About the Author
Mackinley “Mack” FitzPatrick is an Archaeology Ph.D. candidate in Harvard University’s Department of Anthropology. His primary research interests revolve around ancient media, specifically record-keeping systems such as the Andean khipu (or quipu). Currently, his research is centered on the examination and analysis of khipus recovered from around Laguna de los Cóndores, situated in the northern highland jungle of Peru.
Into the Cloud Forest
“Mi estimado,” Wilder messaged me via WhatsApp a little before 9 PM. “Espérame en el portón para ir al frente a ver un caso. En 3 minutos llego.”
“Okay,” I typed back a few moments later. “¿Qué pasó?” I opened the door to my room at Casa Mallqui, the part of Museo Leymebamba which was built to provide accommodation for researchers. I walked down the stairs and headed toward the front gate of the museum. The sun had set several hours earlier, and now it was quite dark out. The few lamp posts installed by the museum for security barely illuminated the gate area. Hearing me leave my room, the museum’s ever-growing dog patrol—composed of Hercules, Hinata, Cusi, Chiri, and Cone—came running from their beds. As I made my way to the gate, the dogs raced past me, jumping at the gate, barking and yipping.
“¡Tranquilo! ¡Quedate!,” I said to the dogs. Wilder was standing in the road just on the other side of the gate, waving me over. I opened the wooden gate just enough to slip through, and as I closed it behind me, I blocked the small opening with my foot so I wouldn’t let any of the dogs out into the street.
As I moved closer to Wilder, I noticed a woman standing on the far side of the road, her phone’s dim light illuminating her face. Wilder motioned me toward her, and I could see she was clearly a tourist—could be an American, I thought.
The woman explained that she and her family had just arrived in Leymebamba about two hours earlier, and that both her husband and son were feeling quite ill. The family had contacted their local tour guide, who in turn contacted the town doctor. Unfortunately, as I knew all too well, cell service was practically nonexistent in this particular area, so they did not know when the doctor would arrive. To make matters worse, only the father spoke Spanish, so without him, communication was very difficult.
Taking in the situation, I turned to Wilder, translating to him what the woman had just told me. He nodded and pulled out his phone which was connected to the museum’s WiFi network. Within a few minutes, he had contacted the family’s guide, Sinecio, and soon after, the doctor arrived.
***
The next day the family visited the museum and it appeared that both the father and son were recovering well. After they had walked through the main part of the museum, I gave them a brief tour of my work space and I explained to them that my research focused on the museum’s collection of khipus—Andean knotted cord record keeping devices. They were very kind and asked me questions about my work and dissertation, humoring my lengthy explanations. They nodded and smiled as I waxed on and on until I realized how much of a grad student I was being.
With my impromptu lecture finally finished, the family kindly invited me to join them for dinner that evening at the hostel they were staying at across the street. I gladly accepted. While I had only just arrived in Peru a few days earlier, it is always a treat to enjoy the company of fellow paisanos when working in more remote parts of Peru.
Over dinner, we discussed the places they had already visited and where they were headed next. They told me that early the next morning they were headed to Laguna de los Cóndores with their guide, Sinecio.
“How exciting!” I told them. “I’ve been meaning to visit the Laguna myself. As you now know, that’s where the collection of khipus housed in the museum was found.”
“Well,” replied the father, “you might get a chance sooner than you think. I am still not feeling great, so we may have an open slot on our trek tomorrow.”
“I’d hate to take anyone’s spot,” I said, trying my best to sound genuine.
“On please!” he laughed, “You’d be doing us a favor. Without me, there would be no one to translate what the guide was saying. How about this, we are scheduled to leave for Laguna at 6 AM tomorrow. I’ll message you at 5 a.m. whether or not I am feeling up for the trip, and if I am still not feeling well, you’re up.”
I nodded, feeling both excited and anxious at the thought of potentially dropping everything early tomorrow morning to take the 3 day trek to and from the Laguna. What would I need to pack? Was my Spanish even good enough to translate?
Back in my room at Casa Mallqui, I sat on my bed and set my phone’s alarm for 5:15 a.m. As I closed my eyes, I imagined what it would be like to finally see the Laguna in person; a place I had read so much about, which had safeguarded the khipus I was researching for hundreds of years.
***
I woke up to my alarm going off and quickly picked up my phone. I had 10 new messages on WhatsApp, all from the father. I opened the app and read the first message which was sent at 3:43 AM. It read, “I am too sick to go on the trip.”
I immediately got out of bed, without even reading the other messages. I grabbed my backpack and began stuffing into it whatever I thought I might need for the next three days of trekking through the selva alta. Halfway through packing, I hopped in the shower, bringing my phone with me to read the rest of the messages. Another message from 3:43 a,m, read, “Bring a plastic bag to keep your clothes dry.” Then the next, from 3:44 AM, “Take 1 change of clothes. See you at 6:00. Or a little earlier. We will eat at 5:30.” A few more texts detailed other necessities like a rain jacket and pants, and that I would need to try on the rain boots and helmet provided by the guide for the father to see if it would fit me.
