnels. Some of them would have been possible to navigate, were I to crouch, but I didn't deem it wise to wander from the main path.

I kept on the lookout for any signs of life, but so far I had seen nothing, not animal life at any rate. There were numerous types of moss that climbed over the walls and lived in cracks in the ground. The cave was damper than you would have perhaps imagined, I could only assume water was seeping through from above. Perhaps there was an underground river not far away. Regardless, it was this water that allowed for the mossy life and it is also what made my going slightly slower. Many of the rocks I stepped on were slippery, either from water or the mosses. You might think I would have found the presence of the moss annoying, but there were so many different kinds and colours that in the low level lighting the area took on a strange beauty.

It wasn't only the moss my light was picking up, as I walked you could see slight glimmers on the rock, betraying the presence of different minerals. It was a good sign, offering a possibility of more impressive gems deeper in the mountain. I hadn't yet encountered any further evidence of the presence of man in this cave, short of the sconces occasionally attached to the walls that confirmed that I was continuing in the right direction. There was less evidence of a man made path way as I went, but so long as I knew I was heading in the right direction I did not mind. After perhaps fifteen minutes walking in such a manner the cave tunnel I was walking down opened up into a decent sized cavern, at the centre of which was a shallow pool of water. Steps were evident to the right side of the pool where the tunnel seemed to climb, it seemed, ever higher up the mountain.

***

I took my bag off and examined the gloomy pool. The water seemed to have accumulated there, dripping from above. Looking up I gasped as I saw large ridged stalactites clinging to the ceiling. I knew they were firmly secure, part of the rock itself rather than being attached so to speak, but it was still slightly disconcerting having large teeth, such as they were, hovering over me.

Stalactites are most commonly formed in limestone caves where there is a large quantity of calcium, I wasn't sure if that was the case here, due to the amount of granite I'd seen, but I was beginning to think that there was little point me trying to work out anything. Once again my lack of expertise in any useful subject was causing me a great deal of frustration. The stalactites could be volcanic and formed from lava, left over from ages past when this part of the Andes was still geologically active. I honestly didn't know, but they looked damn cool.

Standing next to the shallow pool I put my hand into the water, it was ice cold to the touch. Out of the sunlight, and potentially formed from melting snow from the mountain peak, that wasn't too much of a surprise. I waved my torch around, scanning the walls for a sconce to hold it for a while. I thought it wise to top up on water given the opportunity, the pool was probably stagnant and not overly fresh, but with my purification tablets that shouldn't be too much of an issue. I found a holder on the cavern wall, removed the existing torch from its casing and threw it carelessly to the floor, replacing it with my own that was still happily burning brightly.

I removed the required equipment from my pack and, after downing the remains of my water bottle, set about refilling it once more. The torch didn't give off a great degree of illumination, mainly just lighting clearly the small area around the flame. That said it gave enough visibility for me to roughly see what I was doing without having to get out my handlight, even if the exact details of the far side of the cavern were unclear. It was nevertheless slightly unnerving; in the smaller tunnel there was little chance of anything sneaking up on you, here though it was much more of a possibility. I was once again filled with the unsettling feeling that I was being watched. I felt sure it was paranoia this time after all of my musings on caves. How prehistoric man put up with living in caves I'll never know, I suppose it was the lesser of evils.

The acoustics of the cavern were remarkable, the slight sloshing of water echoing loudly off the walls. Once I had finished with the purification of my water bottle I experimented, throwing small stones into the water and against walls, listening as the clatter repeated. I'm sure a cave man could have whiled away many the hour entertaining himself in this manner. Alas the pool was too small and too shallow for stone skimming and an echo alone wasn't enough to keep me tarrying there. I wasn't sure how long I would be walking underground but since there seemed no sign of it ending particularly quickly I didn't want to waste too much time. Spending a night camping in a cave underground wasn't high on my bucket list, even if it would be cool to say I'd done it. No, I added a small amount of ethanol to the torch to keep it burning whilst I had my bag out before setting off again.

I had to be wary not to use too much ethanol, it was after all rather vital for me to have enough to use for food. I had only brought the one bottle with me, that should be all I'd need and last a good long while, but if I continued to pour it on the torch it would soon disappear. I told myself that to be safe I wouldn't use anymore, if the torch burned out then it burned out, I'd just have to revert back to electronic light. I didn't like it; after all I was having great fun proceeding in the manner I was, the added heat was hardly unwelcome too, but I had to try and stay sensible and not let fun cloud my better judgement.

I walked up the steps to the side of the pool and came to stand on the raised section of the cavern, above the pool of water. Holding the torch aloft I tried to bring some light to better see the roof and perhaps determine the source of the water. I'd heard and seen water dropping occasionally, but I wasn't able to see where from whilst below. I looked for a small crack or a damp area on the roof, an accumulation of water. It wasn't so much as a patch that was damp but most of the roof, there must be some body of water above that was seeping through. I was curious, but there was nothing I could do to find out more. I did find it fascinating, after all the small pool where I'd filled my water wasn't flowing anywhere. That meant that water must also be slowly finding its way down through the rock. Was there another such cavern below, another one above?

I imagined the mountain like a multi-story building, with floors of flats. There could be a maze of tunnels I wasn't aware of. If that were the case I really could imagine mole people living down here, but then I have a vivid imagination. Maybe there was simply one windy tunnel. I certainly wouldn't find out stood staring at the ceiling so I turned my attention back to where I was going. Fortunately there was only one way for me to go, other than the way I'd come from, so there was no chance of me going in the wrong direction. Just keep going forward that's all I had to do.

The exit to the cavern was smaller than the entrance, not so small that I had to crouch, but were I any taller I would probably have to. As I entered this tunnel I was stooping slightly, unnecessary as it was, I was a bit too conscious of the rock right by my head. I'd already taken one firm hit on the head, which was still causing me pain, hitting it again was practically the last thing I wanted to do. I'm sure that, after suffering a blow to the head as I had, in regular circumstances I should go to the hospital as a precaution. These were not regular circumstances though, they were anything but. It would simply have to wait, besides I was too stubborn to let physical injury or illness conquer me.

***

I walked on, surrounded by rock it was tomb like. I've never really been claustrophobic, but it was hard not to be aware of the consequences of a cave in. This was at least a natural tunnel so the risk of a cave in should be less; it had also stood for at least five hundred years so I shouldn't have anything to worry about. I continued in silence, the only sound being my breathing and the gentle scuffing of my feet against the ground. The tunnel was progressing at a gentle slope, the floor now smooth with no man-made interruption. The wall sconces had disappeared too; there had been one by the tunnel entrance but none since. I still hadn't found any treasure, or gemstones. The rocks continued to betray mineral elements occasionally, some sections shining slightly green, so I'm fairly sure there would be gemstones among the rock somewhere if you were to start mining, but now wasn't really the time for that.

This was just the sort of tunnel you could imagine being home to a boulder trap, not that there was anything to trigger such a trap; it really was quite dull. I didn't really have grounds to complain about a short stint of dullness though, having been blessed with remarkable sights for almost the entirety of the trip. Maybe it was tiredness from the previous night catching up with me, dulling my imagination. I still had my torch, I was in an underground tunnel, it wasn't exactly a boring enterprise. I don't know, I guess I had just expected more before I came in. I was imagining old temples, ruins, some sort of structure. I hadn't seen so much as a bat, I wanted to see something.

This area of the cave was much dryer and the moss that was so abundant earlier was nowhere to be seen. I kept walking. Looking at my watch I saw that I'd been underground for perhaps forty minutes now, quite a length of time, it would certainly be worrying if I got lost. My path was occasionally turning and I had totally lost track of what direction I was heading in, I could only assume it was deeper into the mountain. My path was still rising and I wondered how high I would emerge, when I eventually did.

***

Five minutes later or so something occurred that drastically changed my mood. I was pretty zoned out, whistling a tune that's origin I couldn't place, when suddenly I heard the sound of a stone drop to my left. I stopped and turned looking for the source and froze in place. Right in front of my eyes, made clear by the firelight, was a face. Not human, no this was a face of nightmares.

The creature looked a cross between a monkey, a bat and a lizard. It possessed the rough facial structure of a monkey, with an out jutting jaw, upturned nose and jet black eyes. The ears were large, swooping back like a bat's and were almost half the size of the creatures head. Its teeth were like razors, the mouth was still and positioned in what I perceived to be an evil grin. It was flat against the cave wall. Two thin arms were gripping onto the wall with four fingered hands, long clawed fingers digging into the very rock like it was butter. There was the source of the stone, a fragment must have dropped loose. The creature was suspended as such so it was looking slightly down on me, long thin legs were off the ground tight to the wall but not gripping on, large feet gently brushing the stone. This nightmarish entity had dull greyish skin, partly scaled and partly covered in short fine hairs. The being had a slightly ridged spine running the length of its short body and continuing down a long tail that ended in a trident like fork. The creature had either been sleeping like that and I had awoke it, or it had been lying in wait; either was not good.

Having been spotted the creature let out an ear piercing screech that made me flinch and cover my ears, instantly I knew it was the same animal I'd only glimpsed the previous night. Whether this was the same one, or one of a group of animals I didn't care to guess. I instantly swiped my flaming torch in the direction of the creature and as it cowered I bolted down the tunnel, pursued angrily by another scream.

I sprinted, something I hadn't done in a while and something you shouldn't do at altitude; with a heavy bag and torch in my hand it didn't make it any easier either. I chanced a glance behind me to see if I was being pursued and could just make out a shadowy form seeming to drift from wall to wall silently. I continued running, willing the caves exit to be close. I turned a corner praying to see light at the end of the tunnel, but all I saw was more rock around me and the stretching darkness. Beginning to get out of breath I reached round with my left hand and withdrew the machete from the side of my bag. I didn't want to engage a wild animal, but if I had to I wanted to give myself the best chance I could. It was the silence that scared me the most, how quietly the thing could move, all I could hear was my breath coming out in sharp quivering puffs.

I took another quick look behind me to see if I was making any ground on the thing, bringing the torch behind for visibility. A claw was extended towards my head. I stumbled in shock and tripped, falling to my back. My bruised head was jarred with the landing, the back of it striking the ground and making me grunt with pain, but fortunately I retained my consciousness. Two clawed hands penetrated the ground beside me as the creature steadied itself from its leap, I was pinned down. The long tail whiplashed as it landed, striking my outstretched leg causing me to flinch in pain as the tough edge cut my skin. The creature pressed its face towards mine, mouth split wide. The smell that emanated from those jagged jowls made me flinch, bile rising in my mouth as I fought to prevent myself throwing up. It was the smell of decay; it reminded me of the food markets around Peru and not in a good way. It was the stench of meat left out in the sun, meat going off. No, even that doesn't do it justice. It was one of the single foulest smells I'd ever beheld and it staggered my mind that it could even exist, and that I had to be this close to sense it.

I can spend the time analysing this now, but in the instant I only had a split second and I instinctively shoved my torch right into the creatures face as it opened its mouth wider causing it to let out another high pitched shriek, I slashed the machete side to side and jabbed the torch forward trying to keep the monster at bay. It tried to slash me with its claw, angry at the pain I'd caused it but was caught by one of my blind machete swings. It was only a light cut I caused but some dark red blood splattered the floor and with one final cry of rage the creature turned and disappeared back down the tunnel.

I didn't dare take my eyes from the direction it had gone, not trusting it wasn't only lying in wait. I was panting, my heart was thundering in my chest. After a minute had passed I had to get up. If I waited there any longer the creature would come back and I'd only have myself to blame for being a sitting duck. I scrambled to my feet, my skull ached, the headache not helped by another fall. As I walked I felt light headed too, I was still breathing heavily and the toils of running at high altitude were clearly telling.

I walked on, wanting to run as fast as I could to the exit, good sense telling me though that if I did then I might well never reach the exit. Altitude sickness is a serious problem and I couldn't afford to succumb to it so far removed from help. All thought of finding treasure had left my head I simply wanted to get back out into the sunlight. I know I'd been trying to discover a new species not twenty four hours ago, but this wasn't the way I imagined I'd do it. From a removed perspective it was really a remarkable event, a grand discovery, at the time though it gave me no joy. After all if there was one of these things down here there must be more, I thought. There had been at least one out on the plateau the night before, had it come down from the mountain? Was the being I'd encountered here the same one, had it followed me into the cave? Doubtful, it would have attacked me sooner. After all it would have had to sneak past me to get in front of me. I don't have any doubts it could have done so if it wished, but there was no need for it to do that. No, there must be more of the things. A horrifying thought.

Was this why no one was using this route anymore? Where did they come from? Did that elderly lady Isabel know about them? Did she deliberately put me on such a dangerous path? So many questions, questions and no answers. I don't like not having answers. Not having answers leads me to speculate, which I'm sure you will have noticed by now, and speculating on questions like these would send me on a darker more depressing path than speculating on the environment. But really any speculating at all right now was bad when my mind should be concentrated and directed to useful enterprises such as self preservation.

I've previously mentioned how humanity seems to have a high opinion of itself, us being the most evolved species and all. It is only then though that I began to appreciate how much we've also devolved as a species. I'm sure the cavemen in the past would have much better instincts for survival than I did in that instance. They wouldn't, having been assaulted by an unknown animal, be wondering what taxonomic class the animal fit into for instance. They would probably only be thinking about either running away, or beating the thing to death; and maybe just maybe if it was any good to eat. Most of us live in such comfort and safety that instincts have been dulled and others lost completely through the generations. We're becoming increasingly reliant on technology, I'm no exception. Sure it could be argued that if I had the right technology with me then I wouldn't have to worry, a gun and some napalm would sort that monster right out, but the point is that we shouldn't need it if we're really so advanced as a species. We should be able to rely on ourselves, something I wasn't really able to do. Thinking about my incapabilities was in itself proving to be a hindrance as well. I tried to snap out of my reverie and stay alert, I partially succeeded.

The path was still climbing, a fact I was none too pleased about. I did at least console myself with the knowledge that there was only so high it could possibly climb, being underground. I'd rather not have to climb right to the peak of this mountain before coming to a cave exit though, so I really hoped it wouldn't be necessary. Was Quyllur-Wasi at the end of this tunnel? Was that why I was still climbing? Was the ruin, temple, whatever it was right at the mountains peak? No! That is, no as in I was distracting myself again! Damn it I'm a daydreamer and always have been, I zone out for long periods deep in my own thoughts letting real life pass me by. I couldn't allow myself to do the same here, focus! There were creatures lurking in the shadows; I'd met one and had no intention of meeting anymore.

***

Five minutes later, back and forth still playing in my head, the tunnel flattened slightly and once more opened out into a chamber, this one, however, did hold evidence of man. The wall sconces were back, set at regular distances along the walls, but these ones weren't plain like the others so far. They were set into the hands of carved figures standing sentinel around the room.

At the very centre of the chamber was a large plinth upon which rested a low and wide bowl a little under two metres in diameter. The bowl itself, seemingly made from ceramic, was largely unimpressive, however it did have numerous figures and patterns ornamenting the side. Their exact meaning I couldn't comprehend, it might be the case that they were simply decoration for decorations sake with no deeper meaning, yet the plinths prominent position made me doubt this. To me it seemed to be some sort of offering platform, I imagined for appeasing the Gods, but to what precise purpose I would only be guessing.

Whilst highly advanced in many aspects, the Inca empire also had what we would now say were some rather barbaric religious customs, one of which was human and animal sacrifice. This no doubt stemmed from the presence of so much natural disaster in the area. This area of South America is slap bang in the middle of the ring of fire, an area of frequent volcanic and tectonic activity; this, coupled with El Niños every few years, led the populace to fear vengeful Gods.

The plinth itself was engraved with numerous patterns and imagery, amongst which featured the Inca trinity of the Condor, Puma and Snake representing the heavens, earth and the underworld. This trinity features frequently in religious imagery and day to day architecture all round Peru. Machu Picchu has its own temple of the condor and there are endless other references to the trinity around the site. The old ruin of Sacsayhuaman outside Cusco also has a stone puma paw amongst its walls as well as a carved snake. It wasn't, therefore, too much of a surprise for me to see the imagery cropping up here as well.

I circled around the plinth using my torch to make out the carvings and tracing my hand round the ancient edges of the images. I found the location of this chamber interesting as, presumably, everyone who used to make this pilgrimage would have passed through it. Was making a sacrifice almost a rite of passage? Was it a prerequisite for travelling any farther? Places like this fascinated me, imagining what they would have been like around the time of their construction when they were being used for their original purpose. Ancient ruins around the world are so frequently visited by tourists and used as promotional material that it's easy to forget that people once lived in them, it was day to day for those people.

Maybe I should make a sacrifice of my own, follow the old way so to speak. I had no animal to sacrifice and am generally opposed to such actions anyway, though I would obviously have made an exception for the beast of my recent torments. As it was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen right now I decided a blood sacrifice would suffice. They are supposed to be strong according to religion and superstition the world wide; I don't believe in such things myself but, as was my logic with building an apacheta on my first day's walk, what's the harm?

As I traced my machete lightly across the palm of my hand, as I'd witnessed done on half a hundred films and TV shows, I let out a cry. Knifes are sharp! It hurt! Damn did it sting. Some of my blood dribbled into the bowl and I thought what a stupid thing I'd just done, cutting myself with a machete? Honestly, as if I hadn't picked up enough bumps, bruises and cuts over the past couple of days I was now inflicting them on myself? In the movies this is the time when a low thunderous sound is heard elsewhere, a door opening, wall moving, something like that. This was real life so there was just silence, no dramatic occurrence. No, this was nowhere near as badass as it looks in the films; the Inca gods better be appeased because nothing I'd witnessed so far on my trip suggested that my apacheta had been received kindly.

The issue that now faced me was where to go next, there was no point lingering here, I was still of the mind that I wanted to get back outside into clean air as soon as I could. The problem was that unlike the last cavern I was in this one had multiple exits, four in total including the one I'd entered from. I must have circled the room a good ten times, eyeing the three possible routes. In the end I made my decision based on the lay of the ground. One path clearly headed back down into the earth, so I ruled this one out. Another was a narrower path that appeared to stay flat initially, I walked down it a brief period to see if I could find out any more but saw no clear trace of any man-made work and so assumed that anywhere it led was likely not very important. The third path, the one I opted to take, continued to rise steadily. I'd been climbing the entire time and I assumed I should continue to do so under the logic I'd been working with that there was only so high I could climb. I just had to hope that it didn't come to a dead end.

The presence of multiple tunnels troubled me because this was the first time I'd been presented with a clear deviation. I couldn't allow it to worry me too much and so continued to walk, trying to put any thought that I was going the wrong way out of my head. After ten minutes of uphill climbing I was relieved to see a light, the literal light at the end of the tunnel. I'd had enough of the darkness and the stale air. I'd not discovered any gemstones, the second cavern was certainly interesting and worth a greater examination, but any other old relics must be deeper in the mountain down the two tunnels I didn't take. Then there was the whole horror of being attacked, it's no wonder no one uses this path anymore if that was what you have to deal with. I still had no clue as to what the creature was and my mind would only continue to wonder. I took one final glance down the oppressing tunnel, thoughts of being stalked still rife in my mind, before bursting out into sunlight.

# 7

## The Long Night

As I emerged into the light I felt the pleasing crunch of snow beneath my feet. I was high up, probably higher than I'd ever been before in my life. I resisted the temptation to douse the flame in my hand in the snow, no longer requiring its light, as by keeping the fire going I managed to fight back a small amount of the harsh chill that gripped the air. The area around me was covered in drifting cloud blotting out much of the sun's heat and I struggled to make out quite where I'd ended up. From what I could determine I was now on the opposite side of the mountain to where I had entered the cave and now had the second of the two mountains directly in front of me. This was the area I had earlier considered as a possible location for Quyllur-Wasi, nestled amongst the twin peaks. There was, though, no sign of any such building. The area I was stood on was something of a snowy platform, from which, off in the direction of the other mountain, stretched a rope bridge that crossed a small ravine and presumably joined a path winding towards the second mountain. There was, however, also another route, this one to the left of me. It hugged the mountain and winded slowly down looking to head off towards the jungle. Well after a pretty straightforward journey so far I was left with a second choice of direction in little over a quarter of an hour. This route did see the re-emergence of the stone pathway I'd been following in the morning, the stones peeking their way up from under the snow in odd places. I couldn't say if this stone was present on any path on the other side of the bridge, with the rolling cloud reducing my clear visibility to all of about ten metres. A stone archway marked each of these possible paths, a portal through which travellers would pass.

Construction wise the arches resembled the one I had encountered at the start of the stone pathway up the mountain. Crafted from irregularly sized rocks it seemed a wonder that they both still stood and hadn't been swept aside by fierce winds. As with the first arch I'd encountered, both of these also held carved, animal like, figures. This time I could make out a few of them; one that particularly stood out, the largest and placed at the centre of the arch by the bridge, was a Condor with wings spread wide. I felt there must be some deeper purpose for these arches, some reason they had been placed here, but without being able to talk to a local with knowledge of this place I doubt I would ever stumble across their exact meaning.

Still, I looked at my watch and found it was now 4:30. 4:30! I'd been underground for a couple of hours at least. I wondered how high I'd climbed in that time. There was still some light though, filtering its way through the thick cloud cover, and it would be possible for me to continue walking for a time. Where I was right now was nice and flat and would make a good camp though, and there was no telling when another suitable location would present itself on the mountain side; this I'd learnt from experience. That being said I wasn't overly comfortable camping so close to the cave with that creature still in there. I didn't know if it was following me or if it would leave the cave come nightfall in search of food, but if it did either it could stumble upon my tent; but then I didn't really have much choice in the matter, stumbling through a cave by torch light was one thing, there isn't normally any risk of falling, but on a mountainside night time walking is less sensible, especially on your own.

I reluctantly doused my torch, freeing up my hands, allowing me to start setting up my camp. I positioned it to the right of the cave entrance, away from both of the paths and so hopefully out of notice of any creatures on the prowl. Getting my pegs and guy-lines down was something of an issue, with the ground below the snow being mostly solid rock. Thankfully there was snow and with the conditions being as they were high up a mountain the snow was quite icy. Therefore it created a decent medium with which to grip my pegs, I packed more snow round these areas too to ensure they were well held in place. Once completed I retreated inside my tent to temporarily escape the mountainside chill. A combination of wind, the moisture in the air from the cloud, shovelling snow with my bare hands and a general lack of layers on my part caused me to be really quite cold.

I layered up inside my tent adding a second t-shirt and then a hoodie over the top of my alpaca jumper. I hadn't brought a coat with me, when I left England for Peru my knowledge on Peru's weather was somewhat lacking. It simply didn't occur to me that it would ever get cold enough for me to want more than a decently thick hoodie. I was wrong, I know, it happens quite a lot; but it isn't as though I even had room in my bag for a thick coat and I certainly wouldn't have wanted to be wearing it for long periods of this trek, carrying one wasn't a nice option for me either. Layering was the solution and if that didn't work I would just have to bare the cold. I wouldn't be at this high an altitude forever and once I was lower down again the temperature would rise.

I munched on a chocolate bar, my stock had steadily depleted and I was now left with only four bars left, a horrid thought. I considered what route I wanted to take and the decision was quite an easy one. Well it was quite easy to work out. I had to assume that Quyllur-Wasi was fairly near, well I had to hope. One of these must be the northern pass that I'd said was completely blocked off, obviously it probably wasn't blocked, but that would mean that the other path was the one to the ruin I'd expended so much energy trying to find. So what direction was north? Well I didn't have a compass did I? What use would a compass be I'd said? Well that thought served me right, didn't it? But all was not lost, sure I could gamble, I mean 50/50 isn't bad odds. But there was a simple way to determine which direction north was and that was to see what direction the sun was setting in.

It's fairly common knowledge that the sunrises in the East and sets in the West, what is slightly less common knowledge is that this is only completely accurate on two days of the year, the winter and summer equinoxes. Any other day it rises and sets slightly north or south of East and West. Whilst relevant if you're looking for exact directions, for me this mattered very little as I just needed a rough generalisation on direction. The paths weren't heading in close enough directions for this to impact me with there being a good 90 degrees difference at least between the two routes.

I poked my head out of the tent and was greeted with a gust of wind and a billow of snow, whipped up from the ground, was blown into my face. I moved my arm to protect myself and peered around to see where the sun was. Yes, as I thought I had seen earlier, the sun was dropping to the right of my tent, back in the direction of the lake to the west. Which would make the rope bridge roughly in front of my tent to the south, the path down to the jungle the east and the cave I'd just come from the north.

This slightly confused me initially as neither of my onward directions was to the north, that was until I realised neither was north from my perspective here. 'Northern Pass' would likely refer to anyone travelling from the other direction, I was at the culmination of the pass so to me it was south, to anyone at the other end of the pass they would be heading north. All rather confusing. In any rate that decided my route for the next day. To the jungle I would go and it appeared that if I was to find a ruin it wouldn't be on a mountain top. That is unless it was just around the corner somewhere... could it be? No, surely not, there wasn't the space. In amongst the jungle I would find it, I could sense it. I have to say I wasn't sad to not be taking the rope bridge, as much as it was a staple of many adventure stories, how long it had resided there I did not know but I certainly didn't feel comfortable placing my trust in its support.

***

I retreated back inside my tent hoping the wind would die down in a bit. What was this place I was searching for? Many of the most famous ruins in Peru had well known uses be they towns, temples or fortresses. Would this place have an obvious use or be a mystery like Stonehenge? How complete was it? My mind was once more racing with questions and excitement, the shadow that had fallen like a cloak onto my mood whilst down in the depths had been temporarily lifted. I wondered again what these mountains were called. I also thought about why no one ever gives a mountain a mundane name, like Dave. It's always Mount Dave as well, never Dave the mountain. That doesn't happen with anything else. You don't call your dog, Dog Rover; or your cat, Cat Montague. It's something of a double standard. A peculiarity of language I suppose.

Not that it matters in the slightest or has any real relevance to the tale at hand but by now anyone reading should be used to diversions. I'm always curious about how things become tradition, or common practice, why things are as they are and why people just accept this; especially with some human customs, if you just sit and analyse them you realise how utterly daft they are. I talked of human sacrifice being a barbaric and unbelievable exercise and, whilst we don't do anything quite so brutal nowadays, we do some equally nonsensical things. Christmas is always a fun one to look at. Hanging baubles and decorations on a fir tree. Sure it's supposed to be representative of gift giving to the baby Jesus, but why the tree? Why baubles? Where did tinsel come from? Next Christmas just take a step back and remove yourself for a minute, look at the tree. It looks ludicrous, at least I think it does.

Tradition is tricky as it can often stifle positive progression. When it has a purpose and a practical meaning it's different. American thanksgiving as an activity makes sense to me, fostering a sense of family and community, though if you look into that festival too deeply issues can be found too. Decorating a fir tree doesn't make sense to me at all though. The communal aspect of Christmas is getting more and more muddied by the commercial every year. The point of traditions become lost till they're traditions for traditions sake, that disagrees with me.

It's not just festivities though, but human pastimes too. Roller coasters are one example that leaps out at me. Adrenaline rushes are a thing, sure, but strapping yourself to a machine and shooting round a track at 90mph? It could be mistaken for medieval torture. What would people in five hundred years think looking at old footage of theme parks? They'd think us mad, primitive, or stupid, or all three. I've drifted very off topic, as thoughts tend to do, but nevertheless I hope you get my point, or at least follow the thought train. Basically I couldn't come up with my own name for the mountain, I refused to call it Dave, so the Twin Peaks they would remain; it's not like anywhere else in the world had ever been called that before.

