3 Uses for Hiking Poles

Fingers purple from poor circulation at altitude and legs wobbly and weak from our sloth holiday season, Will and I set out, bound for "somewhere nice" in the canyon. It was my first time using hiking poles and our first overnight trip with packs. The transition from bipedal to quadrupedal was awkward but short, and I was immensely grateful for the poles as they spared my knees from suffering from the 3,000 ft descent. Sliding down the scree laden trail, we contemplated the many uses for hiking poles, including fighting condors and dogs. The former has not happened. The latter will happen. Poles are much preferable to a water bottle (our weapon of choice upon our last unfriendly encounter).


Descending to Sangalle, a tropical oasis resting on the roaring river bank of the Colca canyon, we eyed the pristine swimming pools. Our bodies were groaning under the weight of our packs, and our mouths were pasty and dry from the dry desert air and brutally powerful sunlight. Once again I debated the practicality of such a heavy hobby as photography and wondered if I should just take up knitting. I forgot about my decision to ditch photography for knitting once I slid into the clear, cold water of a swimming pool. What a delight it was to watch the light fade from the clay colored canyon walls. Grabbing my camera, I scouted out the lush property, seeking out other travelers for company and photo ops before dusk. It wasn't long before I was deep in conversation with Joaquin, an Argentinian traveler, relaying the state of agriculture in the USA and swapping travel stories. Our conversation stalled only when the light changed and I would scamper up a boulder or around a tree to take another shot.


The unspoken knowledge between us was that down was hard. Up would only be harder, and though it was only a 3,000 ft gain, it was at altitude (10,000?) there is no telling how far we walked thanks to the ENDLESS switchbacks. Andeans know how to walk about the mountains. It is part of day to day life. Aside from the packs of mules carrying gear for tourists or supplying food to these roadless towns, we encountered an older Peruvian couple on the trail who appeared to be in their late 60's. The man used a stout wooden pole for support and the woman used an aluminum broom stick. Carrying no more than a small bag (no water), they were on their way home. Home was Cosnihua, a village with no access apart from the very trail we were bemoaning our sore bodies for climbing. A walk home meant descending 3,000 feet, and then ascending the same distance. On Maine standards, this would mean that to walk home, you would have to ascend and descend Mt. Katahdin (don't forget to add altitude)!