Journey into the Andes

By CARLTON WARD JR.

© St. Petersburg Times, published March 5, 2000

Tracing the footsteps of the "People of the Clouds,'' trekkers ascend a sacred mountain, enveloped by the mysteries of a lost civilization.

Our turboprop airplane flies north from Lima, taking us across the Peruvian Andes, the longest mountain range in the world. As the northern Andes pass below us, the rugged landscape changes from dry, brown mountains to white-capped peaks that reach 22,000 feet above sea level, to shorter, forested mountains that descend toward the Amazon jungle.

The seemingly impassible terrain hints at the isolation of our destination.

We land in Chachapoyas, which bears significant Spanish influence from the mid-1500s. Translated to "People of the Clouds," Chachapoyas is also the name of the empire that thrived in the region from 800 A.D. until the Incas invaded in 1475.

An arriero and his horse prepare for the expedition.

Covering the Central Cordillera of the Andes, the Chachapoyan territory is bounded by mighty rivers, deep valleys, alpine peaks and the Amazon jungle.

There was no road from the developed west until the 1960s; the overland route to the outside world still takes 20 hours, in the dry season.

Our group of 21 includes archaeologists, writers, photographers and adventurers; 12 are from Florida. We hope to become the first tourists ever to reach the summit of Mount Shubet -- at more than 12,000 feet, the tallest peak in the Amazonas region -- and to explore Chachapoyan ruins en route. A place of spiritual importance to the Chachapoyans, the summit of Shubet was reportedly where their shamans went to harvest magical herbs.

Trek into the unexpected

After a 6:30 a.m. breakfast, we gather in a small field and are joined by 40 horses and several local horsemen, arrieros in Spanish. I can feel the excitement as we prepare our equipment. The arrieros secure duffel bags of gear and supplies to the horses, which will bring up the rear of the caravan. Although skies are blue, most of the extra clothing is wrapped in trash bags to repel the expected moisture of the cloud forest.

Part of our group sets out on foot, and the rest of us follow on horseback. As small as North American ponies, these full-grown horses seem burdened by their cargo. But by a few steps down the trail, they show themselves to be sure-footed.

We follow the course of the Utcubamba River for about a mile and then turn uphill. After climbing gradually past mud-brick houses and plowed pastures for a few hours, we stop for lunch at the village of Mangalapa.

Here, fields crawl up the surrounding mountainsides like stadium steps, but at such severe angles that the crops seem to defy gravity. Conords (local parrots) scream from the sky, mixing with the squawk of chickens in the village. Tropical sun keeps the air comfortably warm, even at our altitude of 8,500 feet.

Our journey that afternoon is all uphill. One hour after lunch, the agricultural land is behind us and we enter forested terrain on little-used trails. Arrieros clear overgrown passages with machetes, and narrow tracks lead us single-file past the tree line. Dense green foliage releases us to pale open grassland, and as we climb higher, the sun drops lower and the temperature falls sharply. Although we traverse ridge lines, cold fog leaves the distant scenery to the imagination.

The caravan becomes strung out in three groups over a mile or more. Several riders and two Peruvian guides lead, a cluster of hikers and riders follow in the middle, and a few others with the pack horses are last.

Daylight fades and darkness settles over the tortuous terrain. Having passed the turnoff to a predetermined campsite, the first group is forced to stop for the night on inhospitable ground. At more than 11,000 feet, there is no flat land or firewood to be found.

Meanwhile, the middle group of trekkers pauses to wait for the people below. Our horses exchange what sound like screams. It is imperative that the whole group reunifies, especially because the pack horses to the rear carry everyone's warm clothes and camping supplies.

In the darkness, we are forced to walk our horses through chest-deep erosion channels; the wet grass soaks us to the skin. Night wind drives the chill of near-freezing temperatures to our bones.

Vision is limited to about 10 feet. Composure turns to chaos for many: People are shouting, alternately in English and Spanish, "We're over here!" Some shine flashlights and pop camera strobes to signal our location.

A scout is sent ahead to find the first group. As the middle group waits, cold starts to overtake our bodies.

Finally, voices from below respond to our calls, and ghostly halos of distant flashlights in the fog drift closer. When the horse carrying my warm clothes arrives, I grab my jacket and pull it over my wet shirt. My icy fingers can hardly grasp the jacket zipper.

The scout sent ahead returns and says we must move on to join the first group, above us. After a few hundred yards of deliberate steps and deep breaths in the dark, we regroup. A few separated family members embrace and cry, while others huddle together in a ditch, sheltered by an umbrella.

Because camp is confined to a small pinnacle of grass and mud, people erect their tents wherever they can find ground flat enough to hold them. I set my tent lengthwise on a downhill ridge. To my right is a 3-foot drop into mud. To my left, the ground sweeps steeply out of sight.

We forgo dinner because we cannot make a fire, and people slide into their tents for the night. I sleep lightly, focusing my weight toward the lesser of the two drop-offs that flank me. I can hear horses munching on the grass outside while my stomach turns, wishing I had had more than a Power Bar to eat.

Trekking to base camp

Morning reveals our surroundings: an expansive landscape outside the range of our flashlights the night before. Fog still hangs low, and the erosion-scarred hills run toward this white horizon. The wild setting is a radical change from our departure site.

Saggy eyes and quiet voices are symptoms of poor sleep, and the trek's leaders offer the option of turning back. No one takes them up on it.

We spend the next three days crossing valleys and cresting mountains en route to Mount Shubet. After descending from the high grassland, our altitude sinks as low as 5,500 feet and stays below the 8,000-foot tree line. Temperatures are warmer and the clouds no longer hide the sky completely.

We stay one night in the small town of Chuylon, which is a two-day journey from the closest market. Villagers gather to watch our alien performance as we build our own village of brightly colored nylon, with reds, greens, purples, oranges and yellows. I speak to an 11-year-old boy named Nazer who has never seen a person with white skin.