***

My train of thought at an end I was once more stuck for a pastime, so I retrieved my notepad from my bag and started adding to my notes from the previous day. I went into great detail on my thoughts about the cave: how it came to be formed, how far the tunnel system could stretch, what the exact use of the sacrificial bowl was; but the most detail I spent was in describing the creature that had attacked me. I used whatever vague knowledge of animal classification I had to attempt to formulate a hypothesis for what the animal was.

It was such a muddle of different kinds of animals that to compare it to anything else I'd seen seemed wrong. It was like the platypus, just out there on its own, but where the platypus seems a strange cross between a land mammal and a bird, this creature was almost a hybrid between a mammal and a reptile. I supposed such creatures must have existed millennia ago, in the period when mammals were just beginning to evolve from their reptilian ancestors. That was millennia ago though, I wasn't aware of any such animal still existing today.

I was reminded of Conan Doyle's book 'The Lost World', an area kept separate where life had evolved along a different path. Had the same thing happened to a degree here? Did the mountainous tunnels lead to an underground realm like that of 'Journey to the Centre of the Earth'? Well I wasn't going back to check, not on my own. It would take a lot to push me back into that cave and mere curiosity wasn't enough, not whilst I had somewhere else to go. I wrote lengthy descriptions on the creature's various appendages, how many claws it had, rough sizes in comparison to my own limbs. My knowledge was by no means perfect, but I can at least write a half decent description so I think it did a decent job.

I offered my own theories as well; the raised spine on the creature's back, for instance, interested me. It wasn't a large sail, as certain types of dinosaurs had, but at its largest point it had probably been a hand's length so it wasn't tiny either. Whether it was for absorbing heat, camouflage, defence or aerodynamics I could only speculate. Personally I was more inclined to believe camouflage and aerodynamics, due to the general way the creature acted. It might also aid in swimming if indeed the creature was able to swim.

Descriptions, as I like to emphasise, do not do the reality justice, even if I did feel I'd done a half decent job. I, therefore, even attempted to draw a little sketch to go along with the writing to give as accurate an idea of what I'd seen as possible, short of bringing back a live specimen. The drawing wasn't great, not much better than something a child would do, but it would suffice, it would have to.

I sighed as I realised that in going about this exercise I'd let my mind drift away from the cheerfulness of discovering and back towards the chill of being discovered myself. With the claws that monster had I doubted very much my tent would put up much of a fight if it came to that. It was early but I supposed I should probably look at getting some food before the temperature outside dropped too much more; besides I didn't fancy being outside when the sun had fully set.

I therefore went about the routine of setting up my trangia and put another packet of steak and ale mush on to hydrate. I was looking forward to being back down in lush jungle where I could search for some fruit trees. A juicy mango would be just the ticket right now.

It wasn't long before I was munching on food. I ate inside my tent not only to get out of the cold but to give myself somewhere dry to sit. Once finished with my meal I made the choice to also melt down some snow in my cooker whilst I had it out, letting the water heat to boiling to purify it; it should only really be rain water so there shouldn't be any real risk of contamination. I used this water to refill my bottles that had only been marginally depleted since I had filled them at the cavern pool.

I was getting much better at the water management, I found I was getting into the good routine of topping up whether I had used much or not, spotting when an opportunity presented itself instead of ignoring a potential source of water. It was fortuitous that I wasn't walking in desert because out there I'd have to be a whole lot more creative when it came to finding water. You hear survival stories of how people manage to do it, catching morning dew on tarpaulin and draining water from cacti; however, it's not a situation I ever really want to find myself in.

Anyway with water refilled I packed away my cooking gear. The sun had now set but unlike previous nights I couldn't see any stars, not with the cloud still hanging around me. I entertained the idea of making a fire. When I was on the far side of the lake I had feared that the fire might attract predators; now, though, I didn't wonder if it might discourage that fearsome, nameless creature of the mountain depths from attacking. It seemed to enjoy the darkness and had appeared to recoil from my torch when I jabbed it near to its face. But then it could also just act as a big beacon saying 'I'm over here!'

It was redundant in any case since there was no plant life on the platform, nothing to burn short of the rope bridge and that was a bad idea, even before you take into account that it would be defacing a historic structure. It was possible I would still need to use that route, certainly it might be wise for me to return that way instead of the way I'd come; braving the cave and navigating my way along that tiny ledge again wasn't a wise plan. Okay I say nothing to burn, I could've burnt my belongings, my clothes, but that's just entirely unnecessary. A fire would be a comfort nothing more. No, I stayed within my tent and just lay down in the quiet, shutting my eyes to try and calm my active mind.

***

It's only having stopped doing anything that I realised quite how much I was aching: My head still throbbed, though not as badly as a few hours ago; I had numerous small scratches on my face and arms; one larger cut on my hand that had thankfully stopped bleeding; a quite ugly gash on my leg, where the creature had whipped me with its tail; other vivid bruises were scattered around from various falls and slips. I was in a bit of a sorry state.

My tent wasn't roasting hot, as much as it was warmer than outside, and so lying there in the dark, aching all over, I started to feel a little miserable. It was one of those times when you should be with friends, curled up in blankets watching television, or listening to music, or just talking.

Loneliness had found me again. I was scared too, scared about going back, both in the short term back along this road but also scared of going back home, of returning and finding myself in a life I did not want. I was scared I would find nothing out in the wilds, scared I would regret it all, scared that this whole goddamn trip was going to be for nought; but most of all I was scared of the monsters that could even now be skulking in the shadows.

I thought that word fitting, skulk, I decided that's what I would call them till a better name presented itself, Skulkers. I do mean 'them' too, there must be others even if they don't live or hunt co-operatively. I don't think, until this point, I had seriously considered the possibility of death on this trip. When crawling along that thin ledge earlier in the day the thought was there, but I don't know, you always believe you're invincible; somehow immune to usual risk and danger. It was only now that I truly felt afraid, genuinely worried, that I wouldn't make it back home; would never see my friends or family again; would never have the chance to right mistakes I'd made.

I'd run away from my troubles to come out to South America but that was never going to solve anything. All I was doing was finding new troubles, new things to run away from. I'd become so driven, so determined that this trip was going to be worthwhile, to be a success, that I was becoming blind to all logic and reason, blind to the dangers and blind when it came to my own safety. Like swimming out to sea, getting farther and farther from the shore. By the time you've realised you should go back the tide is too strong and you can't, you drift farther and farther away from where you want to be, as much as you strive to return there.

I've said about the warring parts of my head and the logical part was in this moment truly asserting domination. What could I do though? I'd forced myself on when by all rights I should've turned back a dozen times by now. It was too late, going back now was as dangerous as carrying on.

I lay staring at the roof of my tent for a long time, dark thoughts plaguing me. I dwelt on all the mistakes I'd made that year, every time I'd taken the wrong choice, sabotaged my own happiness in the name of work. I'd told myself coming out here that I'd had enough, that I was going to do something I would enjoy, something I wanted to do; but it seemed more and more like this was just another mistake, another situation where I was letting my own life get away from me. It seems bizarre to say it as where I was right now, and what I'd done in the past week, was perhaps one of the most remarkable achievements I'd ever accomplished. I'd possibly discovered an entirely new species unknown to the general world, I was greeted by awe inspiring sights every day, but the stickler was, was I happy? The answer was right now no, but how much of that was the fact I'd just had a rough day I didn't know. Happiness is a fickle thing, you often don't realise how happy you were at a particular time until it's gone, until you're forced to look back on those times and realise how much you miss them. I was sure that if I was to get out of this scrape and go back to the UK, after not too long I would miss Peru.

Gah! This was stupid! Wallowing in self-pity was a waste of time, even if I did have time to waste. It's a bad habit and one that does no good for anyone. I picked my notepad up again and wrote down a few more notes, general thoughts and other information about Peru that I had learnt recently and didn't want to forget.

It was whilst doing this that I was struck with a good, productive use of my time. I could draw a map. Obviously it wouldn't be entirely accurate distance, scale wise etc. But a rough plan detailing the various turns and landmarks I was encountering, to go along with my notes, would surely enhance the overall picture.

When I've mentioned books so far they tend to be more along the line of adventure classics. I do, though, spend a considerable amount of my free time reading fantasy novels. I've mentioned Tolkien as much of the scenery I'd witnessed was reminiscent of the imagery his words conjure up, but he is also one of the best examples of an author including maps along with his novels. Hosts of very successful authors have followed suit and it is now almost a staple of the fantasy genre. I know first-hand how useful it is to have a rough map to hand when trying to follow a narrative. My notes and journal entries weren't exactly well written prose, but that was all the more reason for me to have tools to aid readers.

My first two attempts were horrid, badly drawn, badly styled, just bad. I ripped out the pages they were written on and threw them to the opposite side of my tent in exasperation. With the sun having set I was drawing by the electrical light of my handlight, which really wasn't helping matters. My third attempt was much better though, I took the better aspects of my first two attempts and learnt from the mistakes I had made. I used the rough times it took me to walk from place to place to estimate distances. I used small, crude sketches to represent specific locations such as rivers, the lakes, the stone arches, walls and pathways; copying the drawing style of the maps of the likes of Tolkien, Feist and Jordan.

It was an interesting exercise, the path I'd taken on the first two days had twisted back and forth quite a bit so my map could be wholly inaccurate when it came to compass points, but knowing the rough direction I'd initially set off from at the little town of Paucartambo and knowing the compass bearings I'd worked out earlier I didn't think my map could be too far off. It also suggested that were I to take the northern pass back, and if that route didn't do too much veering back and forth, then it ought to be a quicker route to civilisation than the way I'd come.

When I was done with that I even set about sketching a smaller map of the tunnels, but once I had started I did realise it was almost pointless, there being basically no diversion. I, therefore, made a rough sketch of the ritual cavern instead, noting the location of the different tunnel branches and instructing which was the one I entered by and which was the one I exited from. This done, I put my pen down and surveyed my work. It had taken a decent amount of time; without an endless supply of paper I wanted to try and be reasonably conservative and so after my first two botched attempts I had been a lot slower and more meticulous about my sketching. The sketches were still pretty shoddy, but they were passable and I was reasonably happy with my finished product.

***

I picked up my handlight and used it to fish out my wash bag and my water bottle. I then exited the tent cautiously. The visibility still wasn't brilliant with the surrounding cloud, in fact if anything it had gotten worse. I scanned the area with my handlight but was unable to see anything out of the ordinary. So I propped the handlight up against the side of the tent, shining a small amount of light on the area whilst I retrieved my toothbrush and toothpaste. I also made a point to close the tent up behind me and stop the cold air getting in. I can put up with not washing particularly frequently, but the sensation of having an unclean mouth irritates me.

The wind had thankfully died down so it wasn't as biting cold as it could've been; with my multiple layers on, it was perfectly sufferable for the short period I needed to be outside. Once I had brushed my teeth and rinsed my mouth out with a small amount of water I picked my handlight back up and froze as the lights beam came up. There was a form in the mouth of the cave, one of them was there, a Skulker. It had its back to me and I don't think it had yet noticed I was there, it must have just that moment come to the caves entrance.

I clicked the light off as quietly as I was able. Madness you might think, but the one thing I didn't want to do was draw its attention. It must be out to hunt, I didn't want to become the target. Once my eyes had adjusted to the darkness I could just about make out the skulker's form if I focused. It seemed to be listening, its large ears twitching, I barely dared to breathe. I needed to get into the tent, but I'd closed it and there was no way that zip was going to undo quietly. So I did the only thing I could do, stand still as a statue. The snow would crunch beneath my feet were I to take a single step.

Each second passed in agony as I willed the skulker not to turn around. Someone was looking out for me that night because unbelievably it did not. A shriek echoed in the distance and the skulker let out its own high pitched cry in response that sent shivers down my spine; its mouth seemed to open impossibly wide as it made the torturous noise. The creature bounded away on its long legs in a loping manner, fading from sight as it went away, off down the mountain.

I waited another minute in silence, peering intently at the cave's entrance to ensure there were no more coming out and to be certain the first skulker had indeed left the area. Once I was convinced of this fact I ripped the zip of the tent quickly open, dived inside and firmly did it back up behind me.

This was supposed to be a worry free couple of months in South America, that was kind of the point. This was not what I'd signed up for, how could I? I was being plagued by creatures I didn't even realise existed before yesterday. My heart was still beating out a fast rhythm and I was quite sure too many more days like this would severely impact my cardiac health later in life. I thought people went walking and camping for pleasure, relaxation, for a slower pace of life; somewhere along the line I was clearly going wrong. It wasn't particularly late but all I wanted to do right then was sleep, sleep and not have to worry about my personal safety.

I curled up in my sleeping bag, making sure I had my machete close at hand if I needed it. I tried to let sleep overcome me but every time I shut my eyes all I could see were the skulker's razor sharp teeth staring at me and two hollow black eyes devouring me body and soul.

I wished there was a switch for one's thoughts; to be able to push a button and just switch of all consciousness would be bliss. I seem to spend so much time with memories, thoughts and possible outcomes running through my mind that at times it becomes near impossible to get any rest. I suppose that is why some people use sleeping pills, force the insomnia out of their heads. That's not really a satisfactory answer for me though, you can become dependent on those sorts of things.

Meditation, that's something that can do the trick. I've heard enough from other travellers and read enough in books to know how positive an effect meditation can have. It can be used as a means of emptying your mind and relaxing, unburdening yourself. Meditation is one thing that I really should look into more. Yoga too is supposed to be meditative in a way; both are two of the things that I keep telling myself I should practice regularly. They are activities that I know would really benefit my life, but laziness and a lack of dedication have prevented me from doing either. This is precisely why it is said you should surround yourself with people who have a positive impact on you as they encourage you to improve yourself. I hadn't done anywhere near enough of that in the past year and it was one of the things that had led me to this point. If I had been living with yoga practitioners or Tibetan monks then maybe I would be sleeping better, but alas I had not.

None of this helped me sleep. Coming up with ways to aid sleep was only well and good if I could implement those ways. I resorted to counting sheep, in my head obviously. I'm not sure where this practice came from, or even if it has any real benefit, but were I to guess I would assume that the rhythmic counting was supposed to put you in a rough trance like state; blotting any extraneous thoughts from the mind. It didn't do a great job whilst my head was still buzzing anxiously, but the more I persevered and pushed images of the skulkers out of my head and replaced them with fluffy sheep, the more calm and dozy I became.

I don't know at what point I fell asleep, it is one of the mysteries of life that you are never able to remember the point in which you fall asleep, but I do know that thankfully I didn't spend a sleepless night with ears reaching out trying to hear any small movement outside. I instead was granted some very welcome and much needed rest.

# 8

## The Long Descent

Dawn broke; there was no birdsong this time, the first day in many where there was none. It was the highest I had camped at though, and I was a good distance away from the forests down below, so this shouldn't shock me. I spent a good few groggy minutes remembering exactly where I was. When memories of the previous night came into my head I was relieved to notice that my tent and all my limbs were perfectly intact. I arose and stepped out of the tent.

I was pleased to discover that the cloud cover which had engulfed the platform I was on last night had dissipated leaving clear views all around. Looking to the right I was able to see the lake off in the distance, squinting I thought I could see my little canoe still upturned where I left it; but at this range it could easily have simply been a rock, my hopeful thinking getting the better of me. Without a doubt I was finding that I was enjoying the morning hours far more at the moment than the evening ones, we are diurnal creatures for a reason I suppose. The skulkers were evidently nocturnal beasts, using the shadows and darkness of the night to creep around unbeknownst to any other animal out on the prowl. It was a great relief not to have to be on edge, wondering if one was waiting round a corner.

It was still cold out, even with the sun beating down there was a light breeze and the altitude didn't help. There was a reason snow littered the ground. It was nevertheless warmer than the night and I was sure that as I descended the temperature would steadily rise.

In the bright light of day I spent a bit more time examining my surroundings than I had in the dusk of the previous night. With the new clearer visibility I was able to make out the track across the bridge; beyond the ravine the path seemed to dip down, following the general slope of the mountainside before hitting what was effectively the upward slope of the second mountain. I could just about follow what I took to be the path zigzagging its way high above, continuing to an even higher altitude than I was currently on.

I spared a glance upwards towards the mountains' higher reaches, I was now high enough to be able to see the peaks; evidence that I wasn't far off the top of the mountains. The mountain opposite me was the slightly higher of the two peaks, all told I would imagine them to be another 200 to 400 metres above. It doesn't sound too much, and it wouldn't be if you could walk straight, but winding up or climbing head on at a steep gradient is rather more difficult. I did hope that my path at one point would take me to one of the peaks, as much as I could barely cope at the altitude I was at, every breath sending a cold, sharp feeling to my lungs, it would be a pity to be so close to a peak and not make it to the top. It seemed, though, that any such venture would likely only happen on my return, with my path for the day heading downwards. That is of course unless I attempted a detour, but that didn't seem like such a wise idea.

I examined the bridge. The bases on each end were constructed of wood, firm polls that were dug deep into the ground supported thick rope that stretched the length of the ravine. I marvelled at the craft, holes must have been chiselled out of the rock to fit the polls into and the holes then filled back up with earth and stones to hold them in place. The lower of the ropes, at ground level, in turn had even more rope bound around them filling out the shape of the walkway in a remarkable example of weaving. This rope then held wooden planks that were in turn bound to the bridge. The higher of the ropes were more taut and acted as hand support. Additional wooden pegs held the bridge firmly to the cliff side. It was quite a spectacle, exactly how it was constructed without modern tools I couldn't fathom. The length must be somewhere in the region of thirty metres, it couldn't have been as simple as constructing the bridge then throwing one end over. The wood seemed old but there wasn't really any sign of weathering or wear, as was apparent with my torch. Instead, along with the rope, it all seemed to have been treated with some form of sap or oil that protected it from the damp and temperature changes. It looked in good shape, sturdier than I had given it credit at first glance. I still don't know how comfortable I would be walking on it, but that was not something I needed to worry about now.

I looked about me, turning my gaze away from the bridge. I really had chosen a beautiful place to camp. High as I was, between the twin peaks I was privy to two different expanding vistas, one on each side. Each a picture that words once more failed to grasp. I will, however, try my best. The first should be somewhat familiar, it being the path I'd trodden so far. As I've mentioned I could see the lake but the image as a whole took in the mountains behind too. I couldn't make out any details on the mountains, them being too far away, but I could tell I was higher than the highest peak on that side. Somewhere off in that direction was the place I'd stopped and ate lunch, looking down for the first time on the lake. The scenery, and general mood of my walk, had changed since then. I felt that some of my boundless enthusiasm had waned and instead been replaced with something more akin to grim determination.

It was good to once more just sit and appreciate the simple beauty of the landscape. It was untamed wilderness, the lake and the land surrounding it effectively encompassed one large valley with the whole plateau being ringed with mountains. The area was a perfect encapsulation of the diversity of Andean terrain with the lake, forest and sprawling flatland all represented. With the sky clear and cloudless, the scene seemed calm and untroubled. It's a great feeling to know you're making progress, to know you are actually getting somewhere, and one of the advantages of being high up was that this progress was abundantly clear before my eyes. I could almost place mental flags at different points in the distance, checkpoints of where I had been.

It was the other view, though, that really captivated my interest, for that was what was still to come; it had the excitement, and also nervousness, of the unknown. There was a conflict of wanting to see something new, but not wanting to be disappointed. After all this time and effort getting here, if I found the ruins were pathetic then I knew it would hit me hard. A sense of trepidation seized my stomach, the dull ache of apprehension; 'oh don't let it be so!' I pleaded. The question I put to myself was, 'if I were to that second return home, would the trip have been worth it?' the answer was of course yes. I was being greedy though. I mean if you go digging for copper and discover gold, whilst you are naturally happy, a part of you still thinks, damn I wanted some copper. Well I was still here, still digging so who knows what I might find yet.

I surveyed the land before me. With the Twin Mountains still slightly obstructing the view it was very much like looking at a picture within a frame. You had the immediacy of the mountains, the granite edifices, pale grass and stunted bushes clinging to life on the rock; and then the more distant panorama behind it. It was also curious because the land dropped a lot farther, to a similar altitude as where I had first set off from, if not lower; however, with me having been going up and down so much on this trip, it was hard for me to be at all certain about this. Anyway as I'd glimpsed on the opposite side of the mountain the whole area this side was a huge forest, or jungle (the types of trees were undetermined at this point in time), it was simply a sea of green. If there was a ruin in there anywhere it was well and truly hidden.

There did seem to be more mountains behind the trees, though nothing on the scale of that which I was now stood on, they were closer to hills. That's by Peruvian standards anyway, they'd be a decent sized mountain in the UK but over here there was no comparison. The land and forest sloped upwards sharply anyway, as far as I could make out. If I were a hawk I'm sure I could be more certain, but I am not a hawk.

It might not sound overly impressive, so far I've basically just said there were a lot of trees. This is true, but that is also kind of the point, there were A LOT of trees. I couldn't tell at what point the mountain path plunged into forest but it was inevitable that it would. There were no bare Andean planes on this side of the mountain, it was trees, everywhere, and not a bare patch of land could I spot. I just hoped that the path would remain clear and hadn't become overgrown.

Okay I'm failing to get this across, it was the scale I think, it was the same with much of Peru you might think, 'oh a mountain, what's so special', but it's the scale of it all. Being able to see that much, there's just no real possibility for it in the UK. Even in the most picturesque of places you can't get the sort of lofty vantage point I had at that moment. The forest before me would have put many of the largest forests in England to shame, and I could see it all; there were also no logging operations or anything like that. Well I assumed there weren't, not simply out of some romantic idea that logging couldn't possibly occur, but also from the logical stand-point that there wasn't a chance in hell that any logged trees would be able to get anywhere from here. Unspoilt was the word, the area was unspoilt, something that can only be truthfully said about a scarce few places in the world. It still remained much as it must have been thousands of years ago.

I shook myself out of my reverie and set myself to the task of packing up my camp. It was early morning, I checked my watch and to be more specific it was now 9am. I had slept in a decent amount considering my early night and hence should be fully refreshed for the days walk.

I gave myself a quick check, looking to see how my injuries from the previous day were healing. The larger cuts were still painful to the touch but none of them seemed too bad. In retrospect it probably would have been sensible for me to attempt to clean the cuts last night, but none of them looked infected so I might have got away with it. The bump on my head was still there, it had stopped aching but when I gently probed it with my hand I was greeted with a sharp pain. I just hoped that I could have a considerably less painful day today.

I returned to packing up my tent, I was getting pretty good at it and reckoned I must have cut the time that it took me in half since my first day. I was becoming an adequate camper! Yup, adequate; I don't think any more positive praise would be sufficiently accurate. I was just about getting by, camping wise, I hadn't been tested enough to call myself a skilled camper, hadn't had to demonstrate any particular skills. Nope, I was doing quite adequately and that was just fine with me.

With my tent down and all my belongings packed untidily away into my bag I prepared to set off. I had removed a cereal bar from my bag deciding I would snack as I walked. I was about to leave when, struck by some strange sentimentality, I opted to stoop down and retrieve the torch that I had left lying in the snow. I tucked it into one of the side pockets of my bag telling myself that I needed something to prove this trip had actually happened, besides my rambling and raving notes.

Once more to the road I went. I passed under the stone arch, turned back for one final glance at the dark tunnel, then continued on my way. It was reassuring to once more have the uneven slab stones underfoot, even if they were largely obscured by snow, like Dorothy following the yellow brick road I was following my own path to its destination. Yet what was truly a relief was downhill walking. It was a struggle to do anything much with the air as thin as it was, therefore climbing any higher might well have led to me fainting. It was a miracle that hadn't happened the previous day in my flight out of the tunnel and away from the skulker. I had pushed myself far more than I should've done and being in as agitated a state as I was, with heart racing, I could have made myself seriously ill. A steady downward gradient was much less taxing, pleasant even, the wind had dropped over night and the occasional small gusts of wind were not enough to irritate me.

I glanced over the edge of the path, to my right, and for the first time I spotted a small river running down the valley. It plummeted with force out of the side of the mountain below my feet, dropping in a fantastic series of waterfalls, kicking spray high into the air. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if this was the source of the water I'd encountered in the underground caverns, that first cave must run close to whatever path this water took under the ground. The river seemed to continue off into the trees beyond and it was yet another relief knowing that there would be a good clean water source for me to utilise later on.

It was slightly frustrating though not being able to get down to the river now; if I still had my canoe I could have just floated all the way down to the jungle and saved myself a tonne of time and effort. Well I say floated, it might have been a bit more bumpy than that. Whatever, it wasn't an option; besides it wasn't bad walking so I couldn't grumble too much.

***

The path wound down and down, the trees inching ever closer. The snow that had covered my campsite had gradually disappeared and the gradient that was at first quite flat was getting ever steeper. I was once more feeling strain in my hamstrings, the ground was thankfully nowhere near as dusty as the last time I had descended on similarly steep ground and with the snow gone I wasn't about to go slipping on any ice either. This was a good thing as at points the path was becoming really quite narrow, not near as narrow as the ledge I'd crawled across the previous day but narrow enough that I wouldn't be comfortable slipping.

The mountainside was becoming more verdant, the blank rock beginning to be punctuated by mosses and smaller cacti like plants. At the lofty altitude of my camp the lack of oxygen made it much harder for any life to sustain itself. As I descended more and more the oxygen in the air increased quickly and the evidence was there to see. I found it easier to breathe myself, no longer having to labour for every breath. I wanted to reach out, to touch and examine plants I was seeing, but I knew better than to prod and poke at things you don't understand. There were many innocent looking plants in the Colca Valley that were poisonous, I didn't see why here would be any different.

I carried on and after a while the steep decline got even steeper, thankfully this change came in the form of a rudimentary staircase of rocks. As I made the long jerking steps down I felt the weight of my bag carrying me forward and had to force myself to go slowly so as not to lose control. I knew I had to descend and I was happy to be doing so as the lower I got the warmer it became, there was also more life and possibilities of water and food, however I was also painfully aware that I would have to go back this way before long. As I've said this was a steep descent, making the return ascent didn't even bare thinking about. I felt certain it would cripple me and so I once more pushed any thought of this return trip out of my mind until I had to make it.

This was now my fifth day of walking, I'd brought twelve days food with me at a push, I honestly hadn't expected it to take this long to reach the ruin, were it not for the path running under my feet I would have felt that for sure I had gone the wrong way. What if the ruin I was seeking was under the mountain? In those caves? Down one of those other tunnels? Why the hell did I not explore them whilst I was there? The idea that I could have made such a foolish error in my haste to be rid of the tunnels and the darkness that came with them chilled me and made me frantic. I stopped walking, sitting on one of the stone steps trying to recollect my thoughts.

I couldn't have made a mistake, where would this path be going if it wasn't going to the ruins? I could hardly have stayed in the dark with those skulkers anyway. Besides, it's easy for me to say that it was taking longer than I'd thought, but I hadn't been making amazing time. I'd wasted a heap of time around the lake, my walking pace was hardly at the level of a regular hiker and I had been sleeping in fairly late, as well as stopping walking quite early. If the need arose I'm sure I could push myself to a much quicker pace when it came to returning. The issue was that I was beginning to feel the aches of the hike. My bag weighed ever heavier on my back, the straps turning my shoulders sore and my walking shoes, well they were walking shoes not boots. I'd worn the soles almost straight through and was beginning to feel the bumps and stones on the track more and more; blisters forming on my toes as a result. Still, I would continue to this paths end and find whatever lay there, then I would return.

