Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I looked at Alex and he at me. It was nice to have a big route to do only a taxi ride
away from the nearest bar.
The idea of taking taxis to base camp had nearly cost us our Mount Everest
Foundation grant that year. I followed my fumbling Changabang interview with an
even more hilarious performance in front of the panel for our Peruvian trip. This
time, it was a last minute change of plans that caused the crisis. The night before I
was due to appear, Alex phoned to say that a big Czech team had climbed our ma-
jor objective, the south face of Vilcabamba, the previous year using expedition
siege tactics.
Our enforced second choice was to join the boys in Huaraz. The problem was we
had no time to research alternative objectives. There was no internet and the
Alpine Club library, the major resource for climbers' research, along with collec-
tions of
Mountain
magazine, was in London. Neither option was available at my
house in the Lake District.
When I was ushered into the committee this time, there were no familiar faces.
But at least I had a file this time, albeit containing all our Vilcabamba research,
which was now totally irrelevant. I explained why the objective on the application
was no longer relevant and that we would go to the Cordillera Blanca. We knew
there were still many fine objectives there, but I couldn't name any. Access to
peaks was relatively straightforward so we were bound to get a few new routes
done.
'And where in Peru is the Cordillera Blanca?' I was asked by one of the venerable
explorers arraigned before me on the other side of the long, polished table. I hadn't
a clue, but I had to choose quickly. I knew Vilcabamba was in the Central Andes.
'In the southern Peruvian Andes.' The gentleman referred to the huge atlas he
had opened in front of him. No further questions on that one, I thought to myself,
so I must be right. (I wasn't.)
'And how will you get in to your base camp?' asked another respected member.
Something Brian had told me sprung to mind and I blurted it out before I could
think.
'Bus from Lima to Huaraz and then a taxi.' This was not what they wanted to
hear. They wanted a picture of a long line of llamas snaking up through terraced
fields cultivated by the Incas with carefully balanced loads swaying gently on their
backs and pan pipe music haunting the hot and arid Altiplano.
'You can't possibly take taxis to such high mountains.'
'Ah, of course not, sir! I meant just a little way from the town. Then we'll hire
some Indians and their llamas for the long march in.' I was red and stammering
with embarrassment by this point. Worse was to come.
