You can’t just walk the Inca trail. Not THE Inca trail, the one that runs from kilometer 82 at the edge of Historic Sanctuary National Park to Machu Picchu. Access is limited with good reason. Thousands of feet churning the dirt and stone path would degrade it into oblivion in a few years. Designated campsites, bathrooms, water for cooking, and strict rules on littering keep the trail intact and spellbindingly beautiful. The regulated experience of hiking the trail is worth the expense and control.

With no choice BUT to choose a guide and a company, Raven and I researched which of the many should be ours when we decided to visit Peru, planning our arrival for November of 2014. There are many companies that can secure the permit to hike to Machu Picchu. Some offer porters. With others you carry your own gear. There are four day hikes or five, or less if you want a very short jaunt starting from the foot of the mountain cradling the ruin. Most companies are foreign owned. A few, very few, are not.

This isn’t a choice to dillydally over. Booking a spot meant securing one of the 500 passes allowed per day to enter the trail. We chose Alpaca Expeditions because they are Peruvian. We wanted the money we spent to be going back into Peru and to locals, who had an interest in protecting the trail beyond a means of making money. We had no idea how right we were or exactly what we’d signed up for.

Alpaca Expeditions calls their team of porters, guides, and cooks the Green Machine. It is a purposeful naming. Hiring people from far flung mountain villages, Alpaca employees Peruvians who need income for their families. They are the only company that offers health care and free uniforms to their staff. Considering the extreme work conditions of carrying kilos of gear over mountain passes for days on end, not having health coverage seemed an insane business choice even if it is a common one.

Alpaca also provides ponchos so that clients won’t buy disposable, which then get disposed in Peru, creating a plastic waste nightmare. They offer top notch service with porters who carry a regulated weight of client gear, set up tents, cook food, provide warm wash water twice a day, wake you up with tea even if wake-up call is 4 a.m., and even heat up water for a warm shower the next to last day. Of course we didn’t know any of that when we signed up. We didn’t realize most of it until we were walking the trail, shepherded by our guide Lizandro. We simply made a choice to go with a local company that received a certificate of Excellence by Trip Advisor in 2014.

The excursion starts with check-in the night before departure. There we met the small group we’d be hiking with. Luck put us with five other hikers, all in their twenties. Another, larger group would be hiking under the company flag, but with different porters and guide. We got the map of what to expect, a duffle to pack the gear the porters would carry, confirmed rented equipment such as trekking poles and sleeping pads, shook hands with the hikers we’d spend the next four days with, and went back to our hotel to nervously pack.

Did I mention that hiking the Inca Trail had been a dream of mine so long I really can’t remember when I first thought it? Somewhere at an age when I’d already fallen in love with long walks in the woods (based on photos, that was by the age of 3) and had learned about the Inca and Mach Picchu. When I learned the original trail still existed, It hit the top of my ‘bucket’ list of things to do. Somehow I hadn’t done it yet. And though I’m a young and fit 40, the window of how much longer I’d tackle such a trek is not widening.

On the morning of day 1 as we took the Alpaca van to the trail head at Piscacucho, I found myself the oldest of a group of 7 hikers, 1 guide, and 11 porters. Altitude sickness over the first two days in Cusco had been rough, but not intolerable. I couldn’t catch my breath and that was the worst of it. Considering I live at 800 feet above sea level and work a mere 50 feet above high tide in the Gulf of Maine, the fact I was surviving 12,000 feet in Cusco was awesome. Now I just had to survive four days of hiking including a 13,800 foot pass followed by a second closer to 13,000 feet while keeping up with a bunch of twenty year olds. I don’t think this is how I envisioned my hike on the Inca Trail. Having survived it, I can only say I wouldn’t change it.

The first thing Alpaca did was serve us breakfast after we’d groggily trundled out of the van. Bread, eggs, juice, tea, the works really, and it gave us a sample of what was in store for us for the next few days. With juice packs and snacks handed out, we went down to the check-in for the trail. They actually stamp your passport. It is my most favorite souvenir EVER. Especially being on the same page as the second stamp on got on the journey: Machu Picchu.

The trail starts off flat across dry, pebbly soil. That is after crossing the suspension bridge over the Urubamba river. Flat is lovely. It doesn’t last long. Within an hour we were heading up and I was out of breath. Lizandro, our guide, kept tabs on all the hikers, walking with each and conversing. Raven told me later that day 1 is the weed out day. If you can’t make it day 1, you get turned back cause you’ll never survive day 2.

Day 1 is hard enough. Knowing that you are being evaluated for potential failure makes it that much more stressful. I remember seeing an older couple walking back, the wife smiling happy while her husband glowered. There was also a youngish woman, younger than me, walking back with a knee brace on. I’ve had a twingy knee since spring. I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to panic. I just kept walking.

Lunch was at a small community, one of the last we’d see on the trail. Our cook, Leonardo sent out dish after dish. We ate till stuffed. I soon regretted that. The hiking after lunch made the part before seem an easy walk. And for some it was. I swear Raven barely got out of breath the entire hike. I try not to hold that against him.

 

The Inca Trail hosts multiple ruins along its length. Each is unique and amazing. The one we visited on Day 1, Llaqtapata, began the pattern we’d see for the trip. Lizandro gave us a history lesson accented with photos shown on an iPad. Then we got explore the ruins on our own, walking among the stones like true explorers. And then we got to hike some more.

The traditional method is to keep walking no matter what. Walk slow, breathe. It didn’t work for me. I found I did better with short bursts and breath catching breaks. I had PLENTY of energy and stamina. I just couldn’t breathe. Raven, for what must have been the first time in our relationship, hiked with me that day. I kept telling him to go ahead. I could stand and watch the flowers bloom on my own. But there were a few times I was happy he did. For an hour or so that afternoon my spirits dove.

The reality of the dream of hiking the Inca Trail is that it is very hard work. I couldn’t catch my breath so badly that I wasn’t drinking enough. I knew that, but I needed to stop longer than I was allowing myself if I wanted to be able to drink, knowing that if I didn’t keep going I might not be allowed to keep going. Tired, too full from lunch (hardly the only one suffering that way at least), and struggling, I worried I wouldn’t make it. Going uphill, I was the slowest in the group.

And then the worse part of the up section ended. Suddenly able to stretch my legs and barely getting winded, I ended up in the middle of our little group and almost kept pace with Raven. The red pebble soil had grown over with trees and plants. Flowers bloomed. A flock of parrots zipped overhead. I made it to the first campground and our already erected tent. Our Green Team applauded. I got to clap for the last two who came in behind me.

We recovered with ‘tea time’ of popcorn and drink options. Introductions to the cook and porters, and they to us, rounded out the evening before an incredible dinner. We happily collapsed into our tents with the evening rapidly cooling off. They hadn’t been joking about jackets and a wool hat, though coming from Maine and it being late November, it didn’t feel that cold to Raven and I.

We were told to go to sleep and mentally prepare ourselves for day 2, the day we summited two passes and hiked 11 hours. But I’d made day 1. I knew I could do it. I could walk to Machu Picchu. So could everyone in the group. None of us were turned back.