The discovery of the skulkers would provide me more recognition than I had any right to wish for. As much as I had held arrogant dreams of discovering a lost city, discovering a lost species was arguably more important, more relevant. It would be pure greed for me to demand any more. Still, I would persevere for the sake of the cause. It would be a simple thing to turn back now but I would always be left with the regret of wondering what if? Live your life so that you can have no regrets, that's what you should do and it's what I had demanded of myself. What I struggled with inwardly was ensuring that I did. What was I still sitting for? Feeling sorry for myself again, it was stupid and I knew it. This was why it was Lewis AND Clark that led an expedition across America, two of them to keep each other in check and stop the other being a fool. I continued once more.

***

I travelled for perhaps an hour or two in this perpetual downward manner, peering behind me the mountain once more loomed ominously. I had long since lost sight of my camp, the mountain's peak once more looked a long way away; but I could just about picture mentally where it would be, tucked behind a ridge. The sound of the flowing river could be heard louder now, the drop from my path to the water being far shorter and it reminded me of my first days walk. I seemed to be following a river much as I had when I first started, birdsong was once more beginning to fill the air and the land seemed calm for a time. I had the same focus, that at any point I felt I could stumble across my goal, as on my first day when I felt at any point I could find the trail head.

It no longer felt like I was descending from a tall mountain, the sharp steps I had been taking for a while had begun to level out again and the walk now seemed like a gradual descent down a hill. There was no longer a rock wall rising vertically to my left, but a slightly less severe slope now, equal parts dirt and rock. I was still a distance away from the main forest, but the more I descended the more verdant the area was becoming. The cacti like plants I had begun to encounter sparingly a few hours ago were now becoming more frequent and joined by other slightly larger plant life. The most interesting I found to be a tree, rising reasonably high yet possessing no branches, just a clump of long thin leaves at the top. It looked in many ways like a palm tree but the tree was smaller and the leaves not nearly as far spread. From the dirt sprouted short grasses pale green in colour. It felt good to be amongst plant life again.

My descent continued, when I had started walking that day the altitude had forced me to take regular breaks as I became quickly out of breath; however, as the day progressed and I returned to a height I was accustomed to, these breaks came less and less frequently. I was now comfortable walking, the heavy breathing that accompanied walking at 5000m gone, and when I did come to pause it was to appreciate the views around me, to stare at a scene and try and force my brain to remember it. It was a complete change of pace from the last few days, nothing to worry about, no incidents, just a lengthy but easy going walk in some of the most naturally beautiful scenery in the world.

I found I no longer needed the multiple layers I had on, realising that I was actually feeling the sun's heat for the first time that day. I briefly removed my backpack to take off my hoodie. I took the time to stretch my arms and massage my shoulders too, trying to shrug off some of the aches of the last few hours walking.

I had a sip of water and tried to calculate how much longer it would be until I would hit the forest. It was now around midday. Judging by how far I'd come so far and the distance I still had, I estimated at perhaps another hours walking, maybe less. It didn't bother me overly much, though obviously the quicker the better. I wanted to find this ruin today, no more delays, no more monsters; I wanted to see an old ruin, find a pearl of the old Inca empire; I wanted to examine it and then I wanted to head back to civilisation where I could actually talk to someone about everything, instead of having it all run laps in my head.

I don't think debating these things in your own head is healthy; if you have an argument with yourself then it's basically impossible to actually win the argument. It's a sure slope to madness, the events of this week were evidence of that.

I put my bag back on, not wanting to tarry too long, and started along the path again. Whoever had laid these stones must have had a pretty long job, it was bad enough walking all this way but laying a footpath the entire way must've taken months. Why it was done I had no idea, paths such as this were hardly common throughout Peru so why was it made here? What purpose did it carry? All I seemed to be doing throughout my days was coming up with questions. I really did know nothing and it annoyed me no end. I didn't even know if finding Quyllur-Wasi would solve some of the questions I had or simply dump a whole load more onto the pile.

I had still not seen a single human being on this entire trip, the presence of the skulkers somewhat gave me a reason why, but people being scarce and people being non-existent are two completely different scenarios. Maybe I would see someone today. I was on the route the more popular northern pass took so maybe there would be more people on this section, so far, however, that wasn't proving true; but then I had spent a day hiking in the Sanctuario Nacional de Ampay just outside of Abancay, a well known park of walks, waterfalls and wildlife, and I only saw three people there the entire day and one of those was the park ranger. That was a visited park, one that actually featured in guide books, even if it was off the normal tourist path. It baffled me really, but I suppose that the locals are so used to the scenery that they don't quite realise how wonderful it is.

I know I take for granted the area I grew up in, it can certainly be beautiful, but having lived there so long I'm blinded to it. It's only when I've gone away for a length of time and then returned, or when I'm showing others around my home town that I begin to see it for what it is.

***

About forty minutes later I found that I was amongst the woodland. The ground was still sloping down, the land I was on made up the lower banks of the mountain, but I had reached the start of the trees. They loomed in front of me. Thickly grown, the trees were more tropical than those I had walked among by the lake two nights ago. They were much more similar to those I walked through on the first day's walk. Vines hung from high branches, winding like snakes across the canopy. Banana leaves, strange symbiotic plants gripped to the trunks of the trees, spreading their large leaves wide. The river that had for the past few hours followed my path was now accessible down a short slope from my current position.

I had expended a decent amount of water that morning and thought now would be a good time to top up. I went through the purifying routines, now well driven into my head through practice. I also took the chance to rinse out and clean my stove, still dirty from the previous night. This done I stayed crouched by the river letting the light current wash against my hands.

The water was icy cold, travelling as it had from the high reaches of the mountain. I splashed this cool water on my face, the sharp cold sensation came as a shock to my head, warmed as it was by the beating sun and toil of the trail. It woke me, somewhat, from the trance I had been walking under. I took the bold decision to dunk my entire head into the icy river, rinsing some of the accumulated dirt from yesterday's falls.

I gasped as my head broke back above the surface, the change in temperature set my bruised head to throbbing again but I felt in the long term it would be beneficial. It was never properly iced after all and cooling it couldn't do any harm. I mean I'm not a doctor that much was clear, but it seemed like common sense.

I lay back for a moment on the river bank, resting my head on my bag. I know I said that I wanted to get to my goal quickly, but I also wanted to relax a bit when time and situation allowed. I hoped that I'd encounter some more wildlife and when I say wildlife I mean nice wildlife. I'd had my fill of the skulkers and wanted nothing more than to encounter a nice butterfly or small lizard. Were there fish in this river? I couldn't see any, but that doesn't mean they weren't there.

Fish are very adept at hiding in shadows and under rocks. I'd learnt this on many the family holiday at the sea side, exploring rock pools looking for crabs and other marine life. The river wasn't particularly deep, no deeper than my knees at its deepest point, and with the water being as clear as it was any active fish would be easy to spot. It was a fairly wide river, though, with a bed of stones, most small yet some larger, that occasionally jutted slightly above the water's surface; this gave a rippling effect to the water as all the small eddies and stones caused slight diversions in the rivers path. The river had followed me faithfully to this point, but from here it began cutting its own path through the trees veering off from my own route and winding off to the right, disappearing into the depths of the jungle.

# 9

## Jungle Encounters

I supposed I shouldn't linger there too long, as nice as it was. The sun was providing the warmth I had expected coming to Peru and the Amazon Basin, I had descended so much that any hint of the cold of the morning and previous night had vanished. My head struggled with the fact that I had been walking on snow not four hours ago, it seemed impossible.

I clambered up the small dirt slope back to the path, pack once more on my back and headed into the trees. The light was instantly diminished by the thick leaves above and the temperature did dip with it, though only to a pleasant level; like sitting in the shade on a hot day. It was now around one o'clock and it would have been tempting to stop for lunch, but I was determined to hold off for a short while longer, hoping that I might stumble upon some bananas, pineapples, or something edible amongst all these plants. Luck was with me as not five minutes later I came across a clump of pineapple plants, miraculously receiving light through a small break in the trees. I was still on the edge of the jungle and the trees, at one moment thick, would become more scattered in sections, breaking the thick bank of leaves above and allowing light through. It was in one of these breaks that I found the pineapples, tucked slightly off from my path, glorious fruit! At last a break from the repetitive tedium of crackers and flat bread!

Pineapple plants are, for anyone who has never seen one, not at all what you'd expect. Before I saw my first I'd always assumed they'd look something akin to a coconut tree, but nope, not at all. They're more like a grassy shrub, with a solitary pineapple fruit growing in the centre from a thicker stem. They look weird, really quite unlike any other plant that typically bears edible fruit. None of this mattered to me at the time, I simply rushed over to the plant and let out a small cry of joy when I realised that the fruit were ripe. I threw my bag down, lunch time had arrived! Of that there was no doubt. I yanked at the pineapple; it didn't come off. I tried again, but no luck. I started to put a bit more effort in, one foot on the base of the plant, I twisted as I yanked. No good. Screw this, I thought, I removed my machete from my bag. Turns out I was getting a decent amount of use out of the thing.

As I unsheathed the blade I realised it still had dried skulker blood on the metal from my encounter in the cave. Wanting to be rid of any reminder of the beast, I cleaned the blade with a splash of water and soap from my wash bag, before wiping it dry on one of the pineapple plant's leaves. It was almost like preparing for a ritual sacrifice, as I then proceeded to hack at the stem under the pineapple, one clean hit did it. I'm not quite sure why I'd found it so hard to pull out, maybe it wasn't as ripe as I thought, or maybe I was just a bit weak, since there was no one else around I was happy to believe the latter.

With the fruit removed I sat on a fallen tree trunk and started cutting the pineapple into pieces. I removed my remaining chocolate bars from the plastic bag that had been holding them and placed them with the rest of my food, the bag would suffice as storage. The cutting wasn't neat. A machete isn't really the best tool for precision, but that didn't matter too much, I wasn't looking for restaurant level uniformity I just wanted the pineapple to be in close to edible chunks.

When I had removed the first chunk I put it straight into my mouth, not able to resist. The sweet acidic taste was almost orgasmic after near enough a week of trail food; I savoured the taste as I continued about my work. It didn't take me too long to do this and I even cut off a second pineapple to make sure I had a decent stock. The fruit easily filled the bag, the pineapple would last me a week I would have thought, which should, I hoped, see me back to Cusco.

The rest of my lunch was still the same boring flatbread and trail mix, but adding a small amount of pineapple to both of these made them much more bearable and gave them, unsurprisingly, a totally different pineappley taste. I've only ever had pineapple with nuts when it's been freeze dried and changed into something that isn't really pineapple, done fresh it was certainly an intriguing combination.

I looked around the area as I ate, looking for animal life, but I could spot nothing of particular note. I did see the odd butterfly and dragonfly; they were both of a vivid blue colour, but not as impressive as some I'd seen in the country. I'd still seen nothing that looked like it could have spawned from that monstrous caterpillar I'd encountered on my ill fated night time forest trip by the lake. There was time yet, but this woodland was of a completely different quality, so I supposed the ecosystem and species would be largely different too.

The mountains acted as something of a natural barrier, allowing the two places to evolve differently and grow contrasting plants. The difference in altitude also had an impact with the plants on the plateau being more designed to maximise efficiency of oxygen intake. I was surprised I hadn't seen more mammals around, I've said this before but the more time that passed the more curious it became. The skulkers must eat something so clearly there was food around for them to have. One thing was sure and that was that they are not vegetarians. Maybe that's why they move so quietly, to sneak up on their equally sneaky prey without them ever realising they are there. I resolved to try and be stealthier myself, to give myself every chance to spot something.

***

Food consumed and pineapple subtly tucked away in my bag, I got back on my way. The path continued deeper into the forest, open patches, such as where I had found the pineapple plants, became scarcer and scarcer as the plant life became thick all around. Whilst the taller trees and their leaves blotted out much of the light for certain types of small plant on the jungle floor around me, there were numerous species of fern and other shrubs that continued to flourish.

The land flattened out, and I was no longer able to say I was still on mountainous foothills. I found the ground was becoming much damper, the stone path at points becoming completely submerged in mud. The route was still clear though so I carried on, stepping cautiously so as not to find myself knee deep in the dirt. I had found myself in a different world suddenly, some of the trees were truly remarkable; one particularly large specimen's roots projected partially above ground and were flat solid wood in a fin like shape that had me racking my brains for their purpose, it towered like a giant and must have been at least a hundred years old. One bush had startling star shaped flowers of a brilliant purple colour. Despite the fantastic things around me, I made sure I kept aware of my surroundings, watching out for any potentially dangerous insects and avoiding touching any of the plants, as interesting as they might be, unless absolutely necessary.

It was because of this awareness that I spotted something that was high on the list of things that had horrified me on this trip. I encountered a wasp right in the middle of my path. You might say, 'what's the big deal? I get wasps in the office at work all the time'. You might also say, 'well I grew up on a farm, we had hornets that'd make you quake in your boots if you're scared of a wasp'. Well this was of course not merely a wasp. It was jet black with fierce reddy-orange wings. The thing was at least the size of my hand and it was seemingly eating a tarantula. Now I'm not generally scared by insects; for three nights I had to sleep with a hornet in my room whilst in Africa, but I had a mosquito net there. I've also been stung by wasps before and it is painful, annoying, even if it isn't anything to be worried about. Those were small wasps though, this was ten times the size, believe me I did not want it to sting me. If it was ten times as painful too then I did not want it harassing me. At least it already seemed to have its prey. I figured so long as I didn't provoke it, or act in a threatening manner, it would probably ignore me.

I diverted off the stone path and took a wide berth across the damp ground, quietly manoeuvring around the wasp. As I continued to look at it, eyes fixed to make sure I could run if I saw it move towards me, I was filled with the thought that if hell had insects then this would be one of them. The spider was still twitching as the wasp went about its evil purpose. I say evil, I know animals eat each other and it's a natural part of life, but tarantulas are normally the insects people worry about; when you have a monster wasp that is killing them for lunch well then it's enough for you to think twice about wanting to encounter it.

Once I had circled around the thing I kept facing it, not wanting to take my eye off its menacing form, and walked backwards slowly. I nearly fell over as my foot caught on a tree root. I steadied myself but for a brief, excruciating, second I feared that the noise I'd made would attract the wasp's attention. I quickly turned and walked hurriedly away, not giving it a chance to attack. I kept glancing over my shoulder, paranoid that it was hovering behind me, but I had nothing to fear.

This terrain seemed fraught with deadly animals and it seemed a lifetime ago that I'd watched a giant otter frolicking in the lake. Why couldn't I encounter a sloth, or some similar animal that wouldn't give chase to me?

Once I had moved a reasonable enough distance I stopped for a brief moment to apply some insect repellent. I hadn't really bothered with it the last few days, with the colder conditions and higher altitude there weren't many bugs around. In the more humid conditions of this jungle forest, though, little bugs were more prevalent.

I hadn't bothered picking up any anti-malaria drugs before I left England, not intending to go deep into the Amazon. I wasn't deep into it here so I shouldn't be concerned by it, but mosquitoes carry other diseases and illnesses. Bug bites are also annoying and I didn't want to expend useful energy scratching them, so I applied the spray.

I do question the effectiveness of such things. When I've used bug spray in the past I still seem to end up getting bites, but it surely couldn't make things any worse. I feel that sometimes I fail to cover every inch of skin and the sly bugs always bite the untreated sections, therefore I was very liberal with my application.

Mosquitoes... They are a bane and one of the only things I wouldn't like about living in a hot country. I don't like the cold, but the one good thing it does is keep mosquitoes away. I'd been reasonably fortunate thus far, avoiding bites for the most part whilst I had been in Peru, I wished that to continue.

I walked on, swatting the occasional flitty thing out of the way, many of them were simply small bugs. For some reason any bug below a certain size seems to amalgamate into 'flitty thing' in my mind, even though I know there must be a whole range of different species contained within this broad approximation. It doesn't matter anyway, the flies are irrelevant to the story at hand; they are representative of the atmosphere nothing more.

***

Time passed and I had begun to filter out my surroundings when suddenly I heard the rustling of leaves. I stood stock still and looked about me wondering what could have caused the sound, a bird perhaps? I scanned my eyes across the sky and the branches of the trees above and then I saw something move. I quickly gripped my machete. A skulker? Surely not, those things move far more silently than this.

My confusion was put to rest when a small furry form dropped out of a tree and looked at me, it was a monkey. I'd never encountered monkeys in the wild before, my only knowledge of them coming from visiting zoos and seeing them on television or in movies, and I was sure that my knowledge of the Jungle Book wasn't going to be helping me right then. The little fella was predominantly a light nutty brown colour, with a darker face and forearms. He was stood just off the path and with tail lifted up in the air and a mischievous grin on his little face he scampered over towards me. "Hello little man," I said to the monkey, "are you after some food?"

I took my pack off my back and searched out the pineapple I'd picked. Taking a small piece out of the bag I held it out towards the monkey. He waddled forwards a bit farther with hand outstretched then looked at me with those beady little eyes. Then, with reflexes beyond my prediction, the little blighter leapt forwards and snatched the bag of pineapple out of my hand, ignoring the piece I had outstretched, before disappearing like lightning back up the tree.

"Whaa!? You little... Come back with that!!" I cried after the miniature thief.

He just sat on a branch grinning at me, nibbling on a piece of pineapple. In angry frustration I threw the one piece of fruit I had left at the monkey, attempting to make him drop the bag. I missed. I swear if it was possible for a monkey to laugh that tiny devil was laughing at me now. I'd wanted that fruit so much and just like that it was swept away from me. Is that what I got for being charitable to an animal? I shook my fist at the monkey, giving him my most unimpressed stare. Then I heard the rustling of more leaves. The monkey continued smiling. I surveyed the branches, more monkeys was it? Before I knew it another of them had dropped from the branches and was raiding my bag. I cried out in alarm and ran back to my bag shaking it in an attempt to dislodge the monkey from it. The monkey emerged with one of my t-shirts and as I yanked the bag once more it finally fell from it. As quickly as I could I sealed the bag and swung it onto my back. Two more monkeys scurried down from the trees, eyeing me and my bag. The monkey that had pilfered my t-shirt was shaking it about, nibbling at the fabric and generally trying to work out what it was. I ran, in those two minutes I'd decided I really didn't like monkeys. I don't know why I was surprised, humans and monkeys are descended from common ancestors I should've realised they'd be dicks.

As I ran I found I was pursued. Apparently the other monkeys wanted fruit too, I suppose they weren't aware that I'd just had my entire stash stolen! I was back to square one with my food supply and what's more I was down a t-shirt too. After a minute I glanced back and saw that they were still on my tail, how was it that they could keep up when I was so much taller? I stood my ground as the little gang of bandits caught up with me. One of them even had the cheek to walk up to me with an outstretched hand. I should never have encouraged that first monkey. Give one a handout and they all expect it, not that I really gave the first anything he just took what he wanted.

I laughed; there wasn't much else for me to do in this situation. Yes, I laughed; then I got angry. I got angry and I started trying to intimidate them. I didn't want them to start fighting back, just wanted them to go away. It didn't work, all I was greeted with was bemusement. I had no idea what to do as every time I continued to walk they just followed me. So I found a dryer patch of ground, put my bag down and just sat on it and waited. If I ignored them they would eventually get bored and go away, that's what you're supposed to do with children and that's what I decided to do here. Turns out monkeys have a great deal more patience than I could have credited them with, but after a good fifteen minutes they did eventually disappear back into the trees, heading off to wreak their mischief elsewhere.

I put my head in my hands, relieved to be rid of them. It turns out herbivores can be just as much work as predators in this insane area. Maybe it would be for the best if I just didn't encounter any wildlife at all, I seemed to be a walking magnet for disaster at the moment. I really do like Peru, the country is amazing: the scenery, the people, the food, the history, magnificent; but right now it was really cheesing me off a bit. It appeared as if this whole area had some fundamental objection to me being there, like it was purposefully making my life difficult.

There would come a time when I would look back and laugh on all this, but right then it was a struggle. It would have been easier with someone else to share my distress, but I just had the weight of days of misfortune pressing down on me and it squashed the joy and good feeling that had only briefly been building once more. That's what seemed to be happening. Every time I started finding myself in a good mood something would happen or some thought come back into my head and instantly shatter that good feeling to a thousand pieces. I moved through the jungle in a dark mood, wanting comfort but knowing there was none for me around. I tried to blot out all thoughts in my head, the trees passed by me, beautiful flowers I overlooked, other fruit trees I must have passed by without notice and the time progressed with a haze around me.

***

I finally came back to my senses when I discovered that the path had ended. The path I'd been following for two days had stopped abruptly and with it came another of the stone archways. It was of the same design as those that had come before. I glanced at my watch and found that I'd been walking for two hours in my blank mood. By now I must be deep in the jungle. I had thankfully run into no animal life since my encounter with the monkeys. I had scrapped my quiet moving and the general hostility of my mood had apparently served to keep curious creatures at bay.

It was only as I passed under the stone arch and walked a few yards that I realised that the thick undergrowth suddenly disappeared; I fell to my knees in shock at what I saw. A solid wall of huge, crafted stones towered high into the sky. I had arrived. Quyllur-Wasi actually god-damn existed! This wild goose chase of a trek had actually gone somewhere! My relief was like a physical entity and I started dancing madly on the spot letting my emotion consume me.

# 10

## Quyllur-Wasi

In amongst the thick jungle there stood a building, if that is the right word for it. Building to me brings the image of a house, a shop, something mundane. This was a structure, an ancient one, or at least the outer wall to one; the jungle all around clung tight to it. Everywhere on the structure the vines, mosses and ivy of the jungle were hugging the solid stone, attaching themselves to the gaps and crevices. From this description you could believe the place dilapidated, but this wasn't really the case; the walls seemed intact. There was no roof to the structure, but this seemed by design. The walls themselves were constructed from huge blocks of stone, unevenly sized yet fitting together like a jigsaw or a well played game of Tetris; done in common Inca practice to protect against earthquakes.

From my current position I couldn't see how large the structure was, or indeed where the entrance was, so I walked around the walls working my way through the creeping roots and stoic trees. I wasn't sure why the entrance wasn't at the culmination of the path, perhaps the path was constructed more recently, I could only guess. Anyway, I proceeded in this manner around the structure for a good five minutes before coming to the entrance, an opening in the block stone wall. It was similarly well covered to the rest of the wall and the whole impression led me to believe that this place couldn't have been visited in a good few years, or in the least there hadn't been any upkeep in that time. With the size of the trees as they were it could've been ten years or more since anything had been done to preserve the walls and the area around them.

Anyway I entered through the doorway, relatively unobstructed by the overgrowth, and realised that the wall was literally a wall, enclosing the main area and other buildings inside. This time when I say buildings I don't mean merely walls; there was one huge building in the centre of the complex that seemed to have an intact roof; then there were other smaller buildings that had the look of houses, closer to the walls. The whole interior complex had stayed remarkably free from plant life; grass grew on the ground, but other than some moss and lichen there was little evidence of the vines and ivies that gripped the outer walls, with the walls seemingly acting as a barrier against the outer jungle. I went straight to the largest building, which was raised up above the rest on large stone shelves that made the lower structure seem part of a pyramid.

My mind was abuzz with anticipation; this was the culmination of my efforts, what I came here to do. It existed! I was still in something of a state of shock. I tried to absorb as much as I could of the area around me to ingrain it into my long term memory, but I sensed I would soon need to sit down and start comprehensibly adding to my notes to preserve some of the details. I resisted the temptation to leave my bag resting on the grass, so as to better explore, on the off chance those devilish monkeys returned. The main structure of the building I went towards was constructed with the same large stones as the outer wall, set in a seemingly random polygonal pattern. A wide staircase led up to the entrance, which I jogged up filled to bursting with excitement.

***

As I entered the large building, and my eyes took in the interior, my jaw dropped in frank astonishment; gold, everywhere. The interior walls were niched and lined entirely with solid gold sheets, within the niches were vases, urns and other ornamentation. Around the building there rose up huge statues of the gods or other beings. Some of these were also constructed of gold, others from mineral rocks such as obsidian, onyx and marble. A couple of wide and flat steps led down to the main sunken space where marble benches were aligned in rows around the centre of the room. These seemed focused around a round pool of crystal clear water that was set a metre or so below the surface of the floor, almost as though it were a swimming pool, though I instantly knew this was far from the truth as the walls of this pool were smoothly sloped and covered in the same gold plating that the rest of the building was covered in. The base of the pool was dark, possibly made of the same obsidian as some of the statues, this allowed me to see my reflection clearly mirrored in the water.

I looked rough, the trials and tribulations of the past few days had not been kind to my visage. My dark hair was wild and dirt speckled my face. Cuts and scrapes riddled my nose and cheek whilst the angry bruise on my forehead had turned black and purple. I shuddered trying to throw the image of myself out of my head. I was fine. If I looked anything other than fine then it was the water lying to me; that's what I told myself anyway.

I took in the roof and realised it wasn't complete, or at least it didn't cover the whole room. It shaded the open ground but left the centre pool open to the air. The roof itself was of stone build, structured in a dome shape; this was in contrast to the outlying buildings that had been constructed from timber and thatch, it is for this reason alone that they had fallen far more into disrepair. The underside of the dome roof was also decorated in gold, carved into patterns and bumps. Though where the roof came to an edge there was an array of different gemstones, some the size of my fist, some the size of a football, forming a glittering rim. It was a display of unprecedented splendour and opulence.

It was possible that I had just become a very wealthy man. That was if I could even move any of the gold from here, an unlikely feat. Besides could I really desecrate such an astonishing sight merely for personal wealth? No, probably not; probably, I mean I was tempted. I imagined all the things I could do with that money... I could keep travelling, not have to worry one ounce about going back to the UK and working. Spending days of my life slaving doing things I didn't want to do. I couldn't though; even if I could have removed the gold from the temple, as soon as it was discovered what I had done, I would end up in a South American prison for the rest of my life; not one of the things that is on my bucket list. Anyway the discovery of this place should bring me prestige enough.

As the sun altered its position and shined within the roof top opening I gasped. The sun's rays were reflecting off the gemstones and shining their light onto the gold all around, causing the entire room to shimmer. The whole building seemed designed to magnify this effect with the statues suddenly seeming larger and more grandiose, appearing to emanate power. I took a seat on one of the marble seats, itself shining with the sunlight and golden glow, and basked in the scene.

Truly I could understand why people would want to journey here. Sitting there on my own was a magnificent experience. Not even the noisy jungle beyond the walls was able to penetrate the silence allowed by the thick stone. I could understand Isabel's relief that this place hadn't become swarmed with tourists along with the likes of Machu Picchu, there is no possibility of quiet reflection there. This place would be completely spoiled by a thousand people noisily shouting at each other, laughing at the depiction of the statues, taking damn selfies and then moving on as though they were merely ticking another thing off a list of things they're 'supposed to do'; without taking a single moment to think about why it is they are doing it.

Maybe that's a tad unfair; it's a broad sweeping statement of the kind I myself hate people using. Not everyone acts like that, but as is the case with most things in life the small minority ruin it for the majority. There would be plenty of people that would visit this place if they knew of it and wish to sit in silent appreciation as I was, but it only takes one person to ruin that silence. Thankfully there was nothing to ruin my silence, or so I thought.

***

I lay down on the marble bench for a while, the cold stone on my back a marked contrast to the warmth of the sun on my face. I lay there staring up at the golden ceiling and clear blue sky at peace for a long time. Alas as time inevitably passed the sun inevitably set and with the sun's setting and the encroaching darkness the inevitability of the skulkers once more reared their foul head. A piercing screech, the likes of which I was sadly becoming accustomed to split the silence in the fading light and I realised that not even this glorious place was free from their insidious presence.

I sprung to my feet, shocked back into the realm of here and now and tried to think about what I should do. My tent, I needed to set up my tent. I rushed out of the temple and onto the grass and quickly unloaded the poles and sheets. My eyes were constantly darting around me, eyeing the shadows that were multiplying in the disappearing light, afraid of what could be hiding in them.