Emerging from the shower, I checked my watch—5:44 AM. I hastily crammed a few more items into my backpack before rushing out the door to the neighboring hostel. There, I was greeted by the family, Sinecio, his two assistants and several saddled horses. Luckily, the boots and helmet the guides had brought for the father fit me perfectly.
The guides began assigning horses to each family member, leaving me for last. It didn’t take long to understand why. While the horses in Leymebamba are incredibly strong and hardy, they are not exactly known for their size. This isn’t an issue for the average 5′ 5” Peruvian male, but at 6′ 2″, I needed the “largest” horse, which was not notably larger than the others.
As I mounted my horse, it struck me that the last time I’d ridden was over a decade ago, likely at some boy scout camp, and probably for no more than 20-30 minutes. The journey to the Laguna was over 10 hours, and I knew the ride would not take us on a well-maintained, meandering path.
As the guides placed a few last items into the saddlebags on my horse, I noticed a small white dog I had never seen before watching us from the ditch. As we started up the road, he followed close behind our convoy. The guides tried their best to shoo the dog back home, but incredibly, he ended up following us all the way to the Laguna and back. The guides called the dog Mishi, which is Quechua for cat.
We rode from the museum about 800 feet up the road before turning sharply onto a rocky path used by the local campesinos to get to their agricultural fields. Unlike the road, which gradually tacked back and forth, this path cut straight up the mountainside. As I contemplated the trail in front of me, my horse leapt up onto the first set of rocks, almost immediately throwing me off in the process. Seeing this, one of the guides ran over to me and pointed to the horse’s mane.
“¡Agarra su pelo cuando sube! ¡Siempre su pelo!” he said, still pointing at the horse’s mane. I grabbed hold of the horse’s thick black hair, holding on for dear life and feeling foolish at my lack of skill.
As we continued on, I came to learn that the eldest daughter of the family I was traveling with had done a fair bit of horseback riding in her youth. She gave me a few pointers for riding, like leaning forward when going uphill and backward when going down. While these tips helped tremendously, every up and every down still felt like it might be my last. It didn’t help that the horse I had been placed on, aside from being the “largest,” was also the most skittish. I had to quickly learn the hard way that I needed to be ready at any moment for my horse to start throwing its head wildly or start galloping past the rest of the group. Whenever this would happen, one of the guides would inevitably run over and try to calm my horse down. Despite his wildness, I am still incredibly grateful to my horse for carrying me up and down literal mountains.
While the riding was rough and the day long, after overcoming the sharp learning curve of learning how to ride a horse in the mountains, I was honestly enjoying myself. After about six hours of riding, we arrived at the highest point along the route. From here, we dismounted and steeply descended by foot towards a valley, which still hid the Laguna from our sight. The jungle quickly thickened around us as we made our way down. I tried my best to focus on the path in front of me, not wanting to slip on the wet rocks or get a boot stuck in the deep mud, but it was hard not to be distracted by the plethora of plants and blooming flowers that surrounded me.
Eventually the path flattened out and we were able to remount our horses for the last 45 minutes or so of riding. We finally arrived at the shelter we would be staying at for the next two nights, which sits just on the other side of a large hill that blocks the view of the Laguna. I feebly slid off my horse, my legs forgetting how to walk for a few seconds. I was sad we had come all this way and yet still could not see the lake, but I was too tired to really care. I made my way over to the shelter and sat down on the long bench which runs along the outside. I closed my eyes and put my head between my hands. My head was beginning to pound. I just wanted to lie down and go to sleep.
While this was certainly my first real venture on horseback, it was not my first lengthy trek at high elevation. My family had a habit of spending our summers out west, camping and hiking, skipping from one national park to another. Having only just arrived in Leymebamba a few days earlier, I knew I was not yet fully acclimated, so it was likely I was suffering from a bit of altitude sickness. The effects vary widely from person to person, but generally altitude sickness can kick in at around 8,000 ft. The laguna sits at about 8,500 ft, some 1,500 ft higher than the town of Leymebamba. Not that high, but apparently high enough.
Still, when dinner time rolled around, I struggled to even touch my food. It looked delicious, especially after the long day of travel, and I knew eating it would only make me feel better. Despite this, the moment my spoon would approach my mouth I felt queasy and nauseous. I left my food untouched and walked back to my room to lay down.
The guides kindly brewed me some tea made from coca leaves, and I asked them to bring me something plain to eat. After a few minutes, they knocked on my door and entered, presenting me with the coca tea and a plate with two small pieces of bread. As they left, I began slowly sipping the tea, which was extremely hot.
I tried taking a small bit of one of the loaves of bread and immediately regretted my decision. Do not be mistaken, I love Peru and its food, but Peruvians have a habit of putting sugar in absolutely everything, including bread. As I bit into the loaf, it tasted like I was eating a piece of cake, which I can tell you is not the flavor you are looking to enjoy when feeling nauseous. Still, I didn’t have any other choice than to try and eat the bread; it was the most plain thing we had with us. I spent what seemed like ages taking one little bite of the bread at a time, until eventually I had finished one of the pieces.
