“How much water will you need for the day?” the guide asked as we prepared for our second day of trekking through the Andes.
“I don’t know, a liter?” answered one of our group members. I gave the guide a skeptical look, that number seemed dangerously low to me. Our plan for the day included ~4700 ft of elevation gain through an exposed section of high altitude desert with no shade and the forecast was predicting temperatures over 90°F. Both my experience and the research I’ve done on water requirements for hikers suggested that 1L wouldn’t be anywhere near enough:
“Slow,” responded our guide with brutal honesty, “You are are very slow.”
He had tried to get a way with the politely evasive answer, “Hard to say,” when the woman with the baseball cap and jaunty step had asked him how the pace of our group rated, but she’d persisted. She’d even given him options to choose from, “Would you say that our group’s pace is pretty average? Is it faster than usual? Is it slower? How would you say our group is doing compared to other groups that you’ve guided?”
“The mountains are calling, and I must go.” – John Muir
The Andes called to me, their thunderous voices promising beauty and adventure. I listened to their Siren song, strapped inside the belly of a small airplane, my body crunched into the unnatural seated position that civilization all too often forces me into. I dreamed about stretching my long legs out and hiking thru the Andes. It was a dream that I’d visited often in the 6 months since I booked my trip to Peru, but now, from my achingly small seat in the plane, the Andes were so close it felt like I could reach out and touch them. “Soon,” I reminded myself, “soon I’ll be hiking in these mountains!”