I had the tent up in record time, spurred on by my need and fear. I quickly entered it, storing my bag before retrieving my knife and handlight. I left the zip to the tent open just a little bit so that I could peek out and scout the area.

My mind was split between anger at the way I was acting and my own weakness; and the understanding that my fear had a very real grounding. These things had been seemingly following me for days. That I was still breathing was either sheer dumb luck, negligence on their part or by the skulkers own design. None of these choices made me feel very good. Smell alone should have allowed them to track me the previous night; it must have only been the wind blowing my scent away from the cave entrance that had kept me hidden. Blood rushed to my head as I got more and more worked up at my own predicament, going light headed. I tried to shake it off, abandoned my watch and lay down, closing my eyes trying to blot the world out. I forced myself to take slow mediated breaths and after a few minutes I had composed myself enough to sit back up again.

I needed air. I needed to not be set upon by savage beasts. Argghh!!! I didn't know what I needed, what I should do. I was screaming from the inside of my skull, maddened by the compulsion to do something and the knowledge that doing something would probably only make matters worse. This should have been the culmination of my hike, I'd found Quyllur-Wasi, against all odds and surviving all pitfalls I had found an ancient ruin; but, instead of being able to explore it and examine in utmost detail all the buildings and all the objects in those buildings, I was huddled in my tent shying from monsters from the depths of nightmares. Was this recompense, punishment for my arrogance and folly? Could they even be protecting the ruin, had I been deemed unworthy to lay eyes on this hallowed place? I didn't know, like so many things I didn't know, I could barely even think straight enough to form such hypotheses. I needed to get out, even if it was utter madness to leave the safety of the tent, I would entirely lose my sanity staying in it all evening. I summoned together all the courage I could muster and unzipped the tent and exited into the dim light, handlight in my left hand and machete brandished in my right.

***

The sun was below the wall now, reaching out with the last of its orange light. As I glanced all around me I instantly regretted my decision. A skulker, low to the ground, was off to my right immersed in the shade of the wall. I considered quietly slipping back into my tent but it was too late, the beast had already heard me and quick as a flash had spun to look at me. I ran. I couldn't run to the temple but I ran straight into the nearest building I could. I didn't even take the time to look behind me, knowing instinctively that the skulker was bounding after me.

As I entered through the stone doorway on the house I pocketed my handlight and did all I could to block pursuit. Half rotten wood littered the floor from where the roof had collapsed inwards and I pointlessly lugged these as swiftly as I could into the door mouth, propping them upright as much as I could. I glanced out of the door as I did this, expecting to see the beasts piercing eyes run me through, but I was unnerved to find that it was nowhere to be seen. Where had it gone? By all rights it should have been right on me now. The eerie silence with which they moved made them almost impossible to keep track of and as much as I strained my ears I couldn't hear it moving outside.

I don't know what it was, premonition, intuition, but whatever it was I looked up and there was the answer. Perched on the top of the wall was the skulker, I'd forgotten they could climb. It bared its teeth, flexed and looked at me in the same way I'd looked at the delicious pineapple that afternoon. It dropped three metres off the wall and landed without a sound. I backed off quickly keeping my face towards the approaching predator, machete in front of me. My back hit against the wall next to the door and that's when the beast sprang. I quickly kicked the wood badly covering the door aside and dived out of the building just before the skulker landed in the spot previously occupied by my quivering form.

I had no time to allow my winded body to complain and so I scrambled to my feet and stumbled away. Where could I go? There was nowhere to shut myself off from my pursuer. No cage I could trap it in. In life and death situations, such those I had found myself in, despair is one sure way to end up dead. I couldn't allow it, couldn't allow fear to stop me from acting. I made for the temple; maybe I could force it into the water, maybe it couldn't swim. So many maybes, but it was better than nothing. The skulker was hot on my tail but thankfully the fight or flight mechanism, or just flight mechanism in this case, embedded deep into the behaviour of all animals, humans included, was making me run faster than I had in a long long time.

I burst into the temple and hurdled over the benches before coming to a halt at the pools edge. I spun to face my tormentor. At first I thought I had somehow managed to lose it, but no. The skulker just hadn't even been running. It slunk into the room on its hind legs, barely using its front arms for movement. It knew it didn't need to run, knew that I couldn't hide and damn well knew I couldn't escape from it! I summoned all my anger and inner rage and screamed at the skulker, pouring all my emotion into the shout in the hope it would frighten off the beast. Throughout my cry it just stood there on the opposite side of the benches looking at me, grinning and not making a sound.

"Fine, come on then you scaly bastard do your worst." I whispered quietly to myself.

For what seemed like an eternity we appraised each other. I crouched and without even realising it crudely mimicked the stance of the skulker, holding my machete in front of me with my hand gripping the hilt like a vice. The skulker finally stepped onto the first marble bench and squatted down, its feet gripped the stone, claws curling around the seats edge. Then with a final gape of its cavernous mouth it sprung forward, powerful legs launching it from the bench and flying towards me with claws out stretched and tail streaming behind. I just had time to side step the main lunge but received a tail whip to the side of my face as the creature landed, cutting a dash along my cheek.

Now was my chance, perhaps the only one I had. As the creature came back round to bring its claws to me I slashed my machete in front of me to make it shy back then with all the force I could kicked the beast back towards the water. It overbalanced and fell back onto the smooth golden slope to the pool. It tried to recover itself and dig its razor claws into the gold surface but wasn't granted the time before it plunged towards the water. With a shriek dwarfing all those I had heard before it struck the surface with a splash.

I tensely peered into the pool. The creature was frantically thrashing and flailing but the water was deep enough that it couldn't quite stay above the surface. It couldn't swim! It clawed blindly at the pools wall but even the dagger like sharpness of the skulkers claws wasn't enough to pierce the obsidian surface. I don't like death, as I've said I don't condone the killing of any animal, but these monsters I didn't see as animals; they were fiends straight from the seventh circle of Dante's hell. What choice did I have but this or die myself?

The thrashing began to die down, before stopping altogether. For some this would be a grand victory, but I couldn't find it in me to celebrate. Despite all the suffering these things had put me through I felt guilty, felt the remorse of what I had done. This was a cruel end for anything. As dark and evil as these creatures seemed to be to me in the depths of my misery, they had as much right to live as I did. I saw no other choice but that didn't make this a moment to celebrate, but a moment to grieve.

I'd never killed an animal before; sure I'd killed mosquitoes, I've mentioned my thoughts on those, but nothing more. I felt like some part of me had been tarnished by the act, self defence though it was. One of the 10 Commandments in the Christian Bible is 'thou shall not kill', but it never specifies species; killing a sheep, a cow, a chicken, a damn skulker was still killing. So many strongly religious Christians ignore this oversight. I'm not strongly religious, or really weakly religious either, I've told of my views on this, but killing is one thing that I don't like at all.

Shouldn't that make me a vegetarian? Probably yes, it's to my own fault and shame that I haven't yet had the perseverance to stick to a vegetarian diet for long. It's not that I can't go without meat, it's just the difficulty of it in some situations and places that has held me back. Out here in Peru, for instance, staying to a meat free diet is very hard unless you prepare everything yourself, an impossibility for me staying in hostels as I had been. All this being said I have never personally killed an animal before, for food or defence.

***

As the last remnants of sunlight faded from the sky the room was plunged into darkness as cloud obscured the moon and sky. I didn't bother retrieving my handlight from my pocket, instead opting to sit in the darkness alone with my thoughts. I looked up at the towering statues in the room, willing them to impart or inspire some insight into my head. I couldn't yet face leaving the room and returning to my tent. I looked at my watch, it was now six o'clock. I didn't yet have much of an appetite for food, my nerves were still far too much on edge.

I tried to let the temples natural calm ambience return and enshroud me, but the corpse of the skulker still lay at the bottom of the pool and all that it entailed was with it, tainting the room. I took my handlight out of my pocket and tried to shine it up at the gemstones on the roof, trying to trigger the glittering effect that had so filled me with joy little more than an hour ago. The beam on the device was too weak though and produced no effect. Instead I got up and paced the room trying to examine the statues a bit more. As much as I tried though I got nothing from them, despite the exquisitely fine carving the faces were just blank to me. I don't know if it was my state of mind or what, but they were as distant to me as the Gods they were depicting, silent sentinels. I wanted to leave, to go home; I'd had enough of this solitude. A few more days, that's all I had to last. I would finish my exploration of Quyllur-Wasi in the morning, bring back all the knowledge I could, then begin the journey back. Part of me thought that when it came to returning I would take it at a run. I didn't think about the route I had to take, either the unknown dangers over the bridge or the known perils returning the way I'd come. I could set my mind to a new goal, making sure all I had learned didn't go to waste. I set my mind to loved ones back home and thought of telling them about everything I'd seen. The look on people's faces when I explained what I'd discovered, the questions and rebuttals they would throw at me in their disbelief. Calmed by this notion I turned back and shone my handlight towards the exit.

As I walked towards the open doorway the light threw a glow on the golden walls. As I got closer though a figure came into the doorway. Untold panic and anguish filtered through me, seeped into my muscles and bones, making me take a step back. Another skulker had entered the temple. It ducked out of the beam from my handlight and moved into the darkness. I swung the light back towards it trying to make it back off. As I did though I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye, swinging the light back to the doorway it revealed a second skulker entering the temple, then behind it a third, then a forth. The one I'd battled with earlier, I realised then far too late that its final cry must have been to call for aid. I could barely cope with one skulker what possible hope did I have against four? There was no chance of me luring all four of the creatures into the water.

As the four skulkers crept silently into a semi-circle around me I felt my legs begin to waver. My resistance slowly gave way to a dark acceptance that this would probably be my grave. A grave that may well not be found for years and years. What would people think back home? Would my family launch a search; where would they begin, how would they know where to start? There must be something I could do; maybe I could quickly sprint out of the door and try to reach the jungle, try to find somewhere to hide amongst the thick vegetation. No, I was too far away and the skulkers were capable of moving too quickly. I wouldn't stand a chance.

Then I had a thought. Maybe it wasn't possible to lure the four skulkers into the pool, but I could go in there myself. If they can't swim or are afraid of water then I might be able to keep them at bay, I thought. It seemed the best chance I had so before I allowed the skulkers to get any closer I turned and sprinted to the pool.

As I came to the sloped golden edge I jumped down and slid on the smooth surface. The surfaces in the temple must have been treated with something because there is no way the gold should have maintained the shine it had throughout the centuries since the buildings construction. This wasn't the foremost of my thoughts though as my legs hit the surface of the water. It was cold. The water wasn't hugely deep but it wasn't shallow either coming up to almost my neck height.

I half waded and half swam as close to the centre of the pool as I could, my sodden clothes weighing me down. I nearly had a heart attack as my legs struck something before I realised it was the sunken corpse of the skulker. Shuddering with revulsion I pushed myself into a front crawl till I'd passed over it. Once I'd reached the centre of the pool I turned back to the skulkers. In the dark of the room I couldn't really see anything. I pointed my handlight in the direction I'd come, I'd endeavoured to keep it out of the water as much as possible, I was hoping it would be somewhat waterproof and so far it seemed to be holding out. In the dim electrical light provided I could see that the skulkers had crept to the edge of the pool, but thankfully they'd ventured no closer and didn't seem interested in entering. Upon seeing their fallen comrade though they led out a rising hiss and were visibly angered.

We had reached a stalemate, they wouldn't enter the water and I couldn't leave it. I'm not sure who was in the stronger position. If I waited long enough, along the lines of ten hours, the sun would eventually rise and force the creatures away. But ten hours in this icy water, seemingly unaffected by the daytime sun, I could well pass out. I tried aimlessly to shine the handlight's beam into the creatures' eyes. I wasn't at all sure if provoking them further was a good idea, but it at least made me feel slightly less helpless than I was. It's amazing how much I wanted to cry out for help. It's the first thing most people do in a tight spot, but the inability to do this simple human response, to summon aid, made me feel even more isolated than I was already feeling.

Any movement I took towards the edge of the pool caused the skulkers to follow me around the edge. If nothing else the situation allowed me the time to study the skulkers in more detail. They moved at times on hind legs, as a gorilla would, but other times their movement was more akin to a jaguar, on all fours and low to the ground. In either case the legs and hands were placed on the ground with the utmost precision, even when done at speed, almost caressing the ground to muffle any sound. Their ears, I noticed, twitched frequently, adjusting position and I reckoned they saw my movements as much by sound as they did sight. I marvelled at the fluid nature of their tails, rarely being allowed to touch the ground it looked as though they were floating on air. As terrified as they made me I couldn't help but be impressed with the sheer competence of the way they moved. Even knowing they were there they would frequently disappear into shadow and I wouldn't be able to follow them until I made use of the handlight, so seamlessly did they blend into the background.

***

About half an hour passed in this manner. The water that had soaked into my clothes had begun to be warmed by my body temperature as if I were in a makeshift wetsuit. That isn't to say I was comfortable, far from it in fact, but I was becoming accustomed to my conditions. This couldn't go on all night though, but the skulkers were unwilling to give up their prey. Driven by revenge, hunger, curiosity, they continued to stand silently waiting for me to move into their reach.

My redemption came with the moving of the clouds. As the sky became clear, moonlight shone through the roof top opening hitting the gold and gemstones and triggering a similar reaction to the sunlight earlier. The total effect was more subdued but made infinitely more amazing and noticeable by the general darkness. The whole firmament was reflected in the water, constellations of stars and the twilight of the moon was multiplied tenfold by the curious architecture as the room was suddenly thrown into light. The skulkers wailed and hissed at the light, trying to find shade but finding none. With a savage cry they scampered from the room. I had been momentarily reprieved.

I swam to the edge of the pool closest to the door and with great difficulty climbed out of the water. The slippery golden slope made getting any grip difficult, but eventually I managed to manoeuvre myself onto the edge. As I climbed back up to the main floor, water flooded off my clothes in a torrent.

It is a crying shame that I wasn't able to merely appreciate the splendour of the scene around me and instead had to try to settle on the best course of action. If I remained here and the moon became covered with cloud again I would once more become a sitting duck. Of course I could always return to the water, as a duck might do, but eventually I would have to sleep, an impossibility in the pool. I could leave the temple and try to make it back to the tent in the hope that the skulkers weren't waiting outside the building; or I could try and make it to the jungle, find somewhere to lie low and hide out of the way. I would probably be less of an obvious target in the latter case if I could make it as far as the jungle, but there would also be much more to worry about out there than the skulkers alone. I supposed there was nothing for it but to carefully make my way outside and see what the situation was.

With trepidation I edged towards the door, scared that, as soon as I stepped out of the ethereal light I was under, those eldritch creatures would descend on me like seagulls on unattended fish and chips. I withdrew my machete and kept that and my handlight in front of me, protection against any unwanted surprises; but the handlight I kept switched off, not wanting to draw attention unless I absolutely had to. I've always been a bit wary around knifes, I guess I've seen too many bloody movies and TV shows to be entirely comfortable with sharp objects. What seemed like such a daft purchase on my first day of hiking had proven itself highly useful and I found it slightly unsettling that the machete was now almost a permanent fixture on my belt; but then I had been given a crash course over the past week on why you can never be too prepared, so I can hardly say I rued any of the purchases I'd made before leaving.

As I poked my head nervously out of the doorway I didn't feel like breathing, why didn't I just stay in the temple? It was nice in there. The need for true shelter and warmth was pressing though, I needed to feel safe. At least in my tent I couldn't be caught by surprise, a skulker trying to force its way into my tent would make far too much noise to be stealthy. It was only a hundred metres, if that, to the tent; I could make it that far unseen. The moon was still clear and full in the sky though so there was little shadow for me to hide in, but that applied to the skulkers too. I couldn't see them in the immediate area, not proof that they weren't there, but a good sign. "Well," I said to myself, "here goes nothing."

I scampered out into the darkness, staying low and frequently spinning around, looking for any sign of the skulkers. Although I could not be sure, they had, it appeared, left. They must have accepted there was no getting to me in the water and gone off in search of other prey in the jungle instead. That certainly solved my woods or tent dilemma. The jungle really didn't appeal after my night time venture by the lake. Sure it might be fine, but I'd been in the vicinity of those skulkers for the previous two nights at least and so far hadn't been attacked in my sleep. When in doubt tread the familiar path, perhaps not the best way to live your whole life, but a good one when you are in dangerous situations. There was a light breeze on my face, the temperature having mellowed as the night took its grip on the land, I became more anxious the farther I got from the door, I was now in the middle ground, not close enough to the tent but getting too far from the temple to comfortably return. My worries were unnecessary though as the distance closed to my refuge. There was no sign of the four skulkers anywhere. I'd even scanned the walls of the buildings, thinking that they could have climbed out of the way to scout and gain a hidden vantage. So far as I could see though they had disappeared from the face of the earth, something I was gladly willing to accept. I came to the tent and, making one final check to ensure I wasn't being observed, retreated to relative safety.

***

After one deep sigh of relief I quickly shed my sodden clothes and dried myself, before changing into something both dry and fresh. The one advantage to my unplanned swim in the pool was that I had received something resembling a wash, ridding myself of some of the grime and smell from the road and my manic flight from the first skulker. It was a relief, being back in my retreat. As much as there was nothing to stop a skulker now being a mere metre away from me on the other side of the fabric wall, it didn't seem that way. It's the same when I go into a building or house. Outside you have the elements to contend with, the sun and air on your face, but as soon as you step inside the whole atmosphere changes. This isn't always a good thing, I like the outdoors and staying in can drive me slightly insane, but there's a comfort in knowing that far less unexpected things will generally happen whilst you are indoors. This was the hope I was clinging to in the dark of the tent. I knew that light shouldn't shine out of my tent, but I refused to take the chance that there might be some spill through the zip or somewhere else and so sat in the near perfect darkness. This I did for at least half an hour as I allowed my heart rate to settle back down to normal and let the tension shed from me like the skin of a snake.

After a while I realised I couldn't stay in this state all night and so did chance the handlight, though only under the cover of my sleeping bag. Tucked as such in my cocoon, like a naughty child reading late after his bedtime, I started taking notes. I described the following: the rough layout of the site; I extended the map I had drawn last night to include my days travelling; went into extensive detail on the design and layout of the temple, describing the effect light had in conjunction with the architecture; talked about the flora and fauna I had encountered in the jungle, the trees, other plants, insects, birds and monkeys; then of course I wrote more about the skulkers. My notes were becoming a decidedly odd mix of thoughts, facts, sketches and crossings out. As much as I had previously wished I'd brought a camera, it now appeared that if I had brought one it would inevitably have been smashed up beyond use or repair by now. The process of writing was a therapeutic one, it allowed me to rationalise everything I was experiencing. I passed a lot of time in this manner and it let me push dark matters out of my head.

Come eight o'clock I was hungry, but I refused to venture outside in the dark, the smell of my cooker alone would attract attention and I was comfortable in the believe that if I was going to be troubled in my tent that night it would have happened by now. I, therefore, stayed shut away and lived with the growing hunger in my stomach. I ate my penultimate chocolate bar and some trail mix to assuage the pangs as best I could and settled in for the night. I could cook a proper breakfast in the morning I figured, well maybe proper isn't the best word, a large breakfast at least.

The sound of the jungle was penetrating the tent. You don't notice it at first, whilst I was busy and distracted my mind seemed to overlook it, but once you've heard it you can't unhear it. The sound! It was so loud! A roar and humdrum of crickets, grasshoppers and other miscellaneous bugs! This put two thoughts into my head. First was the sheer incomprehension that there could be so many insects around and I see so few. The second, more depressing thought, was that I was really going to struggle for sleep tonight. I supposed it was no different than coping with sirens and car alarms in London, after a while it fades into the background with the brain just filtering it all out.

There's a clock at my parents house. Well there are actually two, both as bad as each other. They both make the most incredibly loud ticking noises. Every single visitor that comes to the house points it out, but it's only when they do that I'm reminded that it's there. It still baffles me that anyone thought a ticking clock was a good idea.

Once I had passed the evening in a curious mix of boredom and unease I did make the attempt to sleep. My ears were still straining, listening for any hint of the skulkers outside, though I knew deep down that they would give away no sign. For this reason it took longer for me to blank out the choir of insects than it normally might. Eventually though my tired limbs and heavy eyelids got the better of me and I drifted into an uneasy sleep.

# 11

## In The Stark Light Of Day

I was stirred by the sound of pitter pattering on my roof once again. I bolted awake, remembering the terror of the previous night, but also remembering the situation in my tent the last time there was rain. Thankfully this time my belongings weren't swimming, and even more thankfully my tent had survived the night unravaged by demons. I poked my head out of the tent and found that it was a light drizzle and nothing more. I was amongst semi-rainforest jungle so drizzle is fairly frequent, in these conditions it normally dissipates quite quickly. Despite knowing, or at least strongly believing, that this was going to be the case, I was starving. I did not want to wait for the whims of the weather to allow me to cook. Therefore I exited the tent with the cooking equipment and food I required and headed into the cover of the temple.

Now most of the historical monuments in Peru, and the rest of the world for that matter, have strict things to say about the consumption of food and drink. So I'm sure if this place fell into the jurisdiction of any conservation organisations they would have very stern things to say about me setting up a gas stove to cook myself a vegetable curry. Never mind the fact that it was breakfast and curry for breakfast is a very strange thing to have. Even as a student you would attempt if possible to steer away from curry as hangover food, opting, if available, for leftover pizza. At least that's the way I lived my student life, maybe I was just a bad student.

Anyhow I quickly had the stove going. I wasn't about to start throwing curry all over the golden walls, I'm not that inconsiderate, so I was sure it would be fine. It's funny how with daylight any thought of being pounced on by skulkers completely disappeared. They seemed to be entirely nocturnal beings and it was a great relief that I had half of the day free from the worry of attack. It would have been good for me to be able to stay at this site stress free for a few days, scavenge the surrounding jungle for food, and see what I could find hidden amongst the ruins. After last night I knew that wasn't something I could, or wanted to, do. I would need water before too long in any case, and with a skulker floating in the temple pool, purification tablets or no, I refused to drink that water.

Once I had finished with my cooker I wiped the inside of the pan clean and put it outside; whilst it was still raining I thought I'd collect as much rain water as I could. I should be fine if I was reserved with my stock till I returned to the mountain river, but it was best I made sure. This would allow me to drink in more comfort. I then set about eating my odd breakfast in what was certainly the most impressive location I'd ever had a curry.

Putting the rest of my things away in my tent I started to explore the rest of the site in the drizzle. I'd barely seen any of it the previous night, my explorations having been curtailed by the attack I received. Most of the other buildings looked like they had been used as housing, though the lack of objects within made me believe that they might have only been for temporary residence. There were a few old ceramic pots, many were damaged but some remained complete and untouched. Less care had been taken in the preservation of these houses than the central temple and the fallen branches that had been used to construct the roofs had caused damage and made the huts look like a storm had smashed into them.

I discovered one larger building, with a much bigger opening that I speculated might have been used as a stable or somewhere to keep livestock. Perhaps more likely the latter as I couldn't see them having too much use for horses in this terrain; but then they wouldn't have had horses, they would have had llamas and alpacas, both are much more suited to steeper terrain. It was certainly a possibility, there were no signs left to indicate the truth of the matter though. I discovered nothing else of anywhere near the interest of the central building, it seemed to be a place of worship and the outer buildings almost there as an afterthought.

This is, I should say, architecturally speaking. There was something I discovered in one of the buildings that was of more immediate interest to me than anything else I'd seen. In the corner of one of the houses I discovered quite a horrific site, two skeletons. I've already talked about human sacrifice, but I can tell you now this wasn't the case here and I knew that for one very good reason. Only one of the two skeletons was human; the other was what appeared to be a skulker skeleton, certainly that's what the scene suggested to me. Both skeletons were completely clean, no remnants of flesh to be seen, it having long since decayed or been picked off by scavengers. As the flesh had fallen away the two bodies had lost their solidity and the bones become somewhat tangled together. A fishing spear though, residing amongst the bones told the story. A man had tried to defend himself against the skulker; he had failed to preserve his own life, but had at least taken his foe with him. This made me near certain that it wasn't merely chance I hadn't seen anyone else on this hike. It was clear as day in my mind that the threat of the skulkers had driven people away, it was the only thing that made sense. This poor victim must have been left here whilst others managed to flee. I couldn't have imagined this place living under the constant threat of those creatures, but then maybe they were only so bold attacking because I was a lone target. Maybe there had been a drawn out conflict, instead of a sudden exodus. There was no way of telling. I didn't like it. Coupled with the events of the previous night it all gave the area a dark and sinister atmosphere. This was suddenly all too much like a ghost town.

***

I tried to remove this discovery from my mind as I continued to explore and thankfully I encountered no more skeletons. However this only served to increase my curiosity about the first. If there was one skeleton I would have thought it likely that there should be more. Perhaps the skulkers had dragged other victims away and this body had only remained undiscovered by the skulker corpse that had been draped on top of it. I was uneasy, none of it added up. Anyway I pulled my focus back to the site, noticing how the area behind the temple, which I hadn't seen the day before, was much more densely constructed. The distance between the back of the temple and the site wall was much shorter. The open area where I had set up camp was by far the biggest space of open ground. It was interesting to see odd trees growing in the area, next to some of the buildings, whether by design or the persistence of nature I couldn't tell. What was even more wonderful was that among these were banana trees!

I approached a tree with glee, it was a golden sign amidst recent dark tidings. Rain fell into my eyes as I looked at the lush fruit drooping down in bunches. Looking closer at the trunk I noticed that it was actually made up of tightly bound leaves. This was because, unbeknownst to me at the time, the banana tree isn't actually a tree but a large herb. A plant produces a single flower before dying, a new plant then grows from the stem of the old plant.

Anyhow I reached for the closest bunch of fruit and picked off what I thought to be the ripest looking fruit, caring not a bit how it came to be grown. I wasn't sure whether the fruit I had taken was entirely ripe or not, but the banana wasn't green so it ought to be edible. I ripped it open, the rubbery outer casing giving some resistance. I took a bite and found that I was correct, not quite ripe, but edible enough. Not as refreshing as pineapple but it was fruit, it was different and I would happily add it to my stock. There was plenty of time on the return journey to look for other plants too. For the moment though I picked a few more of the most yellow fruit then continued on my way.

***

After I'd carried the fruit back to my tent I looked about the site for about an hour more, during which time the rain came to a thankful stop. In this time I examined everything in as much detail as I could, going over everything a second time. Once the rain had halted I also started making little sketches of different houses, interesting wall sections, pots etc. I also went back to my overall map of the site and filled in new information and made it a more complete image.

Once I had done this I didn't really know what to do next, I didn't have the expertise to look into the place any more than I already had. I was basically a glorified tourist that would gain nothing from anything more than a cursory glance. I returned to the temple, wanting to get one more glimpse of the awesome light effect within, but the sky was still overcast from the mornings shower and so I was sadly deprived of the amazing spectacle. The room was still impressive nonetheless. I don't think it's possible to see that much gold anywhere and not be at least slightly taken aback, but it wasn't the same as the room under full sunlight, or moonlight for that matter.

I decided to call time on my exploring and start packing up to start the long journey back. I had achieved what I had come here to do, find a random old place called Quyllur-Wasi that may not even have existed. Now I needed to focus on real life and heading back to civilisation. That isn't to say this wasn't real, but in the context of the rest of my life it was so bizarre that it could've been a dream. I felt a certain degree of sadness at the thought of leaving this all behind. Before this week I'd thought everywhere else I'd visited in Peru was crazy and far removed from my normal life, but in comparison to all this it was just tame. Still I thought of all the bad things I'd been through in this week, to go along with all the wonders, and accepted it couldn't last any longer. The stress alone must have taken years off my life. I needed a regular holiday for a bit. There was one thing I had to do though before I left.

