I stepped off the Sayla-to-Cotahuasi bus this time, at mid-morning again, at that same 15,000-foot pass (“Gateway” story) almost a year later – with a heavy load again and aiming for “classic Corculla” almost four thousand feet lower . But this time I knew the route and chose it despite its difficulties.

What a relief! – I relaxed into the enormous silence as the bus moved into the distance -- to have now made that “twelfth crossing” of the grand final rim of both Cotahuasi and Huanca Huanca Canyons. “Yogi/Gringo” Burro was welcome to stay with Alfredo and his family in Charcana – they even wanted to buy him. (But “I would give him to you”, I’d said – since Alfredo’s brother Edwin had kept him for four years at no cost to me.  And would I succeed in safely using him now – by myself – in these extreme canyons?). The four-day stay in Alca, using their tiny public internet and walking to the great Luicho hotspring every day, had been a perfect re-energizer after the failed attempt to cross the high country and over a 15,500-foot pass to Corculla alone (“Was that the Apus?”).

Back in Charcana a week after leaving Burro there, and finding it fine to leave him there longer -- I  barely caught one of the three weekly buses over the high passes and down to Sayla and Tauria -- a detour for me, but finally a way to get to Corculla. The Sunday afternoon bus was jammed full – nobody getting off at Charcana at all, unlike the early morning buses – and one other passenger and I finally persisted pleading long enough to be allowed to be crammed in with standing room. He got off at the high pass after dark, but with the light of an ideal near-full moon, to make the steep rocky descent that night. His load was light but large, just stopping me from asking if he wanted to carry part of mine, for a few bills, and I’d make the night walk too. Neither Sayla nor Tauria turned out to have a bed open to hospitality for a stranger – but the long row of seats at the back of the bus looked fine when that late hour arrived. The driver offered this option as he parked the bus at his house in Tauria for the 8am return journey to Cotahuasi in the morning. The trip back up the twenty or so switchbacks to Sayla and the thirty to the pass only took two hours.

I picked a route off to the side of the only actual cliffs on this rock-encrusted hillside too steep to see down, having noticed it's details from below ("Gateway"), first stopping to lighten my load and burn a few unnecessary things so as to not leave trash. The main pack was a good candidate to be thrown and kicked downhill for a dozen rolls, leaving only the little travel (“requinto”) guitar and the other most fragile things to carry. It still took almost two hours to get to the road that wound so seemingly nearby below in all those grand open spaces.

My amigo and helpful onetime-porter Clider was not at the ancient high-altitude settlement of Cotapampa and it was a bare hour or two before dark, when – blessings! – a local Quechua woman named Sabia came along. She agreed to help with part of my load down to Corculla, in view now but still far below. Now the shortcuts past the many remaining switchbacks were open to me again – though too steep to safely navigate alone with the heavy and bulky baggage. And her ears were open too, like Clider’s had been that first “Gateway” time, for my earnest attempts to clarify what I see as a few common errors about the value of “progress” and “development” compared to traditional farming and herding lives so full with natural values and the autonomy and security of plain near-organic food. As it neared dark she was glad to accept a spare headlamp of mine – though it turned out to be not quite necessary. And she was delighted with the thirty soles (ten dollars) which I felt glad to part with for the value received through her help.

Two full days of not much but resting passed before I was ready to tackle a hike to the beginning (end) of an old Inca High Road that never quite made it to Corculla  French amigo Michel and I had heard about this from a few locals during my last visit. It was said that the road led all the way to (from) Cusco and was seven or eight meters wide for the passage of large trains of llamas. Why it never actually made it to Corculla? – the theory was that the Spanish arrived just at that time.

I left early and had a good pause at the high tiny settlement of Molca, “rich” with its large flat irrigated “pampa” for crops and llamas, burros, alpacas and other natural wealth. An elder resident there pointed out the way up to the high road with directions I was a bit sorry I left approximate when the day turned into a hard, long one between 11,500 and 14,500 feet and back.  Yeah – “Eight days to Cusco” his version agreed with what others had said. “You just need a guide” he shrugged, tugging at my tongue to ask if he was the guide or knew one. I was on my way to Curahuasi and Cusco, after all – but no, not this route now, the words did not come out. Part of it was having heard that the “unseasonal” (July-August) heavy snow (at these altitudes) of a few weeks ago was not so rare, and that the really ideal times were during “Spring” -- September and October. In fact, heavy snows did return a week or so later during a stretch of several stormy days.

The major part of the climb up from Molca was through an interesting mix of rocky outcrops and dwarf trees. But the potential pleasure of the climb was destroyed by – a HUNDRED horseflies! They came steadily every minute or three with their loud buzzing, insistently looking for a place to land and suck blood. A successful swipe with the hat was enough to put one on the ground or in retreat, but swinging the hat three or four times before connecting with each one became tiresome in itself as the altitude neared 14,000 feet. As I became less murderous or angry (only critters I've killed in years! -- except fish to eat) it was clear that they are quite limited in actual abilities to harm an alert fully-clothed human. When the loud buzzing stops you know where they landed and a side-swipe with the hat was plenty to send one on its way, no need to obliterate them.

As I finally left the horseflies behind at the breezy high rocky ridge and its long views off to the north and east, the remainder of the old Inca road was not too far uphill. Impressive! – twenty-five feet wide, as people had said, just cleared space, with all the rocks that were there rolled off into rows along each side – and just as it had been for hundreds of years! After a fifteen-minute lunch I explored to where the obvious “road” dwindled off into more rocky terrain – showing why the guide would be important – but the way led obviously into high open ground directly toward Cusco and far into the distance. Sure! – what an alternative to the twisted tangle of impassable and dangerous canyons and side ravines on all sides. The topo maps I’d found in Arequipa covered a good part of the way to Cusco and showed that a route in the general northeasterly direction stayed between 14,000 and 16,000 feet, and a bit above.

Cow tracks covered the old “Inca High Road” and led off into the distance, proving that the route was still used. Maybe that was a clue about the hundred (at least!) horseflies? – they’d last had a meal when the cows passed and waited in bushes for the next candidate – me?! I chose a descent off to the other side, avoiding the steep rockslidey stuff below and aiming for the most gradual open hillside in the entire view, where I’d passed with Walter and Alex as guides (“Real Grand Canyon ‘Venture”) last December. Egod! – no horseflies this time, just, despite good solid boots, a full two hours of watching every careful step to cross the steep rock-rolling mountainside and get to the gradual part and far enough down it to find secure footing. A troop (gaggle?gang?) of curious llamas all looked with demanding steady interest as I finally got down to the gentle pasture lands. Getting all the way back to Corculla required the full day, almost to dark.

Now -- who knows tomorrow? I met the "likeminded Frenchman" Michel again yesterday as we both got back to Pauza almost the same day. His new (past year) Peruvian ladyfriend left for Corculla yesterday and we plan to make the trip tomorrow -- (a road-racing-mentality driver at the wheel of one of these modern mini-vans on these smoothly-paved, narrow roads with dropoffs on all sides could easily demonstrate another angle of "who knows tomorrow?") -- plans all seem provisional, sometimes more like dreams. Next week -- new routes and ventures to precious Quechualla and back before the road makes it there? And then back over the "grand final rim" to head through Cusco again before my Peru visa expires in early November? Maybe even biting off part or all of that "eight days to Cusco" with guide(s) and high-altitude overnights, by the old Inca route? Who knows tomorrow? -- hey, who knows what is happening right now?

Part 7: Gateway
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