Luckily, the combination of the coca tea and finally having food in my stomach bettered my situation tremendously. I eventually made my way back to the cooking area where the three guides were now chatting. The family had long since finished their dinner and gone to bed. The guides, glad to see me feeling better, kindly reheated my dinner over the fire. I managed to eat everything off my plate and when I was finished, Sinecio handed me a small tablet to take which he said would also help with the altitude. Fortunately, I felt great for the remainder of the trip.
After eating my dinner I spent a few minutes talking and joking with the guides, or at least trying to joke with them. It wasn’t always clear if they were laughing at my jokes or out of pity for my bad pronunciations and attempted use of jerga peruana. Nevertheless, I appreciated their company, but I knew I should get some rest so I made my way back to my bed. I was so excited to see the Laguna in the morning that for a moment I foolishly worried that I would not be able to sleep. Within five minutes I had fallen into one of the deepest slumbers I have ever experienced.
***
In the morning we packed light, taking only our daypacks, and made our way up a path which would lead over the small hill and down towards the Laguna. As we crested the hill, I got my first glimpse of the water. Wind was blowing across the lake from various directions, creating a patchwork of waves, and clouds were brewing in the sky just above the cliffs which towered over the opposite side of the lake. It was stunning.
The hike down to the shoreline was steep but only took about 45 minutes. We arrived at a small beach area that had a tarp covered shelter housing two small inflatable boats. The guides uncovered one of the boats, pulled it down to the shoreline, and we all piled in.
As we pushed off from the shore, I began scanning the cliffs for any signs of the Chacha-Inka mausoleums they protected. I recalled a quote from an article I had read by the Ethnohistorian Peter Lerche, which detailed the discovery of the cliffside tombs in the late 1990s: “it was the sight of what looked like a ‘little house with a window’ that led locals to a tomb site in cliffs high above the Lake of the Condors.” I continued to scan the rock face, looking for a “little house,” until my gaze fell upon a tiny patch of red high up on the cliffside. It was still too far away to make out any detail, but as we paddled further out into the lake, I kept my eye on this part of the cliff. After a few minutes, several small white and red painted structures begin to materialize. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but there they were.
Finally we reached the other side of the lake and stepped out of the boat onto a tiny spit of sand. The little beach sat at the base of a steep, densely vegetated part of the clifface. Based on what I had read and seen from the lake I knew the mausoleums sat several hundred feet up and to the right of where we were standing.
As we began to ascend, Sinecio took the lead and we left the other two guides on the beach, where they would catch trout for our dinner. The steep muddy trail quickly turned into a set of wooden ladders and we made sure to take each step cautiously. After a few hundred feet of steep hiking and climbing, the trail leveled out and we began making our way along the cliffside. We climbed one final ladder and carefully scuttled, hunched over, under a slippery rock overhang whose edge dropped nearly all the way down to the lake.
Taking a few more steps, ensuring I was well away from the slippy precipice, I glanced up. My eyes were met with the same set of red and white structures I had seen so many photos of in books and articles. They sat perched beneath a wall of rock, tucked just far enough back from the overhanging rock to avoid any rain or dripping water.
Even now, water trickled down from the overhang, and as we approached I tucked my camera under my jacket to avoid getting it wet. We scrambled the last few feet up to the structures, passing under the sprinkling of water. As I entered the rock overhang I could feel the humidity and temperature shift—the air here was dry and cool. The microclimate produced by this rock overhang is the reason so much organic material was able to be preserved here for the last 450+ years. The conditions were nearly perfect for safeguarding the khipus recovered from this site, which I was studying back at the museum. Of course, while my interest lies with the khipus, I’d be remiss if I didn’t also note that over 200 mummy bundles, along with various ceramic, textile and wooden artifacts were also recovered from these tombs. This kind of preservation in the highland Andes, let alone the highland jungle, is essentially unheard of.
After a few minutes, Sinecio sat down on a rock ledge and began pointing and explaining parts of the site. Every few sentences he would pause so I could translate and relay the information to the family. We came to find out that Sinecio was one of the original workers who took part in the recovery of the mummies and other materials from the tombs in the late 90s. I asked him how many other guides did treks to the Laguna and how many of them had also worked on the original recovery mission. He chuckled and told me there were eight main guides who did treks, but that he was the only one who was part of the recovery expedition.
Once finished with his explanations, Sinecio told us that we should start heading back for lunch. I asked him if it would be okay for me to hang back for a few minutes to take photos of the site for my dissertation. He nodded and he began leading the family back down the trail.
I spent a few minutes taking as many photos as I could from various angles, but truth be told, I also wanted a few minutes alone at the site. I put the lens cap on my camera and I turned towards the lake, peering out across the glistening water. “Tombs with a view,” I thought to myself, recalling an article with the same title, written by Adriana von Hagen and Sonia Guillén, the two archaeologists tasked with the original salvage operation. I spent the next few minutes standing in silence, taking in the mausoleums and the surrounding scenery.
I could not bring myself to leave. I had waited so long and traveled so far to get here. Still, I knew that the others would be waiting for me and I did not want Sinecio to worry. I took one last long look at the mausoleums before turning and heading back down the trail.
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