I found a stick, went into one of the more sheltered houses and carved deep into the dirt floor: 'Rob Cooke was here 27/06/2015'. Well I had to mark the occasion somehow and I reckoned later explorers, scientists and conservationists would frown on me etching this message into the stone. I mean I guess I could have ripped off a piece of paper and left a note somewhere, in one of the pots perhaps. Hell now that I thought about it I could have left a whole load of notes, a puzzle of sorts to really confuse the next person to come here: 'Quest for the golden monkey, clue 1!', or something similar to that. It could certainly have been fun, but it would have also taken more time, energy and inventiveness than I was willing to expire that early in the day. I was happy with my message in the ground. That done, and after a final scan to ensure I hadn't left anything behind, the return journey began. It had taken me nearly six days to make it to Quyllur-Wasi, hopefully I could return in a decent amount less.

# 12

## The Return Begins

I exited the historic site and circled back around the outer stone wall, through the jungle undergrowth encroaching on the stone perimeter, until I was back on my now familiar path. I was determined to pay more attention to my jungle surroundings on the way out this time, having ignored a considerable amount after my unfortunate encounter with the monkey bandits. I didn't know if early morning rain would make it more likely for me to see wildlife or not, but I supposed I would soon find out. Insects at least seem to come out more when it's damp so I might see something, though hopefully not any more examples of the frightening wasp I had encountered. Back home it's normally the earthworms and snails you see in damp conditions so I felt I should be okay. I briefly wondered what a Peruvian earthworm would be like, would it be super-sized or just the same as worms back home? I started to think I should have been writing all these endless questions down, as then I could seek the answers at my leisure when I had internet access once more. Yet at the same time I only had a limited supply of paper and I fear I would have long since exhausted it had I sought to write them all down. Endlessly inquisitive, that's me.

The jungle seemed different after the mornings drizzle; whilst it had looked lush before, the plants seemed to have become even more vitalised having had a drink, almost brimming with life. Rain drops still dripped through the canopy, falling from leaves and filling the area with the gentle sound of water hitting plants and other objects on the forest floor. A number of times this tricked me into thinking I'd heard an animal move in the undergrowth only to realise it was just rain water. It was amazing though and completely unlike walking through a forest in England. The utter variety of plant-life was far beyond say a walk in Sherwood Forest, for instance. In the first hours walk I did manage to spot a small pig like animal rummaging around in the bushes, seemingly oblivious to my existence. I believe it was some variety of peccary, a type of jungle pig I'd heard of. Judging by the size I could only assume it was an adolescent, as fully grown peccaries tend to be quite large and often rather dangerous. It was probably sniffing for food so I left it about its business and carried on.

***

The time floated by, I saw odd small birds on my path, the most interesting of which for me were a few hummingbirds. I'd never seen a hummingbird before, they're not really found in Europe, so seeing the little hovering bird whizzing around me was a pleasant treat. I started recognising some of the areas I was walking through, remembering trees and particularly muddy patches of the trail. I came to the area where I'd been mugged by monkeys and started getting a bit tetchy. Fortunately Pachamama had seemingly decided to watch over me that day and I encountered none of the pests. Unfortunately despite the number of different plants being able to fill an entire book, none of these seemed to be fruit plants. It seemed I hadn't merely overlooked them on the way there, there simply weren't any. I don't doubt there are plenty in the jungle somewhere, but it seems that they are deeper, away from the path.

My mornings walk passed without much more of note or interest and before too long I re-entered the small glade where I had picked pineapple the previous day. Here was a place that did have fruit. Admittedly I'd already ransacked two of the plants, but there were thankfully still a few more of them I'd left untouched. Enough for me to warrant taking one and cutting it up to add to the couple of bananas I had. This didn't take me as long as the day before as I'd managed to learn a decent technique through trial and error. Honestly, regardless of the slightly freakish obsession with fruit I seemed to have gained, it was nice to just sit down for a bit. I'd walked up to this point quite happily without pause or break and it's only having stopped that I realised how nice it was to rest my legs. It was strange as well, for almost the first time this trip I knew precisely where I was going. The only other time I'd been close to this situation was before my descent down to the lake on the second day, but that was more a case of me being able to see my destination, not knowing all the precise ins and outs of the path. Knowing that I would, for the entire afternoon, be making a long and sharp climb made resting decently now even more worthwhile.

After I'd cut up a pineapple and stashed it securely amongst my food I carried on. It was around lunch time now and it would have been easy to stop here, however it was better that I push on to the river where I could restock water and have another break before starting the true uphill climb. I was at this point already starting to climb, having begun to hit the foothills of the mountain, but it was no more than a light gradient, whereas by the time I came to the river the path would start rising sharply. Onwards I trotted in a merry mood.

Now that I had walked for probably three hours I was struck with the thought that I should have found a keepsake at Quyllur-Wasi. Sure I had my torch as a general one for the trip, but perhaps I should've kept something from the site which was the very reason for my convoluted journey. The cynical of you will be saying, 'oh but you have memories, they're far better.' Well yes, sure, but you can't offer a memory as archaeological proof of somewhere's existence and besides memories fade. I'm not saying I'm going to forget this trip, no chance, but clarity fades, I've talked of this already. What objects do for me, keepsakes, they fix a story to a memory allowing me to remember a clearer image. I'm sure there's some sort of scientific backing for this, visual stimuli maybe; but, I'm not a scientist, by now I would hope I have made that quite clear. This isn't really relevant to anything but my state of mind, if I'm honest, but it does go to show that I was focused on the trivial things in life; not the life threatening danger of skulkers and other predators, or the anger and paranoia that came when I thought about monkeys.

***

So before long I had made it to the riverside and I took a welcome lunch break by the river. Increasingly stale flatbread was freshened up by banana and pineapple and I restocked my dwindling water supply.

The weather was unpredictable. When the sun was out I found myself really quite warm and took off my outer layers, content with just a t-shirt. However, the sky wasn't clear and the sun would dip behind the clouds for short interludes and when this happened the temperature change was such that I was only comfortable when I put on a jumper. It was annoying though, as when I left the jumper on it would be warm for a more prolonged period till I gave in and took it off, and then on cue it would turn cold. The same was true when it stayed cold for an extended period and I forced myself to put a jumper on, the sun would immediately come out. It was almost like the sun was playing a game with me. Maybe the Peruvian sun God Inti was annoyed that I wasn't giving him more attention. I left the jumper on and took to rolling the sleeves up when I was hot. I hate being cold, I would always rather be too hot than too cold. I mean obviously it depended to what degree you're talking about. I'd rather be slightly chilly than sitting in a volcano burning alive; but if we're talking sensibly, thirty degrees Celsius is a lot nicer than zero degrees in my opinion.

The river I found to be flowing at a marginally quicker pace than the day before, no doubt buffed by the morning rainfall. I don't know how much it rained during the night, as I slept soundly, but that could also have contributed. Part of me really wanted to build a little raft and see where this river went, I mean it had to go somewhere, I could just float along without a care letting the current do all the work. I don't have to tell you how that was an incredibly stupid idea. Even removing the fact that I can't build rafts, I would inevitably end up stuck deep in the forest and have to attempt to walk back along the river, through less easily traversed terrain than my well laid path, all just to make it back to this point. No, all of these vague notions and ideas could wait till another time.

I say another time like I'll be here again. The mere thought of going through all this a second time was nerve shredding. No the only reason I would be coming back was if it was with a full research team. As the first (I assumed) westerner to visit Quyllur-Wasi I would naturally be persuaded into taking a place alongside the team to offer what expertise I could. That's how these things work, isn't it?

Anyhow, put a little differently, I could only even consider coming back if I had survived the initial trip. So no more rafts, no more stupidity, I would walk, camp when it got dark, I wouldn't do any extra night time excursions, I wouldn't even tempt my luck to go outside till I was away from the areas I'd encountered skulkers.

After I had rested for a sufficient length of time I set myself to the unenviable task of climbing the damn mountain again. Many would say if you've done it once you can do it again; however, this time I was climbing on the opposite side and it was a considerably higher and steeper climb on the East side than the West. It was now twenty past one, after briefly consulting my notes I realised my error. My descent from where I had camped outside the caves entrance had taken me nearly four hours. Even assuming I could make it in four hours I would be arriving in darkness, and walking uphill would be much harder than walking downhill. There was nothing for it but to set off straight away. I'd already walked this path and so knew that firm ground for camping was scarce if I was lucky. I couldn't recall seeing a decent point to pitch a tent on the entire descent, but I might have been mistaken, I hoped I was mistaken. The last thing I wanted was to be hiking tired and out of breath in the dark at high altitude with the fear of being jumped on by a skulker. With this thought in my head I ploughed on at a furious pace. Thankfully the path underfoot gave me good footing, meaning I wasn't expending a lot of effort avoiding loose stones. Sadly it still wasn't as smooth going as walking through the jungle and it was only going to get worse, boy was it going to get worse...

***

By the time I had fully climbed above the tree line I was already out of breath. This was not going to be fun, I thought, taking a deep breath as I paused momentarily. All of the hiking I'd done prior to this trip had been short walks, requiring nothing more than a day bag, the added weight of my hiking rucksack and tent continued to be a great bane. If I wasn't an extremely money conscious person I think I would have thrown away some of my dirty clothing long ago to lighten my bag. But we are who we are. One thing is for certain I would be returning to Cusco in far better physical shape than when I left. All this mountainous walking basically amounts to altitude training in my mind. If I were to return to the UK promptly I'd be able to reap the benefits for around two full weeks! Somehow, however, I didn't think that running a marathon would be high on my list of priorities when I got back.

I continued to climb. The more lush plants that grew in the jungle had slowly been disappearing and I was once more accompanied by the site of the cactus like plants that flourished in the dryer environment higher up the mountain. I was now high enough to be able to look a decent distance out over the jungle I'd walked in that morning. I wanted to try and find the location of Quyllur-Wasi from above, it was an area clear of the trees so it should be visible, but my scanning was unsuccessful; possibly because I wasn't really sure how much the jungle path had been winding, yet perhaps the angle I was looking at just wasn't steep enough. It didn't really matter, but for some reason I thought it would be nice to be able to picture it in my head.

I eventually came to the rough staircase that marked the start of a steeper climb. My quads began to feel the stress and the walk became more and more of a struggle. The glorious mountainous sights all around at least provided me with some degree of comfort, spoiling my eyes as my body was put through the wringer. Looking up above me though was enough to make me cry, the staircase seemed to go on forever with no end in sight. I don't think I appreciated how long the staircase was on the way down as it wasn't physically challenging descending; but now, when every few steps left me tired and short of breath, seeing the stairs disappear into cloud far above me was enough to make me hysterical. I continued in a blindly determined manner letting my aches and exhaustion overwhelm me as though it were the sum total of my existence.

I lasted about forty five minutes in this state before a misplaced foot caused me to slip and fall onto my face. My hands caught the step in front of me so I escaped injury but the mental wound caused my body to refuse to rise and instead remain sprawled on the rock and dirt. All I forced myself to do was turn my head to the side so that I could breathe air in without taking earth with it.

'Well isn't this wonderful...' I thought to myself. So much for my determination, I was supposed to be persevering and pushing myself till I reached the top, till I was in a place where I could actually pitch a tent. I wasn't even half way and I was lying in the dirt, it was pathetic, I was pathetic. That moment seemed to be the sum manifestation of all my failings, every time I'd let my own doubts conquer my will and determination. It began to make me angry and in my anger I battered away the mental restraints consigning me to the floor and forced myself up. I forced myself onwards. I'd already achieved so much on this trip and I couldn't let it end now. It was only a damn staircase, I just had to put one foot in front of the other. This much I could do.

I laboured onwards, water sustaining me as I stumbled raggedly up the stairs like one of the dead. As I reached higher and higher up the mountain the life, that before had clung plentifully along the path, faded away much as my will and energy was, becoming far less abundant. The altitude was beginning to impact more and more on my breathing. Every breath I took was deep as though I was trying to suck more oxygen from the air than was there. At times dizziness threatened to take me and I was forced to pause and sit temporarily on a step to prevent me falling into the canyon to my left. The river was now far below and there would be nothing to cushion my fall were I to slip. I always used to complain about Suffolk a lot when I was younger, how flat and boring it was, never again. After today I had learnt about all the baggage that comes with living in mountainous terrain. As beautiful as it was it couldn't half be a pain in the arse.

An hour and a half on the stairway and looking up it seemed I'd made no progress at all. The descent took around two hours but I'd be lucky if I was done in five hours let alone another half an hour; and even after that I still had another hours walking to reach the cave entrance.

I glanced over the side of the path and looked at the river, marvelling at its own sharp descent, the steady set of cascading waterfalls that signalled the river's own set of steps. Misty vapour made the air hazy below me and where the slowly setting sun shone on the spray a rainbow spectrum of colour could be seen. Without the time to stay and appreciate it I could only continue on my way.

***

It was 5:15 before I came to the end of the steps, the relief overwhelmed me. It was still uphill from here but I was buoyed by the knowledge that the path would get much flatter as I kept progressing. Cloud once more covered the area and with the sun having almost set the temperature was now much closer to the cold side than it was the warm. I had probably another hour of walking at least before I reached the cave entrance, half of that would be in the dark. Even now the skulkers were probably leaving their lairs. I had told myself no more night time walking but what could I do? With the path below me being stone there was no chance I could pitch a tent even were the path wider and flatter than it was. I would just have to stay on guard.

I pushed my pace further not wanting to spend any longer walking in the darkness than was necessary. I took out my handlight to try and ensure I had some vague visibility once the last of the sun's rays had disappeared below the horizon. With the air being as cloudy as it was beginning to get, I would certainly see little without it; probably little with it either.

Within fifteen minutes I was forced to turn the handlight on. The sun hadn't fully set but as it was setting behind the mountain I was climbing, and having dropped behind the peak, the side I was on had been cast into shadow. Thankfully the water exposure didn't appear to have done any harm to my handlight the day before. Yet still the light barely pierced the dense cloud all around me and there were a number of times I almost stepped off the path, before stopping at the very last second. I took to keeping one hand on the mountain wall to my right, hugging as far away from the edge as I could. This served me well for another twenty minutes, but then quite abruptly the handlight flickered and died.

I hit it, turned it off and on again, took the batteries out and back in again. No joy, it was out, flat. I had no spare batteries in my bag either, I have no idea when they'd been put in but I had kind of just assumed they would last the trip, handlight batteries don't normally need replacing very often. Well in retrospect I should've bought one of those manually charged ones, with the winding kinetic charger. Not a lot I could do now though. I mean I could light up the torch again, but I didn't really want to spend the time doing it. The darkness was making me nervous and windy as it was on the side of the mountain I didn't fancy my chances of setting it alight very quickly. I proceeded more carefully now, eyes glued to my feet as I sought to avoid any wonky or missing stones in the path below my feet.

Having walked the entire path now I can say that as remarkable and well preserved as it was, it was still damaged in parts. I already mentioned that through the jungle sections were submerged and eaten up by mud, in the cave the path disappeared as well after a while and that was also the case on this mountain stretch. The gaps wouldn't be long but there were often short patches where the path stopped in favour of a normal dirt track, whilst other short sections were simply too steep for a successful stone path to be laid. This being said it was evident in some areas that the stones were all that were keeping it safely traversable. There were a couple of points on the path where the track became very thin; where there were small gaps in the path, little more than a hand span; or where small streams trickled down the side of the mountain from melting snow above. At these points without the stone path, traversing would be a lot more perilous, particularly in the dark. Luckily I had already passed the points that required most focus. Alas that was where my luck was to end.

My worst fears came to pass when suddenly I was knocked to the ground from above. A skulker, having been climbing along the rock higher up, had pounced on me. Claws dug into my right shoulder and upper arm as I went down and I let out a scream of pain as muscle was torn apart like paper. For once my bag proved a blessing, I tucked my head under and the beast was unable to get at anything but my exposed arms and legs. Blinking back the shock at my bleeding arm I just about mustered up enough strength of will to grip my machete and make one swing at the skulker towering over me. I gasped as my whole body protested at the movement but it did the job and knocked the beast away from above me. I scrambled to my feet quickly and tried to flee in a staggered run. A savage shriek rent my ears from behind. My heart was beating too fast though and the air was too thin, this combined with the steady loss of blood from my savaged arm sent me into a dizzy swoon. I fought through it for thirty seconds at the most before the world started to sway and then disappear in a blur around me. Time seemed to slow, the rushing of wind and blood in my ears all I could hear, as darkness rose up and claimed me.

# 13

## Darkest Peru

Was this is it? After all this was the journey to end, was my life to end? Eaten by a savage beast? Dreams and nightmares swirled around me. A blur of images, thoughts and feelings from every crevice of my mind smashed together. I saw loved ones searching for me. I imagined them on the same path as me and watched as they were picked off one by one by the skulkers, whilst I was frozen and unable to do anything to help them. I dreamt possible futures, what would have been if I'd made different choices in life. I saw myself living the life I had before leaving the UK, only everywhere I went I was followed. Dark creatures were hiding in the shadows and wherever I fled I couldn't escape them. Every sad moment, every regret played itself out a hundred times in front of my eyes. I tried to run, to conjure up good memories and happy times to fight back, but the path of ones mind is not something so easily swayed. Good memories began to play out in my head, but slowly they were corrupted, made sick and pestilent by my own innate uncertainty. Dreams are still very much a mystery of life; time runs differently in the subconscious and it felt like centuries that I was tormented by my own thoughts. Was this death? An eternity left with your own thoughts? Perhaps, but this was not yet my end.

***

I awoke thrashing and crying into a pitch black world. The dull pain in my shoulder slowly brought me back to consciousness. It seemed a miracle that I wasn't dead and it took me a minute to straighten my thoughts out and realise that I was now once more underground. I must have passed out due to altitude sickness and my over exertion, I'm sure my blood loss can't have helped either; then that skulker must have dragged me to some den underground. For some reason I'd been temporarily spared.

I quickly realised that I was in a really quite perilous situation, for many reasons. Not only was I underground with no idea where I was, but a skulker was evidently near, probably more than one. My machete had been lost when I had collapsed so my main means of defence was also gone. Fortunately the skulker hadn't removed my bag when it dragged me here. Its apparent strength astounded me, that it had managed to drag me what must have been a decent distance was quite a feat. The combined weight of me and my pack must be at least 80kg.

The back of my head betrayed a few small scratches and bumps where I'd been dragged across rock, but it appeared that the skulker had dragged me by my arm luckily preserving me against most of these scrapes. My right arm, however, was raw and bloody where the claws and vice grip of the skulker had cut into my flesh when dragging me, leaving the arm near useless. My right shoulder was already badly torn but having being dragged along by that arm the wound had only been made worse. This was one of the biggest concerns I had as my arm was still bleeding, albeit not as profusely as before. I must have avoided having any major arteries cut otherwise I would already have bled out. Nonetheless it was a big concern as I would only get weaker. Wounds also heal slowly at high altitude, due to oxygen getting to the damaged tissue more slowly. Even ignoring these wounds I knew I was suffering from the altitude and it would only get worse. By all rights I should be descending by 1500 feet and resting for two days, but in my current condition I didn't have the time, I needed medical attention. I tried to think logically and realised I hadn't exhibited a lot of the symptoms of severe altitude sickness, where fluid builds up on the lungs and brain. Anyway if I had a severe case there was nothing to do but seek a doctor, and to do that I would need to get back anyway.

Despair at my situation consumed me and I was close to once more descending into madness, but from somewhere I found my resolve. First thing I had to do was find some way to staunch my bleeding shoulder. The cuts on my arm were painful, but the one on my shoulder was deep. I eased the backpack off my back, trying to avoid the strap touching the wounds on my arm and shoulder as much as possible. I was generally successful, but a single light brush made me clench my teeth. Working with only my left hand I set about fumbling in the bag for items of use, praying that I had some time before the skulker returned.

There were a few things I needed: water to clean the wound as best I could, a t-shirt I could use to bind the injury, and the ethanol and matches I would need to light my torch; for I needed to be able to see. I definitely gained a new appreciation for how difficult it was to go about simple tasks with only one arm. My damaged one was far too painful to use and I didn't want to aggravate the injury any further. Eventually I'd managed to take out what I needed and I decided the first thing I should do was light the torch so I could see what I was doing, and also to give me a slightly better idea where I was.

I soon got the torch alight, though I may have wasted some of the ethanol with it being impossible for me to see precisely where I was pouring the liquid. Lighting a match was a frustrating exercise and I had to grip the torch with my legs to hold it steady to light but once it was going I took the torch in my left hand and quickly surveyed my surroundings. The sight nearly made me gag.

I was in a small cave. Opposite me was a tunnel of around my head height leading farther off into what I took to be the mountain. I assumed that this tunnel must be one of the same network that I had walked through two days ago. What made me gag were the contents of the cave. Scattered about the floor were bones, a macabre menagerie of skeletons and half rotten, half eaten carcases from a variety of creatures. Congealed blood lay on the floor in patches and it was only then with the gruesome picture painted before me that it hit me how utterly foul it smelt. The stink of death was in my nose and once there it didn't want to leave. My situation had kept me blinded to all but myself. There were, at least, no skulkers in the room, but if my surroundings indicated anything that wouldn't last long. I had to quickly get about my business and bind my shoulder.

I rested the torch against the stone wall and took up my water bottle pouring it lightly over my shoulder. I stifled a cry as even that light contact was painful and threatened to send me back into unconsciousness, but I was satisfied that it had at least seemed to wash away the worst of the dirt. Then as an afterthought I took up the ethanol bottle and, steeling myself, dropped a small amount on the shoulder too as a steriliser; that was even more painful. Trying desperately to ignore my hideous surroundings, I then took up the t-shirt I had left carefully on top of my bag, one of my last truly clean shirts, and started trying to tear it into strips like you see done in films like James Bond, where the hero has to heroically fix a wound with whatever is around.

This was, I have to say, a disaster. Tearing fabric with one hand is basically impossible. I tried using my right hand but couldn't apply any pressure with my savaged muscle, so that just ended with me in tears. I tried gripping it with my legs and using my left hand to pull, but that didn't work either. I needed something to cut it, but without my machete I had nothing sharp enough in my bag to do the trick. With two arms I might have been able to force the job with a tent peg but with one there was no chance. None of the surrounding rocks seemed sharp enough to help me either. So basically there was nothing for it but for me to attempt to bind my arm tightly with the shirt as it was. This went as well as can be expected. I did manage to tie the shirt around my shoulder despite my body refusing, but it simply wasn't long enough to form a tight enough bandage; instead it just sat loosely on the arm. If I'm honest it was probably doing more harm than good as it would rub against the cut if I moved the arm. It would have to do for the moment though, until I could come up with a better solution. I simply didn't have the time.

I hurriedly packed away my things again and eased my bag onto my left shoulder. Ignoring the grunts of protestation from my right shoulder I buckled the waist straps and pulled them as tight as I could to my body using my left hand. In doing so I kept the weight of the bag off my shoulders. I then stooped and took the torch from the ground and tried to muster my resolve. Down that tunnel would be skulkers. I could barely keep them at bay at the best of times and these were damn well not the best of times, so you can understand my hesitance; but staying put in what appeared to be the creatures' pantry/dining room didn't appeal either, I needed to feel like I was doing something. So down the tunnel and to my fate I went.

I tried to be as quiet as possible, hoping that if I was as silent as I could be I might be able to avoid the keen ears of the skulkers. A glance at my watch told me I'd been unconscious for nearly an hour. How much of that was spent being dragged along the ground and how much spent in this small cave room I didn't care to guess; though it might have given me some indication as to how quickly the skulkers would be back.

***

As I crept along in the flickering light of the fire I found myself having to stoop slightly to avoid hitting my head on the stone roof. I had to stay sharp and focused, I couldn't allow myself to drift off into thought and for once I succeeded. The horrible pain in my shoulder always served to bring me back to reality if I started to drift off into reverie. As I kept going the narrow tunnel soon opened out into another small cave that left me thinking that it could well have been clawed purposefully out of the solid mountain rock. It was here that my situation began to make sense.

Before me, quietly asleep, were two small skulkers, babies. All animals reproduce, but for some reason the thought of those monsters caring for young never crossed my mind. It appeared I must have been left in that underground mausoleum to be fed to these ghoulish babies once they awakened. Unconscious, the skulker that had attacked me must have took me for dead, saving me from further attack.

The baby skulkers were curled up in a ball, backs to the wall with their heads tucked behind their long legs. Tails were wrapped around the bodies too. It was interesting to see the differences between adult and child. The younger skulkers had far more fur than their adult counterparts and the ridge running the length of the body was barely noticeable. Claws and fingers in general were much shorter too. I now had to be extremely careful though, waking the young skulkers would be a very bad move. I couldn't believe that there wasn't an adult close by to watch over the children. This could be both my salvation and my damnation. An adult skulker, I hoped, would be more concerned with the safety of their children than pursuing me, but they would also be even more aggressive in attacking me if they felt I was threatening their children. Should I therefore wait for the adult to come here and then try to run around it, whilst they protected the young? Or simply leave now in the hope that I could escape unnoticed? I had split seconds to decide, but split seconds were not enough for before I knew it an adult skulker slunk into the cave from the tunnel opposite me.

There was a brief moment when I took in my adversary and they realised I was stood there, quite alive, if not well. The skulker then let out a shriek of anger awakening the infant skulkers, who in turn then started shrieking themselves. These secondary cries were less forceful and sharp than the adults, but were much more prolonged and filled the cave with a siren like sound.

I didn't have a moment to lose. Shifting my weight as if to move towards the young monsters, I forced the skulker to jump in front of its children, thus freeing the opening of the passage. I didn't waste a moment and ran as fast as I could in my battered state down the tunnel. I knew not where I was or where I had to go, but for the moment I only had one choice and that was forwards and away from the skulker.

It wouldn't be long before it realised its kids were safe and set off after me again. When that happened I didn't know what I would do. Anyway, as far as I knew I could be running straight towards even more of them. I had to hope the rest were out hunting, making the most of the night. I moved as quickly as I could, but was all too conscious of what had happened the last time I tried to run away in this state. I couldn't afford to collapse again, for I doubt I would be granted a second reprieve. How had it come to this? When I'd set off the worst I expected was for me to get lost somewhere, or not be able to find the start of the trail. The worst I had imagined was wasted time, a situation like this didn't enter into my wildest imagination; and by this point I imagine you'll have gathered my imagination isn't lacking.

***

I fled madly down the tunnel and found that it was steadily rising. Whether or not this was a good thing I wasn't sure for I could barely think, more altitude, however, certainly wasn't going to help my health; but if it meant climbing closer to the rope bridge then it was probably a positive. Five minutes I walked with the half-light of my torch flickering along the walls. The ground was relatively flat, only occasionally were there any boulders rising up out of the ground to impede my walking. As of yet there was no sign I was being followed; though when I came to a particularly narrow section of passage, where the tunnel was temporarily split in two by a large stalagmite like column of smooth rock joining the floor to the roof, the thought did cross my mind of attempting to create a fire in the small gap to try and prevent being followed. It was nothing more than a thought though, as a skulker would be able to simply climb over the top of it, with me not having the equipment to build a sufficiently large enough fire.

The more time that passed the more it seemed like I wasn't being pursued. Could it be possible? I hoped and prayed that this was the case, that they had chosen to let their prey go. There were a number of off shooting tunnels, even smaller than that which I walked through, that I chose to ignore as I stumbled through the dark, largely because it would have been near impossible for me to fit through them without crawling. I instead kept on my current path. As tempting as it would have been to attempt to hide it would gain me nothing as I would eventually have to leave.

