Photo: AP photojournalist Rodrigo Abd

"Baja!" I yelled -- a bit weakly, I thought later, and from the back of the bus, as we were already passing the road fork. I'd only had a few hours sleep after preparing for the 4am bus and was not alert as two male voices chimed right up from the front -- "No, don't get off here" and the bus lady joined in -- "it's a lot closer from up ahead". We were already past the junction and I thought "if I don't try it I won't know whether it's a good shortcut or not."

Two miles later the bus lady got off with me to point out the way -- steeply down -- and there was no actual trail or any fresh tracks. But, oh well, "the road is right down there now" -- in obvious view, of course, like the miles of wide-open highland below this 15,000 foot pass in all directions. Just -- a mountaineer's nightmare -- strewn and imbedded with rocks of all sizes (cliffs maybe?) -- and too steep to see down! You pick a path up in such places, and remember its details later to go down.

"Is it heavy?" -- a meek voice now from inside as my main pack was lowered to me from the roof rack, maybe the same loud and decisive speaker of a few minutes ago? Yeah, guess what? And how many other bundles does he have? -- the day pack with guitar, underarm bag, belt pack, one more for the top of the head maybe? And how old is he, with no hurry, all by himself on his fourth trip over this remote highland of that great final ridge between two of the grand "deepest in the world" canyons of south Peru?

The bus chugged over the other side, back into Arequipa province and down to Sayla and Tauria, and the staggering, enormous view to the Huanca Huanca side spoke up with its impasssive profound silence. It was a comfort as well as a bit threatening as I packed everything into one balanced enormous load to carry by the head-strap. It already seemed like some emblematic trip ahead. It was September 2014, and I was on my way to Argentina for the first time -- ended up being Chile with the payment by credit-card-only for an Argentina visit -- if I made it through here! What would a broken bone mean here today? A long day first, with the truck that had been at the ore-loading station coming down "some time" -- but then very likely nobody else until and through a very freezing-cold night.

Those d#so!b!-type thoughts stirred another right away each of several times -- who's the fool in these clothes who listened to them?! The phrase "those who don't know and don't know they don't know" kept coming to my mind to settle it before I banished each spell of useless THINKING in favor of LOOKING and STEPPING with careful balance. It developed to include "those who know and don't know they know" -- ME, unsure of what I knew full well was a plenty-good day's plan and route. I'd been ready to go the extra mile or two down those many switchbacks off to the right now, rough and rocky but on a road!

Oh and what's that coming down that road off to the right now? -- the truck whose driver said it would be later in the day -- my backup plan if I didn't make it far enough! No I am not hurrying to catch it now. I yelled and waved uselessly. The truck never slowed as it wound out of the driver's direct view of me, down and away beyond the last bend. The term "gateway" occurred to me then. Every time across this highland had been different and difficult. Surely this would "take the cake"? But there ain't no cake in Corculla ...

There were a few rocks rolling underfoot but no stumbling as I made it to the road after two hours, already tired. After a break and another hour, around that last bend, the truck came into view, stopped for the day it turned out, at the tiny old village of Cotapampa. Here I met Clider and his wife and kids for the first time, herders of a hundred(?) llamas at this ancient high homestead of many houses and still a few families who cling to the traditional life at 4200 meters (13,700 feet). Conversation with Clider (rhymes with leader) was easy and a blessing from the start. My energy expanded rapidly with the bowl of his wife's soup and his open ears for my stories of the canyon -- which easily expanded into life knowledge and theories I rarely get the chance to share. Clider became leader too as he offered to help with taking my load down to Corculla, after my offer of money, and he knew the shortcuts past the dozens of switchbacks. The earlier categories already began to expand to include the blessed open ears and minds of "those who don't know and know they don't know". Of course! -- the simply ignorant want to learn! It's not that they will believe what they're told -- they shouldn't! -- and any thinking person needs to put their own truth together for themselves over the course of time. We only see with our own eyes, never with another's except as a clue which way to look. But how different from those who don't know and are told, and believe -- that they better not know!

Maybe I overpaid Clider for what turned out to be a mere hour and a half to cover two thousand vertical feet downhill. But what a great relief!

How valuable this "I don't know" is again and again, about most "everything" at some point, in fact. But -- just don't let yourself be controlled by those who know less!

Latest installment of the story of my travels in Peru, Bolivia and... I've only written up the first two of eight crossings now. Every one has been memorable with details of its own -- and now I'm heading (at relaxed pace?) for numbers nine and next ... This one might stand on its own? I'd like to work up the whole series just because "it is there!"  

Part 6: Cotahuasi Canyon Blues
Part 5: Was That The Apus?
Part 4: Real Grand Canyon Venture
Part 3: The Other Side of that Grand Final Rim
Part 2: Classic Corculla, Long Lost Lands
Part 1: Condors Taking Wing from a Great Divide