Anyway, a short time later the tunnel came to a t-junction and I saw that the small tunnel I was in was intersecting a larger one. I therefore had two choices, left or right. My sense of direction was completely off kilter. After I lost consciousness I also lost any knowledge I had of where north was and where south was and hence which of the two directions was likely to lead me to fresh air. I therefore chose to follow the logic that had served me well the last time I was walking through these mountainous tunnels and that was to keep going up. The left hand direction seemed to be heading upwards at a slight slope so I chose this as a path. I figured if it came to a dead end or didn't seem to be going anywhere at all I could always turn back the way I'd come, as unappealing as that was.

***

After a short time I began to hear a distant roaring sound. It quickly became clear to me that the sound I was hearing was that of water. Within a couple of minutes the water in question presented itself to me. The tunnel path came to a pause with the rock dropping down two metres where a roaring torrent of water was flowing past and into a tight side tunnel. This must be the source of the waterfall that had catapulted so spectacularly out of the side of the mountain and fed the valley below.

For once I didn't take the time to collect water. Even if it were possible for me to get down safely to the water's edge it was too fast flowing to effectively fill my bottles without the risk of them being swept out of my hand. The underground river was probably only a metre across so it may have been possible for me to jump it, though with my pack and current condition it would have been very risky. Fortunately this wasn't necessary as I was granted vindication over my choice of path; the gap to the continuation of the tunnel opposite was spanned by a couple of wooden logs, sanded into a rough approximation of a bridge. Was this proof once more of humanities touch? The bridge was certainly less of an artistic work than the rope bridge on the upper plateau, but it looked like it would serve the job.

I tested its stability with my foot and it seemed like it would hold, even if the years and the damp air had caused it to soften and decay slightly. It clearly hadn't been preserved as effectively as the wood of the rope bridge, I suppose as it was probably considered of lesser importance. I didn't know what was deeper in this tunnel for people to access, I hadn't seen any other sign of human interference but that wasn't to say there was none. Perhaps there were indeed gemstones deeper in the mountain, but now wasn't the time for me to test this theory. Instead I traversed the bridge cautiously, keeping my centre of balance low so I didn't fall. For were I to fall I knew where that water would take me, out of the side of the mountain, and then no good luck would save me. I made it across safely despite using just the one arm for balance.

As I stepped off the wooden bridge the skulker cry that had become all too familiar to me echoed from behind me, causing me to spin in despair. A lone skulker, teeth bared in anger bounded into the room, barely visible in the dim light of my torch; so I was pursued after all. It immediately moved towards the bridge, but seeming to suddenly notice the gushing water paused for a brief moment. Taking the only chance I had I aimed one large kick at the side of the wooden logs that spanned the water, landing the base of my foot firmly on the old wood. They spun slightly. I quickly kicked a second time and before the skulker could do anything about it the logs twisted and fell with a splash into the dark waters, before being whipped along by the current and out of sight. Fear of the churning waters seemed to keep the creature at bay and it cried out once more in what I took to be frustration. It beat at the ground with its fists, edging towards the water, before scampering back again and hissing.

Not wanting to wait for the creature to gain courage and determination, quickly as I could I continued my flight down the tunnel. I tried to keep at bay the thought that if this was the wrong path then I had effectively just consigned myself to death by destroying the bridge, but had I not then death would have found me as a result of the skulker on the far side of the cave much quicker. Whilst I was still breathing there was hope.

The logic that up was the way to go thankfully proved sound, however, as scant minutes after I had traversed the bridge I emerged into a large cavern and suddenly I knew where I was. I was back in the ritual cavern, carved figures holding torches aloft and the plinth still in the middle of the room. A quick glance into the bowl proved it to be the same place I had visited only a few days gone. The evidence of my cut hand still lingered on the bottom, the thought of which caused the partially healed cut to once more start itching on my palm. I'd thought myself a sorry state that day; I wonder what my past self would have done back then if he could see me now.

I didn't tarry for I knew that the open air was but another ten minutes or so away. With the bridge gone perhaps the underground river would continue to delay any pursuit. The skulkers seemed to fear water, but maybe not enough to hold them back indefinitely. I was entirely ignorant when it came to other routes that existed in these winding tunnels too and it was highly likely that the skulker I had left in the cave was circling around a different tunnel to catch up to me. It didn't escape my mind either that it was also possible that skulkers were even then cantering behind me, enjoying watching my terrified flight, safe in the knowledge that I couldn't possibly escape.

***

I was soon out into the fresh air of the plateau, snow beneath my feet and wind gently buffeting my face. The temperature was milder than the last night I was here but cloud still filled the air. I had two choices before me, well three actually. The first was to camp here as I had the last time, the second was to cross the bridge and camp on that side, the third was to keep walking and not camp at all. There was a fourth option, which I had already seemingly discounted, and that was to walk back the same way as I had come, through the mountain and down to the lake. This I disregarded as I felt it would take me too long, I had to hope this second route would be quicker. Furthermore, with the obstacles that had blocked my path on the way, not to mention the skulkers infesting the caverns, I didn't feel up to the task of traversing that way a second time.

So what to do? Stick with the tried and tested or try something new? Well as much as safety first seemed the way to go it was hard to know quite what the safest decision was. I wanted to get as far away as I could but there was no way I was going to be climbing the path on the opposite side of the bridge tonight. I needed to rest before attempting any more altitude climbing. Therefore I decided to camp across the bridge, from what I could remember from seeing it in daylight there was flat land on the other side to camp, at least initially. Besides the bridge might be safer now than in the morning, whilst the wind was fairly low.

I approached the bridge by the light of my torch. I was then left with a second dilemma, to stifle my torch and cross the bridge in darkness; or risk accidentally setting the thing on fire? I decided I wanted the light, I could be careful. I decided that with the amount of moisture in the air, and probably on the rope bridge too, it wouldn't catch alight from a stray touch. This is the mindset I was in as I tentatively placed one foot onto the bridge.

Now bear in mind that at this point I didn't really have a hand to use as support. I was able to just about use the hand bearing the torch to keep my balance, but it wasn't exactly steady going. The rope bent against my touch and the wooden planks, precariously holding me above the crevasse below, were slick with moisture. I was torn; move too quickly and I could slip, move slowly and I had all the more time to consider falling. I've been on rickety bridges before, but never with quite such a drop below me and never walking via the light of a fire. I didn't intend to do it again. Despite the chill in the air I found myself sweating. This was one of those situations I didn't like, relying on the architecture of man, with only a small plank between me and a very long fall. I went as quickly as I could without running, shuffling from plank to plank. The tension made me temporarily forget the pain I was in, only able to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I made it across the bridge and my first feeling was relief. My second was to wonder if it would be possible to burn the bridge down. As I said I didn't think the bridge would catch alight at the merest touch, but if I were to actively seek to set it on fire could it be done? Destroy the bridge and I could prevent anything from following me from out of that mountain. But I couldn't do it, the bridge was too remarkable for me to wantonly bring it to ruin. Besides, doing so would trap me on this side and were the path ahead to be blocked, as I had blagged to Isabel seemingly so long ago in the Colca Valley, then there would be no way for me to return. I would die a slow and painful death beyond the reach of any help. It was the conundrum I faced at the river mirrored scant minutes later, only this time I chose to err on the side of caution, with there being no sign of immediate pursuit. In addition there was no way I could know that there weren't skulkers on this side of the bridge too. It was a chilling thought, but one that I had to consider. They would roam a day away from the mountain into the jungle so it's hard to believe they wouldn't hunt at least part way in this direction.

Realising that even now there could be those things in the area around me, I propped up my torch in the snow, removed my tent and tried to set it up; tried being the word. Setting up a tent with the use of one arm has its issues, after all manoeuvring tent poles into the fabric is fiddly at the best of times; in this case it was just a nightmare. Fortunately my tent does only have the one pole so after a long struggle I did manage to succeed in slotting it through the fabric.

I had over the course of this trip, as I've been quite arrogant in saying, become quite competent and swift at constructing my tent. That night on the mountainside I took a long time. It was a stressful time and a frustrating time, on occasion I was concerned a sudden gust of wind would take my tent sheets off the side of the cliff, at other times I was more concerned that any minute my pursuers might find me. The main issue I had was connecting the tent poles to the sheets themselves, fitting them into the metallic rings that bent the pole into an arc and gave the tent its shape. It really required two hands, one to hold the fabric and one to hold the pole and force it into position. I tried to use my foot to hold the fabric in place but was unsuccessful. In the end I was forced into using my damage arm to grip the fabric. It was painful, but I was able to keep my arm in its stiff position at my side and do all the work with my left arm, trying as best I could to not put any excursion on my right arm. I connected the two pieces of the tent in one quick movement, trying to execute the manoeuvre before my body realised it was hurt. I succeeded but let out a cry as the pain hit me. This was insane, the pain would drive me mad before I ever made it back to society.

***

Once I'd finally finished setting up the tent I crawled into it and then curled up in my sleeping bag. I took a brief drink of water to try and relieve the headache that had been building all afternoon. Along with all my other aches and pains I really didn't have a single good reason to want to stay awake any longer. Hopefully with sleep I would feel marginally better in the morning, or in the least I would have more energy to stumble onwards to help.

It was 7:30. I decided that I should probably eat something before sleeping as going hungry wouldn't help my condition at all. I couldn't face going outside and cooking something, but I had the fruit I'd picked earlier and I allowed myself the final chocolate bar to try and pick me up a bit. It didn't help, the recuperating and depression reducing properties of chocolate completely ineffective.

I still felt thoroughly miserable; pain engulfed me like a cocoon and despair was rife within my head. My mind was running through a list of all the reasons I would never make it home, put down on paper it would make for grim reading. I began to understand how Robert Falcon Scott and his party must have felt, having succeeded in their quest to reach the South Pole it was the return journey that ended up killing them. As tired as I was I found it difficult to sleep. It wasn't just my active mind keeping me awake, with all my cuts and bruises I was finding it near impossible to find a position to lay in that wasn't painful. Eventually though my physical and mental exhaustion got the better of me and I fell into a fitful sleep.

# 14

## The Summit Of The World

When I awoke I felt like I was in even more pain than when I'd gone to sleep. It must have been a combination of me having aggravated my existing injuries during the night, as well as the results of my toils and flights the day before sinking into my muscles. There is a reason you're supposed to stretch after exercise, lactic acid builds up in the muscles and causes these sorts of aches and pains, but it was hardly something that occurred to me the previous night.

I turned my attention to the wound on my right deltoid and realised that the shirt I'd bound it with had been dyed red during the night. It must have staunched some of the bleeding though as I didn't feel quite as woozy as I had the night before so my blood loss must have been stifled somewhat. Nevertheless I felt I should probably change my make shift bandage.

It took me a minute to muster up the courage to do it as, believe it or not, I don't like pain. I undid the rough knot holding the shirt on my arm and slowly eased it off; the dried blood had made the fabric stick slightly to the skin and I winced as I peeled it off. The bleeding had definitely slowed, there was now only a damp layer of blood, I tried to dab this off as gently as possible but to no avail as the deep cut continued to ooze liquid. I could now more clearly see the indentations of the skulkers claws on my arm. The ease with which it had peeled away my arm was frightening, with a cleaner hit and a few more seconds I don't doubt it could have torn the entire thing off.

I realised I should try and attempt to grip the sides of the cut closer together, to make my next binding tighter than the last, so as to prevent scarring and other issues. I was then hit with a brilliant idea: gaffer tape, I had a roll of gaffer tape tucked away in my bag. Gaffer tape fixes everything. That may sound like I've gone completely mad; altitude, blood loss and solitude had finally gone to my head. I'd cracked. I can assure you I was perfectly sane, well sane enough. I'm obviously not saying that gaffer tape would miraculously heal the wound, but what it would do is bind tightly around my arm.

I dug through my bag to find the tape. I'd put it into one of the side pockets so fortunately didn't have to turf out the entire main section to reach it. I then retrieved what was my last clean t-shirt. Next I clenched the cut together forcefully with my left hand, blinking through tears as my head swam. I then bound the shirt tightly around my upper arm and shoulder, holding the wound together as I had clasped it. I used my elbow to hold that in place as I picked up the gaffer tape and slowly and carefully bound the shirt in place as tightly as possible to the arm with the tape. Once finished I surveyed my work and decided it was a much better job than the last attempt I'd made. In the least I hoped it would stop dirt getting into the jagged cut. I was actually able to partially move the arm now which was a step forward, even if it was still very painful to do so. The binding at least no longer rubbed against the open wound, reducing the chance of random pain somewhat. Satisfied I packed away the gaffer and got myself a breakfast of cereal bars and fruit.

Thankfully, packing away a tent using one arm is a lot easier than setting one up. This done I decided to cast the bloodied shirt I'd previously used as a bandage off the side of the cliff. I know, littering, I shouldn't be ruining the environment in such a callous way. But carrying it with me would only seek to draw flies towards me when I reached warmer environs, and possibly provide a scent for more dangerous creatures to follow. Therefore I cast it into the gorge.

The morning sunlight that normally does so much to pick up my mood was hidden behind swirling cloud and despite feeling a bit more rested, as soon as I got moving again with my pack on my back I realised how completely inadequate that rest was. I stared onwards at the downward sloping path and decided it was a blessing that the cloud cover obscured the rest of the path. I mean I still knew from past knowledge that the path was going to rise sharply after a short time, making any downward walking counter-productive; that it would take me higher than I'd ever climbed in my life before, possibly to the very summit of the second of the Twin Mountains. I honestly didn't know if I was equal to the task before me, but I had to try. It's that or I might as well curl up in the snow and let the cold take me. I had to look on the positive side: if I did make it to the summit then I was safe in the knowledge that there was no way I would have to climb any higher.

There was no stone path on this side of the bridge and with snow shrouding any evidence of a path I ended up just sticking to the flatter ground and praying that was the track. I found that I wasn't able to appreciate the stunning setting I was in. The cloud was too thick to provide views, but with snow on the ground, the rope bridge behind me and a mountain towering in front it made the location look like something straight out of a fantasy novel. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to pay attention though and with these jaw-dropping sights seemingly becoming common place I had started to filter them out. It's not that I didn't realise they were there, more that I had stopped taking the time to study them properly. At the start of this trip I was in no particular rush, I could take my time to appreciate everything around me. Now bleeding, bruised and battered I simply couldn't afford to spend as much time as I otherwise would have.

The air was cold in my lungs as I breathed in. A small headache prodded with every inhalation. The myriad cuts and scrapes all over my body were drowned out by the larger wounds but were none the less present. With the daylight hours I was able to proceed, zombie like, without fear of pursuit. I think this fact alone preserved my will and determination and kept me going. I walked for twenty minutes in a downward slope following the curve of the mountain. I say mountain, I couldn't decide if this area was truly part of the first mountain, as the gorge I had crossed made this stretch of land almost a wedge of its own. But then I decided it seemed that way from my small perspective; were you to look at the mountain as a whole the gorge that was so large to me would be minuscule in comparison to the full mountain's size.

***

Soon I had stopped going downwards and I was at the true trough of the two peaks. An obvious route has disappeared and it was only after I wandered left and right for five minutes attempting to find the best way that I discovered I had indeed strayed from whatever track existed here in the warmer summer months. It was as I feared, the track started to travel upwards, winding left and right to deal with the steep gradient. I had little choice but to follow it.

Despite my body protesting at the uphill walking I made slow but steady progress before I was forced to take a break. I'd been taking regular pauses, walking a small stretch then getting my breath back before going again. I decided that taking a proper break was necessary before I pushed myself too far. I had a whole day of walking ahead of me and I couldn't burn myself out in the first hour. Sitting on the rough ground I was now probably about level with where my camp had been. With visibility still low I couldn't see more than about 20 metres ahead. It was a pity as it would have been nice to see the progress I was making.

I took short sips of water to keep me hydrated. In my haste to be leaving I realised I hadn't taken the time to melt any snow down to stock my water up. I still had most of my second bottle left so I should be okay for a bit, but it was imperative that I topped up at some point whilst snow was still around. As soon as I noticed it starting to disappear I would stop again and refill. I didn't want to do it right then as I didn't want to waste the time whilst I still had a reasonable amount left.

Rest over I continued zigzagging up the side of mountain number two. My pace was slow, I've stated my going was slow a few times but to put this into perspective it wasn't simply my injuries that slowed me. Altitude obviously played its part in making it harder going but the unexpected issue I faced was the snow on the ground. Most of the time it was thin enough to not slow me too much, but in some areas it was deep enough for my feet to sink in well over the ankles. Not only did this make each step that much more hard work, but it also meant that snow was constantly falling into the inside of my walking shoes and melting there; this soaked my socks, turned my toes numb and only added to the misery of walking. In some places ice had also formed underneath the snow meaning my footing became less and less secure. This in turn meant I also subconsciously slowed my pace, worried that I would slip over. As with my experiences walking on loose stones, the added weight of my bag, and also the inability to effectively use my right arm to balance myself, would make it easy for me to fall.

Slowly the time passed, it seemed that I was pausing every step. The different stretches of the winding path all looked the same, blurring together, and as snow began to lightly fall I could have believed I'd been condemned to an eternity wandering in a snow globe. I could see nothing beyond the mountain to one side and the edge of the path to the other, the snow having dropped the visibility to mere metres.

I stopped to add another hoodie over my clothes in an attempt to keep the dropping temperatures and biting winds at bay. I'd slept in my clothes from the previous day and hadn't yet had to contend with the awkwardness of dressing over my bandaged deltoid. In fact I'd never really had to manage that at any point in my life. The only time I'd broken a bone in my life was as a young boy playing 'the floor is lava'; I remember little of my coping with the lack of a leg, all I really remember is not even realising I'd injured myself when it happened. Anyway that's beside the point. Since I was trying my best not to move my right arm at all and avoid any random hurts it took me a while to manoeuvre my damaged arm into the sleeve. Once I'd succeeded I put the hood over my head and walked in a hunched over manner to try and stop the wind blowing it straight back off my head.

For any onlookers at this point I would have looked an odd sight, right arm tight and tense to my side. Waddling and hunched over as I was that morning, I was far more Quasimodo than I was Christopher Columbus.

***

After what seemed like years, but was in fact just two hours from the start of my ascent, I broke above the cloud cover and the snow and chill that came with it. Here was a sight that shook me briefly out of my blankness. The peak of the mountain I could see wasn't too far above me, behind me I could see the top of the first mountain off in the distance. I was now able to clearly discern that I was currently on the taller of the two. The air was incredibly thin and I didn't want to hang around long as my headache had only been building as I climbed higher. Still, it was impossible for me not to see the wispy carpet of cloud below me and not be slightly awestruck; it was certainly hard for me to resist the urge to cry out, 'I'm on top of the world!'

The snow on the ground was now scarce and beginning to make way for clear rocks as, apparently, clouds rarely sit higher than this level. Therefore I took the opportunity to stop and melt down some snow, whilst looking around me in awe, temporarily forgetting the pains and fears I'd been carrying with me. The land below my feet was like an island on a sea of cloud. But as wonderful a sight as it was it was a pity that the sky below me wasn't free from cloud, for then I would truly have had some wondrous views. It seems strange to say 'sky below me' but I was that high up that it was the only accurate description that came to mind.

I took my cooking pot out of my bag so as to melt the snow down, sitting on one of the smoother rocks I could find. I found it more difficult lighting a match than usual, I suppose due to the lower percentage of oxygen in the air, but I soon had my water bottles full again. I had taken the extra time required to filter the water as I had found it hard to scoop up snow without getting a small amount of dirt with it. Slightly dirty water wasn't exactly highest on my list of worries, but there was no point adding to that list when it could be helped. I then set myself to scaling the final stretch to the very top of the mountain, the highest point in the area for a considerable distance.

I very quickly hit the point where the path stopped winding, as it had been for a long while, and instead as the mountain became less steep I began scaling flat on, each step taking me closer to the summit. There is something of a common misconception that all mountains come to a very definitive peak, that they are all sharp cones. This obviously is not the case and when I finally came to the top of the mountain I had to drop my bag and take a minute to find the highest point amidst the bumpy and rocky platform I had found myself on.

Once I had stood on the tallest rock, ignoring the possibility of slipping, only then was I content that I had scaled the juggernaut. I let slip a smile, there were still pleasures to be had even if happiness wasn't something I was blessed with in abundance. I had reached the very top of a very high mountain, which was an achievement, even if I wasn't the first to do it. It blew my mind that this is/was a standard path for Peruvians travelling to Quyllur-Wasi. It was a very high climb, I knew that people taking the Salkantay trek in the Machu Picchu area climbed to heights around 4500 metres; and that if you were to brave the Ausangate trek it hit 5000 metres a few times; but I must have been breaching the 6000 metre point here. I was far higher than any other point in the area, other than the mountain behind me, and I had to look far into the distance to see any other mountains reaching above the clouds.

I jumped off the rock and let out a woop into the air, bouncing back towards my bag. It was only when I stopped and dizziness hit me again that the precariousness of my position sunk back in. Even without skulkers I was still very much walking the edge of a knife. I was being far too blasé about the dangers of altitude sickness. I should start descending, the quicker I got to a less ridiculous altitude the better. Of course it took me a while to form this thought, I was groggy, my headache pounded like a drum in my head and I had to sit for a minute to attempt to make it subside. Once the rushing sound had stopped in my head I got back up again, brought back to reality I picked up my bag, mindful of my right shoulder, and slowly stumbled along the high ridge of the mountains top. It was a barren area. Small patches of ice and snow were all that punctuated the dirt ground.

I had been realising that day that only using one of the arm straps on the bag really offset the balance, despite the waist and chest supports in place. It was okay when I was leaning my weight forward, but as soon as it shifted back slightly the bag would swing violently over to the left side. It didn't cause much more harm than minor inconvenience, though the constantly shifting burden on my left shoulder was making it feel the effects of a long hike much more quickly than usual. As I walked along the tip of the world I decided to try and tie it into place a bit better, taking lose straps from the right side of the bag and tying them to the waist and chest supports to hopefully hold it a bit more sturdily.

In all honesty I was sick to death of the thing. If it didn't contain everything I needed to preserve my life I would have happily thrown it from the top of the mountain. Yes, I would have endured the pain it required to sling the thing a decent distance in order to feel the immense satisfaction of not having to see it ever again. Stupid burden of a bag... A considerable amount of effort has gone into a lot of fairly pointless technological advances. What I really needed was someone to invent some form of gravitational device that renders any object weightless, not a slightly flatter screened television.

***

It took me perhaps five minutes to walk the length of the mountains summit before I found I was descending at last. It was a shame that I hadn't been able to plant a flag of some description at the highest point; perhaps I should have carved my name in a rock. I'd left my name at Quyllur-Wasi, perhaps I should have been dotting it all over the area. A track quickly became apparent and a winding descent, akin to the ascent began. What I really wanted to be able to do is see the route ahead, but nope, I would have to do a fair bit more downward walking before I sank below the obscuring clouds and my future destinations became clear.

As the path began to once more be covered in deeper snow, I noted how the wind was whipping a flurry of snowflakes up off the floor in a fine haze around my feet. It just seemed bizarre that I could experience such Arctic phenomena when only the day before I'd been amongst tropical jungle, Peru was very much the land of contrasts. I imagined that my descent down this side of the Twin Mountains could very much be a passage through the different ecosystems in this part of the country. I'm sure an ecologist would have had a field day, but my enthusiasm for the wide ranging Peruvian ecosystems had diminished, replaced with a fervent wish to be back amongst the concrete, metal and glass of a city; back to a comfortable bed and a place where I could reflect and recover.

It was funny that one of my big reasons for coming to Peru was exactly that, reflect and recover. I realised then that there was no such thing as a trouble free life. Troubles will find you in one way or another so it's useless running away from them; after all there is every likelihood that the troubles you run into will be worse than the ones you've left.

Of course it could easily just be shit luck. Yeah I'm more inclined to believe shit luck. Plenty of people's biggest troubles concern morning traffic, not being alone on the top of a 6000m mountain with altitude sickness, a grievously wounded arm, possible concussion and no sort of expertise to deal with any of it. Surely that's shit luck? It can't all be bad life choices. Most of my wounds were a direct result of creatures that as far as I, or anyone else in the world, knew didn't actually exist. That's got to be bad luck. I'd professed to being lucky at points on this trip, there were moments when I had avoided greater potential harm. Yet could anyone in my ragged state really say they were lucky? I could be dead you say. Well sure, it could be worse, but that doesn't make this lucky. It's just a slightly lesser degree of bad luck. I'm sure a very small percentage of the population would have switched places with me then. Sure, it can be easier to blame luck than accept that you're to blame for a predicament. I accept that perhaps wondering off into the wilds of Peru on my own wasn't a clever idea; but at the same time I don't think anyone could have predicted half of the thoroughly ludicrous things I'd had to deal with.

On a general day to day living note I thought I had been quite successful. I had been resourceful when I needed to, rationed out my food sensibly and had become gradually more adept at the use of my equipment. This being said there are many things I am not, a lot of these I have already listed, but a hunter isn't one of them. I'm not a game keeper, a ranger, a poacher or any of the other things that might help me deal with predators; particularly not predators who seemed so damn determined to make my life miserable.

This stream of thought led me nowhere. I was apportioning blame wherever I could, raging at the unfairness of it all, bitter with resentment, and driven to the brink of my sanity by pain and exhaustion. Yet still I stumbled on. I could either be in pain sitting down or in pain walking and I knew for sure sitting would do nothing to bring me relief. I walked for perhaps two hours, maybe less, in this downward manner before I broke below the cloud level. Two hours of slow trudging with almost no visibility. The thick snow that had slowed my progress higher up the mountain was now reduced to a thin layer where there was shade and some of the chill had been taken out of the air, due to the reduced humidity.

Once the cloud was gone the area became clear to me. The lake that I knew stood somewhere to my right wasn't visible, instead the forest that I remembered sat off from its bank stretched out beyond the slopes of the mountain a long way below. The path seemed to descend at a more gradual level, gnarled trees dotting the ashen mountainside. It didn't seem to descend as far as the forest though, so far as I could see it followed the range of hills that ran to the smaller mountains I'd seen in the distance to my right as I had originally crossed the lake. Beyond that I supposed would be my destination.

It seemed an awfully long way. I know the distance was negligible when it came to distances in space, but I could have been walking to the moon for all the difference it would make. It was too far. I had a near constant headache, completely unrelated to the bruise on my forehead that showed little sign of abating; I had blisters on my toes; my shoulders felt stiff as a plank of wood, having carried the weight of my bag for so long; then of course there was the throbbing of my upper arm. The only positive thing was that I was now beginning to descend; hopefully the steadily increasing oxygen would go some way to relieve my aching head. Of course whether I had a headache or not was irrelevant if I was face down on the floor due to exhaustion. I think when it comes to adventure stories I woefully overlook the negative aspects, all the hard work and pain people put themselves through; the lesser members of the parties who die en route, whose names are lost to obscurity.

I hadn't eaten. If I was going to go any farther I needed food. I sat down on a rock next to the granite wall and rested back on the firm surface. I don't really even need to tell you what I ate, it had become routine and I hate routine. The fruit at least refreshed me slightly, giving a welcome sugary boost that would give me a quick burst of energy when I got moving again, but would probably lead to me being even more downbeat when the effects wore off. Still it had to be done. Despite the mildly cooler temperatures I shivered as I sat, chills running through me that were as much a symptom of illness as the cold. I sat for only a few minutes before I had to leave, the shivers causing me to clench my teeth and lead to a tense feeling on the sides of my skull; this proved unbearable and the only thing I could do to try to counteract this was to keep going. I've said already the maddening aspect of this type of feeling. I had no painkillers or paracetamol to grant me relief and every step I took jolted pain to a different part of my body. I tried and tried to walk in a manner that would preserve me but I failed time and again, each pain shocking me as much as the first.

You may think I'm mentioning this too much, 'you're in pain, okay, we get it.' But this must be stressed. I am not exaggerating the state I was in, if anything I'm underselling it. I cannot find the words in the English language to use to describe what I felt. There were many points on this trip of mine where I could have been accused of over-exaggerating, of worrying more about a situation than I needed to. Yet there are many points in which I didn't, where my fear and sometimes cautious nature kept me safe. I am not what would be described as a trustworthy narrator when it comes to this story for I am too emotionally involved in it. I didn't have a handy gadget that read my vital signs and told me how healthy I was. I did not, therefore, know quite how close I was to dying. All I did know was how I felt at the time and my feeling was that I wouldn't last much longer.

The human body has a very high threshold for pain when pushed to it; people have survived some truly hellish experiences. I myself had led a privileged life. I haven't really had to experience too much physical pain throughout my life, so finding myself in a position where I had to deal with a lot was uncharted ground. I didn't honestly know how bad my position was. It wasn't even the pain that I found the worst but the bouts of dizziness. It was the feeling of not being able to trust my own body to accomplish tasks that were, simply put, routine. It was disconcerting not knowing from one moment to the next how much I could push myself.

I'm saying all of this so you don't think, 'oh he's already climbed to the top of that mountain, how bad can he really be?' I'm saying all this to hammer across the point that all I had done that day up to this point was a remarkable feat of physical punishment and perseverance. I don't want to brag about what I've done, gain undue sympathy, or anything of the like; but nor do I want my achievements to go unrecognised. It is also vitally important that you understand this so that you realise how unsurprising it was that, thirty minutes farther along the path, my dizziness started coming in more and more frequent bouts. How my upper arm that had filled me with agony since its rending at the hands of a skulker, began to feel as though it was on fire. How my body felt like it was itching all over and the chills that I had tried my hardest to shake off began to rack my body in a near constant manner. It's important that you understand how my pushing myself so hard along the path in blind determination, how the accumulation of all these stresses and strains led to me losing all consciousness for the second day in a row.

# 15

## Recompense

Surely that was that, the final bitter nail in the coffin after I had doggedly bought myself a little more time in misery? If I were to awake breathing once again surely that would have to constitute good luck right? What damage had I done to myself as I fell? These are all questions that did not form in my head as I was lost to the world. I was unconscious to the fullest degree, no dreams or nightmares to torment my rest. And yet I did not die, how close I came to death I am uncertain but when I came to my surroundings had changed immeasurably. This time I did not awake to the damp and darkness of a cave; instead warm sunlight was on my face, my head resting on a soft pillow, I realised that I was in a bed.

Had all of it been a dream, a fever plagued nightmare? No, a quick check told me I still possessed my catalogue of wounds. Yet the more severe wound on my shoulder had been freshly bound, whilst the cuts on my hand an arm had been treated with some form of poultice. Tearing my gaze away from the sloping thatch ceiling I didn't recognise the room I was in. It was small and basic. A little wooden table and chair sat in the corner of the room adjacent to the bed and a rickety wardrobe resided at the foot of the bed in front of me. A single painting hung on one wall and a couple of small carved figures sat on a stone shelf where the sloping ceiling met the low wall at this end of the building. The figures seemed vaguely familiar, though I could not place them; perhaps they were just similar in aspect to the carvings and statues I'd seen on this hike, and others around Peru. Other than these few objects, though, the room was bare. An open doorway led through to another room in the building, but from my current position I could not tell where it led. I knew that someone must have brought me here, yet I couldn't muster the strength or resolve to call out and discover who it was. Instead I dropped my head back into the comfort of the bed, a comfort I had forgone in the long days since I'd left Cusco, and let myself drift off into fevered sleep.

***

This time when I awoke a middle-aged man, perhaps in his forties, was at the foot of my bed, sat on the chair. He had a small porcelain bowl clasped in his hands and when he saw my eyes open he quickly came to my side and uttered one word in heavily accented English, "Drink."

I did so, taking a long sip, before gasping when the heat of the liquid hit the back of my throat. It wasn't water, but some form of tea. "Hot," he said. I nodded my understanding, taking another sip. Once the invigorating liquid had seeped into my bones I cleared my throat and asked:

"¿Cómo se llama?" or to those not Spanishly versed, "what is your name?"

"Ahh, tu hablas Español, si." (That's, ahhh you speak Spanish, yes?)

"Si, pero mi Español no es bueno." (Yes, but my Spanish isn't good)

So yes it is worth me pointing out that my Spanish was okay, not fantastic, considerably better than when I first entered Peru; but not by any stretch outstanding. I could hold a conversation but would not at all consider myself fluent. Do not, therefore, be surprised if any Spanish written in this account isn't overly grammatically accurate; and please don't complain if that is the case. My preference would be to divulge all that was said in Spanish, but since I don't trust my own grammar enough to fully translate it all I'll merely use the key aspects when necessary. The rest I will relate in English, such as I believed the meaning to be.

Anyway my mysterious saviour, a Peruvian of course, was clad in a well used tan jacket and three quarter buttoned shirt. He had the kind of dark hair common in the country, cut short and unevenly, and his skin possessed the weathered quality of someone who had spent his life outdoors. As I talked he nodded his understanding. He obviously seemed concerned by my condition, yet there was something in his gaze, a twinkling of the eye, an asked question that he was holding himself from asking.

"Rest, you are weak," he said turning away from me.

"Who are you?" I asked in reply, my curiosity overriding my good manners.

"Rest, then I will answer what I can," the stranger uttered mysteriously.

I wanted to protest, to say that I was okay. I wanted to thank him for helping me and ask many questions. He was the first human being I'd seen since I'd left the small village of Paucartambo, the first person I could talk to about all that had occurred. Alas there must have been some form of sedative in the drink for I found myself turning woozy once more and fell back into a more easy sleep this time.

***

The passage of time over that period was a mystery to me, I didn't know if it had been hours, days or weeks since I had collapsed on the mountainside but I could have believed any of them. The next time I awoke I looked at my watch and found it to be mid afternoon, assuming the watch was still functioning. I felt in much less pain, yet the ache of inactivity had settled into my muscles, so moving slowly I swung out of the bed and stood up. I tested the movement in my arm and as I did so the pain hit me like a dagger, so I wasn't that much better. Still my head wasn't swimming and the ache that had been pounding on my skull had disappeared. For the first time I realised that the hiking bag that had accompanied me so far was nowhere to be seen. I pushed this out of my mind for the moment and exited the room in search of the stranger who had saved my life.

I moved into what I took to be the main living space where I found the man sat around a small open fire, tending a basic stove. When he saw me enter the room he stood up, "Como está usted?" he asked, using the more formal version of 'how are you'.

I replied that I was better, that I had been abed too long. Then, not sure I wanted to know the answer, I asked. "¿Cuánto tiempo tengo estado aquí?" (How long have I been here?)

"Dos dias," he replied. (That's two days though I imagine most of you will have got that one) Two days! I had been slumbering for two days, no wonder I felt weak, I had eaten nothing. The mystery man seemed to notice my hunger and the longing stares I was giving the cook pot, so he told me to sit and that food would be finished shortly.I did so, sitting on the lone wooden bench next to the warm fire.

The room contained little more than the bedroom I had slept in. The building wasn't a big one and this room seemed to be kitchen, dining room and living room rolled into one; though admittedly it didn't fulfil any of these roles well. There was a small sink, next to which stood a work surface for preparing food. The work surface held a couple of plates and mugs; a few fruit and vegetables in bowls; some pots and pans hung behind it on hooks, while fish hung from a rack next to the work surface as well. Along the wall which I had entered through sat a wooden pallet on top of which were a bundle of blankets and a pillow. I suspected very much that over the past two days I had been using the only bed in the house, with this man sleeping on the floor instead. There was another small table and a chair opposite the work surface, on top of which rested a small knife and a few pieces of wood, some of them partially carved. There was a door at the far side of the room, wooden yet ill fitting that seemed to lead outside. There was no sign of any toilet facilities; these I assumed must be in another building if they were anywhere at all. There was also, I realised with sadness, no sign of my rucksack.

I wondered, not for the first time, where I was. Obviously I was in a house but how far from the mountain on which I had been walking this house resided was anyone's guess. How far from a working hospital was also knowledge worth acquiring. First though I wanted to know who it was I had to be thankful to.

"Como se llama?" I asked. (What is your name)

"David," he replied. "Y tu?" he then countered.

"Rob," I then replied, "muchos gracias, no tengo las palabras por me gracias." (Thank you very much, I don't have the words for my thanks) I said this both literally and figuratively: I couldn't thank him enough for what he had done to help me, both from the sense that words did not do the deed justice, but also because I didn't know the words in Spanish to get my true gratitude across. However, if he was grateful for my words then it did not show, he simply looked at me with a solemn expression in his gaze and asked me bluntly in Spanish,

"Why are you here?"

I was momentarily dumbfounded, why was I here? Well I was here because he brought me here. My reply was something along those lines. I said that honestly I didn't really know where 'here' was. "How far away from the mountain are we?" I asked, for instance, to no reply.

I was thankful, but the confrontational tone of his voice put me slightly on edge. You shouldn't be wary of someone who has just saved your life, but I found that I was. I don't know whether it was the ordeal I had been through, my inherent solitude or something else that made me feel this way. In any case it made me slightly confused how to proceed. I wasn't really sure what he was asking. Was it a rhetorical question, hoping to guide me to some deeper enlightenment; a challenge, asking me to justify myself; or was it simply genuine curiosity. I wasn't sure and in my weakened and less than 100% state I found myself expending most of my energy understanding what was said, not thinking about answers to the remarks. So I did what I normally do in situations where I can't think of an appropriate answer, I side stepped it altogether. "How did you find me?" I asked, trying my best to sound non-confrontational.

David looked at me as though displeased I had not answered his question. He did not press it though, and with a sigh answered my own. His answer I will relay solely in English; as much as it doesn't convey David's natural rhythm of speech, if I'm honest some of the finer points of his Spanish did elude me, so I feel simple understanding more important here. So here it goes.

"This house is roughly four or five hours away from where I found you on the top of Hatun-Pikchu. (I believe that is what he called the mountain) You think it not chance that I found you there but it was just that, though it is true that I was keeping a look out. I hunt near the great lake sometimes, fish in its waters, and for this purpose I keep a few canoes down there. Four days ago now I went to catch some fish; imagine my surprise when I realised that one of my boats was missing."

A touch of anxiety hit me when I realised that this was the man I had taken a boat from, a man who must have carried me for four hours to treat me. I started to apologise but he held up a hand to silence me.

"I was not angry to learn that one of my boats was gone, but curious, for there was nowhere it could have been taken but across the lake; and across the lake there was but one cause to go short of madness. But you know that now don't you?"

"Quyllur-Wasi..." I muttered under my breath.

"Yes," he replied, "and I say that it is chance that I found you for I thought it folly to believe that anyone crossing the lake would return. I found you on Hatun-Pikchu because some afternoons, if the cloud is willing it is possible to see Quyllur-Wasi from its upper peaks. For this reason I risk the mountain sometimes in the daylight hours, so that I may catch a glimpse of our ancient jewel. It was on one of these walks that I found you, unconscious and wounded in the snow, not through any deeper premonition. But I ask you again, how did you come to be here? Foreigners do not know of this place and that is how it should remain."

I thought about lying, about coming up with a story that he might want to hear. But I couldn't, I was weary and I needed to tell someone what had happened. So I began my tale from that day in the Colca Valley, relaying how the elderly woman Isabel had set me on the trail; how the path had led me to the lakeside where I took one of the canoes thinking them long abandoned and how on the opposite bank I began to learn the terror of the skulkers. When I mentioned the skulkers though, David visibly tensed.

"You know them?" I enquired.

"We call them Supay, demons. I know of them, I know the stories and I have sometimes heard their fell shrieks carried the long distance across the lake. But I have never seen one myself." David uttered this with his face betraying fear.

"What are they?" I asked.

If anyone were to know the answer to that question it seemed to me it ought to be this strange man living on the cusp of their fearful realm. My question provoked a hesitation from David as he considered the best words to respond.

"You have to understand," he said, "Quyllur-Wasi was considered among the people to be the jewel of our land, one of the greatest places of prayer in all of Peru and South America. It was hidden, away from towns and cities, it was in a place where it would not be found. When war came to Peru it stayed hidden, and its place was kept secret, no mention of its existence was placed on written record anywhere, knowledge of it was passed only by word from generation to generation. It was a place the people could go when they sought understanding of their lives, a place to talk to the Gods and a place to be at peace. Then one night from out of the depths of the mountain came the Supay, we know not what caused them to come forth or what manner of creature they are; but they brought bloody ruin with them killing all in their wake. The priests and helpers at Quyllur-Wasi were forced to flee, few survived. That was over thirty years ago, I was but a young child then. Some believe that they are a punishment, that people do not deserve the help of the Gods any more, that we took them for granted, lost our way and that now the Supay haunt the land around Quyllur-Wasi, stopping all who go near. But, you have seen them yourself, you know of the danger they bring. Please, finish your tale."

So I told of how that first night across the lake I only heard the skulkers, or the Supay, as David called them; I had but a glimpse in a shadow of one of the creatures that would come to torment me so. I then relayed my walk the next day, following the old path and seeing the stone arch; proof that I thought I was on the right path. I then told of the cave through the mountain, of the creature I encountered there and my flight from it. Then of the ritual like cavern I came to towards the exit and my camping on the snowy plateau on the other side of the cave.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I thought it best to complete my tale before barraging him with my enquiries. That way he might better understand my point of view when he came to answering. This way it also allowed me to stay focused and not lose my way.

My Spanish wasn't strong enough to describe everything in great detail and it was more of a matter of fact recounting than anything more substantial. You know the tale I told if you've stuck it out this far and I watched his reactions with interest. That I had encountered his Supay once and lived was a surprise to him; that I had survived multiple such encounters had his eyebrows raised.

I vaguely recall being handed a bowl of soup part way through my story but was for the most part immersed in the task of recalling and regaling in stuttered Spanish. When I told him of my eventual arrival in Quyllur-Wasi his eyes lit up and I could tell there were a hundred questions he wished to ask me. As I recounted the events there though, the skeletons I saw and the ruin that much of the site was in, his expression turned sour. It only continued to darken as I described the dead skulker that now rested at the bottom of the pool; though when he heard of the illumination of the temple and the flight of the remaining skulkers he did crack a momentary smile. I continued and it seemed as though I'd been talking for hours when I came to describing my assault on the mountainside and awakening in the dark of the earth. When I told of the infant skulker I encountered in the cave David's expression was of barely concealed loathing. Eventually I had told the whole of my tale, ending at the point where I had lost consciousness on my descent from the second mountain.

***

There was silence in the room once I had finished; both of us wanting to ask questions, both not wanting to disturb the others contemplation. Eventually he broke the silence.

"You are a lucky man to be sat in front of me, able to tell this tale. You are a lucky man to have seen the home of the stars for you are the first to have done so in many a long year. That this woman you spoke of set you on this path, though, is a fell act indeed for only death awaits those that seek Quyllur-Wasi, that she would do this... she must have grievances indeed or else was not a woman as she appears at all. Perhaps instead she was a witch or some foul spirit; or maybe I am unjust and she was simply ignorant, unaware in her age of the dark events that have passed."

The thought that Isabel could have wished me harm had crossed my mind. It was quite possible she was much sharper than I'd given her credit; that she would send a stranger to death though was more than I wanted to believe. I preferred to believe that she was genuinely just ignorant, after all she was certainly old enough to have visited Quyllur-Wasi prior to the emergence of the skulkers; it was quite possible she was ignorant of the sites demise.

"I don't feel lucky," I said, testing my bound arm once more, "I've injured myself more this week than in the rest of my life, I think..."

"Be thankful for all you have, not all the things in the world you do not," David uttered sagely, "you have your life, your health will return and you have seen a sight I have long wished to see with my own eyes."

I sighed, "You're right of course, and in time I'm sure I will see this all in a more positive light, now though I just feel the pain," I spoke, wincing as I shifted my arm. Suddenly curious about the treatments he had used I asked, "What is this that you've put on my cuts?" I'm sure it was beneficial, I had absolutely no reason to distrust this man but my cuts were itching so I was curious.

"It is a poultice made from coca leaf, mountain berries and a few other herbs; it will be good for the cuts, prevent infection and reduce the pain. My family has used it for generations. You have no need to fear."

Did I look afraid? I didn't want to seem ungrateful. "Thank you, truly for all you've done, without your help I fear I would have died on that mountain."

"You are lucky my friend. I have told you and I do not lie, not often anyway," he said with a hearty laugh, "and not in this case. Don't look so serious, you have questions I can tell, I will answer what I can."

With my tale now told, David seemed to have lost some of the weight from his features. What I had mistaken at first to be a gravity, a seriousness, I now realised was actually concern. Myself now in better condition, and confident that I held no ill intent, his inherent good humour had come to the fore. With a bowl of soup, the heat and flickering light of the fire and the pleasant company I felt for the first time in a good while something that resembled normality. I worked through the list of questions I had in my head and decided what I wished to ask first.

"The mountain caves, what were they used for? I told you of the room with the statues, what was its purpose? Did people live down there?" I asked eagerly.

"I do not know the exact details, but through those caves was the old path to Quyllur-Wasi, the one which you yourself walked. The room you speak about was a place of sacrifice; a person would make an offering on their way to the temple to show their devotion. Perhaps it is the shirking of this custom, when the rope bridge was constructed to free the way over the northern pass, which led to the Gods sending punishment; perhaps that is what caused the Supay. You said you offered your blood? Perhaps it was not luck but the Gods protection that preserved you from the Supay, perhaps they were pleased after so many years of neglect. Perhaps, we can speculate, but I would not presume to know."

I wanted to say that if my ordeal was the Gods' way of showing gratitude then they have a really funny concept of the word. But I held my tongue and instead asked another question that was bugging me.

"My bag, I don't suppose..."

"Ahhhh yes," he said in a tone that suggested he was about to break some bad news, "I do not have your bag here."

"Where is it?" I asked, trying not to sound too snappy. But you have to understand that the bag contained all my clothes and resources for staying in and leaving Peru, not just this hike. Passport, wallet, clothes; not to mention the notepad that contained all my writings and findings about my trip, and the ancient torch that had served me so well, proof of what I had found. No, the loss of my bag was a blow that I wasn't prepared for.

"Your bag is on the mountain where I found you. You must understand I carried you the long distance from there to my house here. Your bag was very heavy, I could not carry that as well. I thought you would understand." His voice betrayed a slight sense that he was disappointed, as though he believed I was placing the importance of my material possessions over my own good health.

"Of course I understand," I replied, "it's only that the contents of the bag are important, they contain my notes on Quyllur-Wasi and the skulkers, sorry the Supay, without which I will be able to prove none of what has happened. There is also the matter of my passport and travelling visa. Without them I'm going to encounter a lot of trouble trying to leave the country."

"I see," said David, though the way he said it made me question if he really understood my position. This was a man who had seemingly lived outside of society for a good while, the whims of the modern world irrelevant to him. "Do not worry Rob, I am sure your bag will be where you left it. I do not expect anyone will have been there to move it elsewhere. You can return for it once your strength has recovered, if you wish it."

I knew his words made perfect sense, in a week David was the only person I'd encountered; and I'd only encountered him because he lived in the region. But that thought only brought up more questions: did anyone else live out here and if not why does David? I had to ask. I'd spent days with a thousand questions running through my head and now I actually had someone to pose them to I realised my brains filter was a lot less effective.

"Does anyone else live around here?" I asked quickly.

"No," he said, "they used to in years past. Not many, but a few people lived amongst the forest. But when the Supay came out of the mountain people got afraid, they were worried they would spread and so moved farther away. They did not know the Supay would not cross the lake, or scale Hatun-Pikchu; they had families, they were scared and so they left."

"So why do you live here? I don't mean to pry but why chance it yourself? What is there to stop the creatures coming this far, spreading and hunting farther afield?" I said, countering.

"Truthfully, I am here to watch. You are quite right, there is nothing to stop the Supay spreading. In the years that followed their emergence my people learned that they feared water, this is something you have proved and witnessed yourself. You may wonder how you managed to escape from their clutches underground, I can only imagine that they would not follow you over the underground river. But that doesn't explain why they would not take the northern pass themselves and spread, or circle the great lake. I believe that there are forces at work that we do not fathom; as I have said I believe them a plague on Quyllur-Wasi, but I believe it a plague there alone. It is not within them to roam any further. Nevertheless it was decided that one person should stay and watch over this land, to give warning if they learned that the Supay did indeed seek to spread their evil farther in Peru. I am the current bearer of that task. I hope that this satisfies your question."

I could not argue with his answer. Could not, and did not have the energy. There was more I wished to know about the situation, more I wanted to ask, but in all honesty I wanted to forget about it for a time. I was comfortable, more so than I had been in a while and I wished to savour that illusion for as long as I could.

I dropped all enquiry about Quyllur-Wasi and the skulkers, and our conversation turned instead to more mundane matters. We talked for a good while and David even began correcting my Spanish and helping me to improve my understanding of the language. I in turn taught him a few words of English. I did eventually tire, but being sick of laying in bed I tried to force myself to stay awake. This proved a fruitless endeavour though as my flagging concentration soon betrayed itself in completely incomprehensible Spanish and I quickly found myself being forced towards the bed. Without the strength to protest I went back to bed and fell sound asleep.

# 16

## Back To The Trail

I remained in David's house for three days as I regained strength. I spent some of that time walking in the grounds around the house to get some fresh air, however David would often go on long walks alone in search of food, or simply to explore, so I didn't chance roaming far. One day David was gone by the time I awoke, a bowl of porridge left for me in the main room, and didn't return till late in the afternoon; leaving me to spend my day in the tranquility of the surrounding forest. I found the area to be a truly peaceful place, free from the fear and worry that had dogged my hike.

My arm remained free from infection but there was no telling how it would heal without proper attention and therefore on the third day I made preparations to leave. In the time I'd spent in and around David's house he had taught me much about living off the land in Peru: plants I'd previously ignored could be boiled and used in stews, sap from one type of tree could be used as an antiseptic, other plants he showed me to be toxic and corrosive. As enlightening as it was though I could stay no longer, I'd taken advantage of his hospitality for too long. Whilst we were breakfasting on bread and fruit on the morning of the fourth conscious day of my time there I told David of my intent to leave that day, what I expected him to say I'm not too sure but he did not seem surprised by my words.

"I expected as much, you are strong once more, the fever that was upon you has passed. There is no need for you to linger here any longer," he replied.

"I'm so grateful for all you've done for me, all your help but"-

"But this is not your place," he said taking the thought from my head. "You do not need to thank me, I would have done the same for anyone in your place; and it has been good to have someone to talk to, even if your Spanish is quite bad. I have been alone for too long in the wilds, away from other people."

"Do you never see anyone?" I asked.

"Occasionally friends and family will visit me here, occasionally but not often enough. Once a month I walk to Paucartambo for supplies. If I do not go once a month a party will be sent by those few who know of this place to ensure the Supay haven't seen to my demise." The words seemed sad in his mouth, how long had he been out here like this?

"How long have you been here?" I enquired lightly.

"Too long, it does not matter," he said brushing the question off, "you wish to leave today, I will accompany you as far as I may. Also, I have a gift for you, wait here."

I tried to protest that I needed no gifts, that his help had been a greater gift than I could have asked, but he refused to listen.

"Do not protest, wait here," he said, "I'm sure when you see my gift you will not refuse."

He left the room and went outside, leaving me to wonder what he intended to give me. I didn't have to wait too long to find out as he soon returned to the room with my bag over his shoulder.

He looked at me with a wry grin and said, "The sky was clear yesterday so I decided to brave the mountain and save you the trouble of going back for this. It got covered in a bit of snow but it should be as you left it."

I took the bag from him thanking him once more, before opening the main compartment to ensure that all was as it was. After so many constant put downs and bumps to my confidence over the course of my hike, the last few days had been invaluable in restoring my spirit. The kindness of strangers is a wonderful thing and being on the receiving end of it for once restored a little of my faith in humanity.

"Come," said David, "we should leave soon. It is only two days to Paucartambo from here, if you make good time you will be there tomorrow, then the day after you can be back in Cusco."

I didn't know what to say so I simply nodded and agreed. David quickly packed a few belongings and bits of food into a small backpack and pestered me into filling my water bottles. Soon, however, we were outside the house and ready to go.

David's house was nestled in a clearing amongst a copse of trees at the foot of one of the low mountains I had seen to my right when first crossing the lake. It wasn't a very impressive building, but the general environment and care that had gone into its surroundings belied its rough state. There were a few small outbuildings surrounding the main house. One of these was a toilet, another a cold water shower and a third was a small shed used for general storage. It was in the latter that David must have stashed my bag. The clearing was riddled with crops and fruit trees and a small freshwater stream ran down from the nearby mountains, passing the house and possibly going on to feed the lake an hour or two's walk away.

If ever a place should be described as quaint this was it. The last few days had been pleasant, despite my rather decrepit state, and it would be a pity to say goodbye to this place. I could do many worse things than spend a few weeks in the calm of somewhere like this, alas that would have to be an exercise for a later date.

***

We left the house and took a fairly well beaten dirt path in the direction of the hills. I didn't want to ask how many times David had walked this path but it was clearly a lot. I walked with my backpack once more slung predominantly over one shoulder. My arm no longer throbbed in a near constant manner but it was still painful to the touch and I didn't want to undo the good that had been done by wearing it raw. David had offered to swap bags for the moment but I refused, telling him I had to become accustomed to it again.

He set quite a fierce pace and I quickly found the glade of the house gone and in its place deeper woodland. It was still a calm atmosphere, birds chirping away in trees whose branches rustled in the light breeze, but some of the sunlight was obscured and I found myself missing the warmth of the sun's rays. The environment was similar to that which I'd walked through on the opposite side of the lake, though the trees seemed less tightly compacted and twisted. I didn't see much in the way of wildlife to speak of, but David did stop on a few occasions to show me examples of plants and their uses.

We walked for perhaps forty minutes before we came to the end of the woodland and broke onto open ground again in the shadow of the mountainous hills. David came to a stop when we came to this point and I turned to him and asked in a fairly sarcastic manner, "We have to go up right?"

"Yes," he said not picking up on my sarcasm, do Peruvians use sarcasm? I know it's a common held believe that a lot of Americans don't seem to understand it, but it is a little wide of the mark. Anyway, he continued, "I would not worry, though, the climb isn't hard, it is but a hill to Hatun-Pikchu and you did okay there."

I didn't doubt that I would be fine with the uphill walking, I was injured not disabled, I would have just preferred to avoid it. I was at least well rested, it was only having had a three day break that I realised just how much the constant walking had drained me. We took a short break to drink some water and snack on some fruit, before advancing into the now familiar rocky terrain that accompanied the hills and mountains in this area.

It was a pleasant change to be walking with someone else with whom I could appreciate the scenery. That was the biggest difference between walking in this small section of Peru and the walks I'd done in the Colca Valley, in the Colca there was an endless stream of locals and tourists to share a quiet comment with, here my thoughts had been mine alone. I believe this both a good and a bad thing.

You will by now have realised that my thoughts on solitude vary greatly depending on my mood. Too many voices can spoil a tranquil moment, but too much solitude can be a grind. A memory is always a much deeper thing when shared. Sharing these sights with David was a slightly different thing. It was pleasant to be able to share the moment, share thoughts, but the simple truth was that after today it would be very unlikely that we would ever see each other again. When you share moments with friends and family they are always there to remind you of events; in this way collective memory is a lot more effective than singular memory. Moments and particulars that you might forget on your own are kept fresh by the joint experience. I had experienced and gained a lot by travelling on my own, but there is much you lose in living this way too. Despite sharing this scenery here and now, he would never have the opportunity to remind me of it, no one would; this made it that much more important for me to really focus on the present, it was also one of the big reasons I was so relieved to have my notes once again. In the future I could always read over my accounts to try and refresh memories, as inadequate as they might be.

***

Time passed and the path climbed to a high point with views back over the top of the woodland. We followed the dirt path as it twisted through the rolling mountain hills, keeping me on course for civilisation. After traversing through a few hills we reached a flat rocky area where, on our lefts, there were steep cliffs dropping fiercely down towards the quasi jungle that occupied the land below. From the perspective of anyone on the lake's plateau these rises we were on would look like nothing more than large hills, from the opposite side though they admirably performed the role of mountains. Somewhere in the distance beyond the trees lied Paucartambo. It could even be fairly close to here but, with the land being as steep and hazardous as it was on the far side of the ridges, there was no safe way to descend where we were currently. I knew this to be the case as I enquired it of David.

"It wasn't merely through silence that Quyllur-Wasi remained undiscovered," he said. "The mountains make it almost impossible to approach from all but a few places."

It certainly looked an imposing climb from my current vantage, the mere sight of these towering walls would be enough to put off most explorers. For an avid rock climber it would surely prove an irresistible challenge were the proper equipment available, though a rock climber would be unlikely to go any farther.

We walked at this rough altitude for most of the afternoon, dropping occasionally and then rising again but not doing any substantial uphill work. The terrain was fairly bare at this level, trees were a rarity but that wasn't to say there were none. Wild flowers of a multitude of colours also occupied areas where small tufts of grass were growing amongst the dirt of ground down rock. It looked almost as though the vast jungle below was slowly infecting the stoic wedge of rocky mountain with the flora of below, life contaminating the barren rock.

Describing it as such, as a sickness, is perhaps wrong. I'm not saying this event is bad, just that the spreading of life is like that of a virus, moving unopposed. The same phenomenon can be seen around old abandoned buildings. Moss and lichen grow on the surfaces of the buildings and in small cracks, over time deposits of dirt build up and seeds are blown or deposited there; then in time grasses, then small plants and trees grow as the roots of these plants force the cracks wider and the deposits of dirt grow. In the case of these buildings the structural integrity is weakened and in less time than you'd imagine they start to crumble. To this end you can see how buildings such as Quyllur-Wasi have been constructed to be much more long lasting and immune to this ageing; far more so than many modern structures that are constructed to be frequently maintained. Looking at a city brings about a mixture of feelings in me. Marvelling at the ingenuity of humanity and the humdrum of life is juxtaposed by the sadness at all the nature and wildlife that has been bulldozed to make way for it all. It is therefore reassuring to know that nature quickly reasserts itself when left unopposed. You only have to look at current pictures of Chernobyl to see a true example of this.

***

As time passed and we kept walking, David would frequently tell me the names of other mountains in the distance, describing the history of the land and the beliefs of his people. In this way I began to learn a lot more about the local way of life and his community. When it was approaching four o'clock though, he told me to pause.

"Mi amigo, aquí es donde debemos partir." (My friend, here is where we must depart)

The rest of what he said I will relay in English but I recount the first sentence in Spanish because of the trepidation it sent running through my body. I will admit I was slightly afraid to once more be out in the wilds on my own, I feared a repeat of my collapse on the twin peaks. Anyway he continued, speaking in a voice that betrayed his agitation, as though he'd travelled much farther than he'd intended that day.

"The light will soon begin to fade and it will be deep into night before I am back. You need go no farther today, the path from here is clear. Come, let me show you."

He led me to the edge of the precipice to our left, next to a slight dip in the ground; however as I came closer to it I realised it wasn't simply a dip but the start of a steep path that led right the way down the cliff face.

"I have to go there!?" I asked with incredulity. "You've got to be kidding. I mean I've done some dangerous things but that would be up there! With my arm as it is I'll never manage."

"Do not be so concerned," he countered, finding my shock amusing, "the way is steep, but it is more easily traversed than it appears. Rest here for the night, the path will take you down into the jungle; then after a few hours of walking you should arrive at the river twenty minutes away from Paucartambo."

It was easy for him to say to not be concerned, he wasn't the one walking, nay falling down a vertical path in the morning; but then supposedly he had walked this route hundreds of times, it must be reasonably safe. I did still only have effective use of my left arm though, so it wasn't like I had 100% of my balance to utilise. Anyhow I had more than enough time to worry about tomorrow in the evening ahead, right then I was focused on saying goodbye to David, professing my thanks once more and, failing to find sufficient words, spouting the clichéd phrase of 'if you're ever in England come say hi'. I tried to persuade him to come with me to Paucartambo but he refused, saying he could not for a good few weeks yet. He did however say one more thing.

"I've told you many times you need not thank me, though if I could ask you to do one thing I would be grateful. Tell no one what you saw here, of Quyllur-Wasi and the Supay say nothing, say what you want about the landscape and the rest of your journeys. But I ask you in friendship to keep the rest to yourself."

I was gob-smacked and didn't quite know how to respond. Quyllur-Wasi was the entire reason I'd embarked upon this trip, the reason I had bore all my ordeals, and he was telling me to forget all about it, to pretend to people back home that none of it happened.

"But... why?" I asked, almost pleading him to change his mind.

"You saw the majesty and tranquillity of Quyllur-Wasi, what do you suppose would happen to that if more people started coming, tourists and foreigners who know nothing of its meaning. I mean no offence but it is a sacred place for my people. As for the Supay, if people started coming more frequently do you honestly think it would end well for them? I would think you more than anyone would know this. You have been more than fortunate to have experienced what you have and be able to stand here and tell me about it, do not tempt people into undergoing the same trials. It is hard, I know, but please think on it; if not for my sake than for the sake of those people that would follow in your path."

David's words rung true but that didn't make them any easier to swallow; I nevertheless told him I would think hard on what he had said.

"In that case," he said, "I will depart."

It was a sad fair well. Despite me only knowing him for a few days the thought of being once more mired in solitude and self doubt was not a welcome one. Sometimes any company is better than no company at all. With his words still ringing in my head, I saw him head off back down the track at a far quicker pace than that which we'd been walking at before. I turned my attentions with a sigh to setting up my tent for what would hopefully be the last time in a while.

***

The land was fairly flat in this area but it was quite rocky so I had to search around and prod into the ground with one of the tent pegs a few times before I found an earthy enough patch to pitch the tent on. As I got going I quickly regretted not asking David to help me with the tent before he left as I was once more back to attempting to put it up using, effectively, only one arm. Fortunately, having done it once, the second time was less difficult and whilst more time consuming than normal I still had the tent constructed in a short enough time. It was about 4:30 when I had finished and the sun was just beginning to set slowly over the hills, back in the direction I had come from. I sat on a large smooth boulder overlooking the vast forest in the foreground and reflected on my journey, and the words that David had spoken before leaving.

Could I really get home and keep this all to myself? I had suffered much and I felt that others deserved to know the truth, even if it were just to warn them to stay away from this area. That being said I knew it to be true that if word did become wide spread and people started flocking here the site would certainly change; but the government possess the power to stop tourists coming to a place so there was no reason that knowledge of Quyllur-Wasi would have to mean it was any easier to get to or see. Oh I didn't know. I would have to seek some decent medical attention when I got back to Cusco and it was inevitable that questions would be asked as to the origins of my injuries.

Now I'm not a good liar, whether that is less apparent in Peru than it would be back home I'm not sure; after all I thought I had successfully tricked Isabel in the Colca Valley, but judging from the events since there is every likelihood that she saw through my charade just as easily as people would have done at home. It was one thing not deliberately bringing up events, but outright lying when asked is something that doesn't sit right. In any case I wanted to talk about the events, not out of a gratuitous 'look what I did' sense, but to understand it all better. I wanted to go to a museum, or a naturalist, and ask about Quyllur-Wasi and the skulkers and learn more about them. David had given me some thoughts and insights but his view was twisted by the vision of his family and friends, his people. It was a religious view and one that cared little about the science of it all. Not being religious myself I found it hard to believe that these creatures were a plague or punishment sent by a God, but nonetheless they were a mystery and one I wanted solved. I had a few days yet, at least, to think it over before I would have to come to any sort of decision.

A chill was coming into the air as the sun's light lost its potency and I put a jumper on and took in the sights. The world was like a painting before me with the sunset, rock and jungle creating a tapestry of colours and textures. Rested and far from the grip of the skulkers I took a deep relaxing breath in the knowledge that I could once more take the time to focus on my surroundings. I sat for perhaps ten minutes looking into the distance, watching condors circle above the trees, before I took out my recently neglected notepad. There was a lot I had learnt in the past few days; both regarding my experiences and superfluous information about the area and other aspects of Peruvian life. I scribbled notes fervently until the light became so dim I could no longer see my page. Then, giving up for the time being, I took out my stove and set to cooking dinner.

It was a sad change from the last couple of days, once more having to eat dehydrated meals. At David's house I'd feasted on fresh fish, vegetables and fruit. In comparison my meal here could hardly be considered food at all. It was at least filling, and a provider of energy, even if it was less than satisfying on the palate. I realised that David hadn't mentioned anything about topping up my water supply but having been fully stocked that morning I shouldn't have much of an issue, knowing that I would reach the river tomorrow. I had become far more adept at rationing my water than in the first couple of days of the trip. It is remarkable how quickly you become adapted to a certain way of living when pressed to it. When I'd first set out I was woefully inexperienced and hesitant about many things; yet now, were I to be thrown into another lengthy hike, I would be far more confident in what I was doing. Of course I'm not saying I wanted to be thrown into a second long hike, I wanted to take a nice long break and put my feet up, have something regarding a normal holiday whilst in Peru. I might not have known what I wanted to do with my life in general, but I had learnt that going off into the wilderness and nearly dying doesn't help you to decide one bit.

***

I turned into my tent shortly after eating, seeking to warm myself up a bit at least for the moment, it was only just gone six o'clock so sleep wasn't really on my mind. In the city with lights everywhere and things happening 24/7, the time of day is almost irrelevant. But in the wilderness when the light and temperature goes it considerably limits the number of things you want to do. I wished I was by the lake, a gentle canoe on the water or a bit of stone skimming would have been quite pleasant.

There wasn't a lot around me other than a few small trees and the dirt and rock that I'd become accustomed to on the mountain paths. I was struck with an idea though and, after exiting my tent, I went to one of the nearby trees and, not finding any lying on the ground, snapped off a small relatively thick branch from the tree. Inspired by the carvings in David's house I decided I would try my hand at it myself. It was something to pass the time even if I proved terrible at it. Now I didn't exactly have the greatest tools for the job, I had lost my machete but that would have been a bit unwieldy for the subtle work anyway, I also had my cutlery knife however that was ever so slightly blunt. So in the end I resorted to using sharp rocks lying around to do my sculpting, as you can imagine it did not go well and all I ended up with was a battered piece of wood. It did though at least pass the time and work to take my mind of all else but the figure I was trying to etch from the wood. I gave up in the end but as irritated as I was I couldn't put myself to throwing the wood away and instead tucked it into my bag with the stupid thought that I would finish it one day when I had better tools. Art never has been my thing.

I whiled away a bit more time outside, it was a clear night so I was able to spend a good hour by a fire looking at the stars. Following this I headed to sleep. I was still troubled by what I should do and say once back amongst other people, but far away from the hunting grounds of the skulkers I was happy that my worries were now no longer life threatening. I lay down in my tent feeling the hard ground beneath me and tried my best not to find the silence unsettling. The sounds of the jungle below did not reach high enough to breach my cliff top base. I fell into sleep and whilst skulkers filled my nightmares nothing corporeal disturbed my troubled rest.

# 17

## The Last Day

Day came and with the squawking of a bird splitting the quiet I opened my eyes. The last day, that is what this was. The last day of what I knew to be a significant period of my time in Peru, of my life really. I had discovered more than I could have wished for and whilst I was leaving with more questions than answers I had still achieved so much. I wasted no time in packing up my tent, scoffing a small amount of food as I worked, eager to return and treat myself to a few more home comforts. With my trusty bag on my back I approached the steep path I had to descend, trepidation in my step.

I looked down from on high and I'm not ashamed to admit my heart was racing at the prospect of attempting this, one bad slip and it would be near impossible for me to stop myself from falling all the way to the bottom. It hadn't rained since the morning I'd left Quyllur-Wasi and the ground was dried out and dusty. I proceeded in the safest way I knew how, sliding slowly along with my butt on the floor. This way I was least likely to slip badly.

It was slow going. At points I was forced to stand and climb over rocks, at others I had to drop off small ledges. People normally say that going down is easier than going up, but that really depends on what way you look at it. Energy wise sure, but in this instance I think it took a great deal more skill than climbing up would have done. Whilst climbing up this path, if you can call it a path, the onward handholds and route would be far more visible than when climbing down as I was. I found I was often lowering my feet over edges in pure hope.

It took me perhaps half an hour, half an hour of moving like this, with my heart in my mouth, before the path truly became a path and I was able to walk normally. By this point the tops of trees were drawing level with my head and I wasn't in the least surprised that this path had survived notice. The sound of wildlife was once more around me and I realised that the last of my hurdles was behind me. If David's word was true then it should be a straightforward walk through the trees and before mid afternoon I should be at my destination.

The trees I was walking through reminded me of those close to Quyllur-Wasi, I therefore assumed this area to be on a similar altitude to that walled off land. The humidity in the air had risen as I had descended amongst the trees and where previously the ground had been covered with a fine layer of dust it was now betraying the telltale signs of moisture in its composition, the earth taking on a darker hue. The cold wind that I was exposed to on my descent down the cliff had also vanished as I entered the shelter of the jungle. The conditions were oppressive but as I did not need to go at a fast pace it didn't drain me as much as when I'd been climbing in similar conditions.

***

The walk passed in a blur as my expectation and anticipation grew. I felt it in my bones, the tension and nerves that come when nearing home after a long time away. Not that Paucartambo or anywhere else in Peru was remotely close to my home, but I was nonetheless nearing a different pace of existence. My mind and thoughts were still ringing with the experiences and wonders I'd seen; but for the outside world I knew life would have proceeded as it always does. Would people in the village sense any change in me? Would they even remember me? I'd not been gone two weeks, yet I had only stopped briefly in town. I couldn't imagine they get many tourists, but it's quite possible I didn't leave much of an impression in my short time there.

I knew that it would hit me when I was back amongst people, especially amongst the backpackers and tourists in hostels. There was so much I wanted to talk about, but it's a depressing feeling knowing that as much as you describe something to someone they will never really understand it if they were not there. It would be an odd sensation hearing other travellers talk about their own hikes, what could I say in response? Their experiences hold just as much value and beauty for them as mine did for me, yet I knew I would be hard pressed not to find them trivial next to my ordeal. That makes me sound arrogant and perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps that's why I felt such disquiet within myself. Maybe David was right, maybe silence truly was the best answer.

***

After three hours walking through trees, following a well marked dirt track I exited the jungle with the roaring sound of a river in the air. I was almost back. The woods had been filled with wildlife, more so than the other places I'd been walking in. Butterflies, dragonflies and swarms of other bugs and insects fluttered around the sky as I walked, yet despite their abundance I didn't find it an irritation. Birds, as per usual, were also perched on branches and soaring through the sky. I thought I spotted small rodents and other mammals moving in the under-brush but thankfully I saw no monkeys. It was an atmosphere without the spectre of skulkers upon it. No shrieks splitting the night, the shadows cast by the branches and trunks of trees were just shadows, nothing sinister was hidden in the dark. I knew this, yet it took me a while to drop my guard and relax. Paranoia still sat at the back of my mind telling me that I would once more be attacked on the road.

I soon let the pleasant sounds of nature wash over me and settle my heart rate to a lax pace. When I heard the sound of the river approaching, a smile crossed my face and I started a light jog, the noise getting louder as I moved. Exiting the trees on a small rise I let out a relieved laugh. The final stretch was here, a small walk along the river then I would be at Paucartambo. I looked to the path I had just walked on and it was near invisible from the riverside track. The shade of trees and a small bank kept the track obscured from obvious sight.

There was a spring in my step for that last half an hour. It was only now that I was beginning to think I could qualify this hike as a success. There was always the fear I wouldn't make it back but now that had gone. I knew roughly where I was, soon I would know exactly. Despite all I had endured: my useless arm, multiple lacerations, bumps and general aches, I was still in one piece. I had found Quyllur-Wasi and discovered an entirely new species unknown to the general population. It was in this moment that I decided, to my shame, I could not do as David had requested, not exactly. I couldn't keep this quiet from everyone. I wasn't exactly going to call up the tabloids, the news channels, internet bloggers and anyone else who would listen and try to get my story broadcast everywhere; but I needed affirmation.

Knowledge in the wrong hands is dangerous, I knew that, but this wasn't some weapon; this was an archaeological discovery and a species that could tell us a lot about the evolution of animals and much else. In the right hands what I had found could do a lot of good, lead to the conservation of Quyllu-Wasi. As much as David's people revered it and held it in esteem, left uncared for it would continue to fall into disrepair. The skulkers would run rampant over it; the jungle that was thriving outside would find its way in through birds dropping seeds; roots of trees would spread, foundations become unsteady and in less time than I cared to think the temple would start to crumble. Whilst I could do something about it I decided that I should. This wasn't about recognition of my achievements, a congratulatory pat on the back or anything like that. I just wanted to know that I hadn't suffered in vain.

Yet if I was deeply honest with myself, when I set off did I genuinely think I would find a ruin, or did I just want the adventure, the escape? Quyllur-Wasi was the excuse and despite all probability I had found it. And it was beautiful and the places I'd seen beautiful too. The scenery was stunning and living outside, camping on my own, was a great and infinitely rewarding experience. However, the scenery I had seen in the rest of Peru was stunning too, much rivalled that which I had seen here. Whilst the temple was one of a kind, the fear I had lived under in the days after I learned of the skulkers existence made me question whether it was enough to justify my suffering. I wanted to know that as much good came from my experience as bad. Though how you can possibly judge something like that is beyond me. After all, could it be that it was the fear that truly made it all an adventure? I did fear the skulkers though, and I feared what would happen if they were to spread, it was enough to persuade me to tell my story to the right people.

***

Back on the riverside trail my condition was certainly altered from when I last tread this road. I'd nearly given up after twenty minutes walking when I'd first set off! It's hard to credit how quickly you adapt to a situation when you have to. I'd certainly learned how important it was to push on when it was necessary, even if you feel like you can't.

I soon found myself walking into the quiet village of Paucartambo. A few trucks rattled around the dusty roads. People walked the streets and greeted me as though there were no cares in the world. Street venders were selling fruit and other food and I immediately took the opportunity to buy an empanada, digging money from deep within my bag where I'd left it in preparation for this moment. Not caring about the questionable content of the small parcel I took a bite and savoured the warmth of food that wasn't from a dehydrated pack. I was back.

# 18

## Consequences

Yes I made it back, I didn't die, maybe that was obvious and never in doubt but I can assure you for me it was often greatly in doubt. It is now important, I feel, for me to pour a small amount of light on the events surrounding my return to civilisation; for it is important for you to understand, at least in a rough sense, the effect this all had on me, and what I did about it.

Upon arrival in Paucartambo I found myself a small hospedaje (family run hotel) in which to stay the night. I didn't want to tarry in Paucartambo, but there was no bus that would reach Cusco at a sensible time that day. So I thought I would be better off getting a shower, a warm one at that, finding a Laundromat to wash my trail dirty clothes and getting myself into a bit less of a ragged and smelly state.

The next morning I took an early bus back to Cusco and there, upon checking into a hostel close to the Plaza de Armas, I enquired as to the location of a clean and well run hospital I could go to in order to have my injuries seen to by a qualified doctor. I have to say the reaction of the people at reception was quite something for, despite my attempts to clean myself up, I still looked a bit of a wreck. The swelling on my head had disappeared in my time spent recuperating at David's, but I still had cuts all over my face and hands. My right shoulder was also bandaged in a very makeshift manner, even if it was better than gaffa-tape. I chose to be rather vague about the origins of my injuries, simply saying I got attacked by an animal in Paucartambo. The fact that most of the staff didn't even know where Paucartambo is should tell you something about the people I was dealing with. They were, at least, very helpful. They phoned a local hospital for me and got me booked in for a check-up the next day, even giving me instructions on how to get a taxi there.

I didn't linger in the hostel, taking time to wander about Cusco and enjoy the old cobbled alleys. Having a mill of people around me was as strange as I thought it would be, even though it had only been two weeks it seemed like a lifetime. I ate out, not even having to worry about cooking and in the evening sat and had a few drinks at the hostel bar. The utter change in environment didn't sit right in my head. I kept expecting to wake up back in the tunnels of the mountain and find it had all been a dream, to find I was still trapped in that nightmarish cavern; or I thought I'd discover that I'd dreamt the hike in its entirety, but I had the scars to show that wasn't the case. I tried to keep to myself but a few people, curious about my bandage and other lacerations, asked what had happened to me, forcing me into retelling my vague animal attack story. In the end I accepted the company and spent the evening listening to enthusiastic people from all over the world talk about their own stories and plans.

***

The following day I reached the hospital with little trouble and had my appointment with the doctor, a young man who looked not older than thirty. There I had to be a little more candid. He obviously asked where I had received my injury and wishing to receive the best possible care I believed it important to tell the truth. So I asked him if he knew of Quyllur-Wasi and the Supay. His face was one of confusion, if he knew of Quyllur-Wasi he refused to talk of it and feigned utter ignorance. Annoyed at what I saw to be him lying to my face I began recounting my tale in more detail, trying to force him to tell the truth.

I have to say reviewing the scene he must truly have been in ignorance. Hearing my tale I believe he took me to be delirious and when I began to get more irritated and animated, yelling at other passing people to tell the truth, I'm angry to say that I was sedated. When I came to I found my upper arm and shoulder had been stitched, I decided it wise to feign complete ignorance of my agitated state. Fortunately they didn't question this further.

I learnt that I had miraculously avoided infection to my wounds, David's poultice clearly having worked wonders. I was told, however, that the damage to my muscle had been severe and having been left so long untreated it was unlikely to heal properly. They said it was quite possible that I would never regain full mobility in that arm. The doctor told me I should avoid moving the arm at all for at least two weeks, until it was better healed, and then have another check-up. I was also told I shouldn't fly until it was fully mended. I asked to be examined for after effects of altitude sickness, worried that my feinting on the mountainside had caused unknown side effects, but thankfully I learnt that here too I was in the clear; though they did tell me I may be more susceptible to the effects of altitude in the future. So it appeared that for the most part my trials had left me with no lasting injuries, I felt positive that at the worst I could do some physiotherapy to improve my shoulder movement, if necessary at a later date.

***

So, as I had to spend a few more weeks around Cusco recuperating, I spent time in the sacred valley area doing day trips to local towns, the details of which I will not bore you with. I was concerned, and slightly angry, at the doctor's lack of knowledge or acceptance of Quyllur-Wasi; though I began to take on the thought that if he didn't know of it, an educated Peruvian such as he was, then knowledge of the site might be even more limited than I'd thought. Perhaps the younger generation had been told nothing of it, such was the fear of the skulkers.

I visited museums in Cusco and attempted to ask questions of the place, yet many people I asked seemed genuinely in ignorance. Some of the older scholars I saw reacted when I mentioned Quyllur-Wasi, though not in a positive way, their faces darkened and all refused to answer questions or even acknowledge that they knew what I was talking about. I assumed that they either: didn't want to talk about it around other tourists and visitors; didn't want to give me any more information than I already had; or were merely angry that a gringo knew of their tightly hidden sacred place of worship.

My endeavours were fruitless; no one I asked would or could tell me anything. My mood gradually became darker as my questions remained unanswered, despite my more and more persistent research and questioning. I found people in Peru to generally be of a trusting nature, but in this no ground was given anywhere. All who knew anything were guarded.

The time passed and soon my arm was healed. My movement was hindered when I tried to lift the arm above shoulder height, but with time and exercise I hoped to cure this. I stayed in Peru longer, journeying back towards Lima via the central Andean highlands, places such as Abancay, Andahuaylas and Ayacucho. My money dwindled, my questions continued to be met with rebuffs everywhere I went and I was forced to accept defeat in finding anything more about Quyllur-Wasi in Peru. Truly there was a reason it had remained unfound and unheard of for so long.

***

Upon my return to the UK all seemed strange, I had become so used to a different kind of life that the normal routine was just dull to me. It was good to see my friends and family but what do you answer when they say, 'how was Peru?' It was good, that's what you say. How could I explain anything otherwise? I told people stories of places I'd been when pushed, but when it came to it I found I couldn't, and didn't want to, tell them of the events recounted in this book. In that regard I kept to what David had requested.

When I had the time, though, I did go to the British Museum, to the Natural History Museum too, to talk to professors of what I had experienced, seeking to share my knowledge and what I had learned. I told my tale in both, the response? Laughter, they laughed in my face. I even procured my notes and, after some insistence, made them read them. I brought the torch I'd carried back with me too, but still they would credit none of it. Where was my proof, real proof? Why didn't I take pictures? My answer of, 'my phone was stolen and my camera got ruined at the airport,' apparently wasn't plausible in the slightest. They called my account a 'wildly fictitious waste of their time' and had me thrown out of the museum. Yes, this happened twice. Where was their curiosity? Where was the debate I had expected? It both devastated and angered me, but what more was there for me to do? I looked like a lunatic, a nut job. I've stated many times in this account my lack of background for scientific research, adventuring, survival etc. so I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me that my tale was met with disbelief. Still it hurt.

So there you have it. After all that, discovering exactly what I set out to discover, it came to nought. My notes were insufficient and as detailed as my account was it apparently read like a work of fiction. So it was then that I decided to write this book. I would write down all that I had witnessed, all that I had experienced and release this book into the world. It would be down to the people who read my words to decide whether or not to believe what I had witnessed and recounted. All I'll say, to conclude, is that I hope whoever has made it this far has found the truth in the words. The world is a huge and incomprehensible place, and there are many things in it that defy believe and explanation. Seek, explore and discover wonders. If you wish to follow my steps to Quyllur-Wasi I would not discourage it, only offer my warning; I was lucky, more so than pitiful words can say. If you really wish to hazard the lands of the skulkers do so in good company and be prepared, truly prepared, for they are not to be taken lightly.

Here ends my account of Darkest Peru.

Robert Cooke.

## Acknowledgments

Thanks firstly must go to the country of Peru, who's scenery and people inspired me to write this book. Thanks also to Kit Foster for the wicked cover design. Lastly many thanks must of course go to all my friends and family who have supported me during the writing and editing process. I got there in the end!

## About The Author

Robert Cooke is a writer and theatre practitioner from Suffolk, England. He has performed throughout London and in Europe and writes for theatre, Darkest Peru is his first novel. Travel is his passion, but when he has time off from disappearing abroad he likes to play tennis and badminton or simply laze around and read a good book.

To keep up to date with his goings on follow him on twitter @robcooke42, sign up to his newsletter tinyletter.com/RobertCooke or check out his website https://robertcookeauthor.wordpress.com/