On the fourth day of the expedition, we ascend to the base of Mount Shubet. En route, we stop to explore the ruins of Talapi, a collection of 300 to 500 Chachapoyan shunderhuasi, or roundhouses. These are strung across a forested ridge at an altitude of about 8,000 feet. Deforestation by farmers threatens Talapi's integrity. The contrast of clear-cut fields encroaching on the remaining virgin cloud forest paints a somber picture, especially when farmers use stones from the ruins to build their fences and walls.

Lack of funding and a relentless wet season have prevented archaeologists from digging here. We wander for a couple of hours among ruins of the once-bustling city. Cutting our way through the entrances of overgrown shunderhuasi with a machete adds to the excitement of our investigations. It makes me think that we could be the first people to enter the buildings since the Chachapoyans vanished.

We examine a grinding stone in the center of one shunderhuasi that would have been used to prepare food. I imagine the people who called this place home: They are gathered in family units by their homes and are working the adjacent fields. But what did they really look like, and why did they vanish?

By noon, we resume the uphill trek toward Mount Shubet. Our single-track trail winds across the ridge in a series of switchbacks. We climb above the cloud forest into exposed, rocky grassland. The trails are cut out of rock and, in the wet season, they would flow like rivers. The horses handle the rugged terrain with the agility of mountain goats.

With each step, the sheer face of Shubet grows larger on the horizon.

Our approach from the west brings us toward the base of a giant monolith and then around its southern side. The 500-foot-tall vertical walls are ominous, but we set up camp in their shadow. At 11,500 feet, the stars seem close and the thin, dry air nips exposed skin, biting harder as daylight fades. The campfire and a hot meal buffer the cold, but we all retreat to our tents before 8:30.

The summit

Two Orlando men on the expedition gaze from Mount Shubet across miles of valleys and other mountains.

Sunrise paints the eastern walls of Shubet deep orange. But while the landscape glows with tropical warmth, morning temperatures are near freezing. Trekkers emerge from their tents wearing heavy jackets, hoods and gloves. The mercury rises quickly, however, and by the time we have eaten skillet-fried pancakes and have packed up camp, the conditions are perfect for our ascent.

A few of us hike for the base, but the majority approach on horseback. We carry ropes and mountaineering equipment but find an ascent route that does not demand them. Although our pace is moderated by the oxygen-poor air, we are on top of the level summit before 9 a.m.

Warm sun, blue sky and limitless visibility welcome us. Higher than 12,500 feet, we are able to look out for miles over the endless peaks and valleys below us. I can imagine why this place was significant to the Chachapoyan people: Shubet stands as a sentinel over their domain.

On a lower level to the south are ruins of seven shunderhuasi, each about 20 feet in diameter. The other structures we find are on the northwest corner of the plateau, occupying the highest point. An ushnu, or Chachapoya stone ceremonial platform, spreads about 80 feet by 80 feet and rises 4 to 5 feet high. Atop the ushnu stand the remnants of a tower: Any watchman posted here could spot an intruder miles away.

In addition to the ruins, we discover a carving in the rock, on the northwest edge of the high plateau. Spiral patterns extend into a zigzagged tail, resembling a snake coiled in the striking position. It could represent machacuay, the snake known to be a Chachapoya religious symbol. My compass indicates the tail points due north.

The carving atop Mount Shubet could represent the snake known to be a Chachapoyan religious symbol.

Such clues from the past add to the adventure of being on the summit. But Shubet's archaeology also provokes many questions: Who lived here? How did they survive in an environment seeming to lack food and water? Why such a large ceremonial platform, capable of supporting huge numbers of people, when the seven shunderhuasi would have limited residents to just a few?

Perhaps priests or warriors resided year-round, with rations supplied from distant fields, and great numbers of Chachapoyans converged for religious ceremonies.

But why did they come? Research places their symbol of the snake in direct relationship to political power and the world of their ancestors. It is possible that Shubet was a magical place thought central to the Chachapoya creation.

When we descend from the peak later that morning, we also leave above the clouds the truth about Shubet's meaning. But tracing the footsteps of the Chachapoyas has woven a new perspective into our own lives, wrapping us in the power of the land and the mystery of a long-gone people.

-- Carlton Ward Jr. lives in Belleair Bluffs.

IF YOU GO

In addition to Mount Shubet, the Chachapoyan archaeology consists of several mountaintop fortresses and more than 100 known settlements, typified by the shunderhuasi, a circular stone house with small brick construction. The grandeur and sophistication of Chachapoyan structures, such as the Kuelap Fortress, are said to rival any in the New World. With 50-foot walls spanning about six-tenths of a mile across a mountain ridge, the citadel contains 420 roundhouses that supported 4,000 Chachapoyans. Myriad other ruins cover the region. Most have not been studied

Getting there: This trip is operated by Amazonia Expeditions of Tampa and Iquitos. The company offers discounted fares to Lima aboard American Airlines. The trip will be offered June 23-July 1, for $2,695, which includes air fare within Peru, plus all meals and guide services.

The trip to the Chachapoyas region was co-led by Dr. Peter Lerche, a German ethnologist who has been living in the area for 16 years. He is considered the world's leading expert on Chachapoyan archaeology.

For information: Amazonia Expeditions offers other trips throughout Peru. For information or reservations, contact Amazonia at (813) 907-8475 or (800) 262-9669; the Web site is http://www.perujungle.com; e-mail to Paul.Beaver@gte.net.

Reference books for the Chachapoyas trip include Keith Muscutt's Warriors of the Clouds: A Lost Civilization in the Upper Amazon of Peru, and Alan Murphy's Footprint Peru Handbook, second edition.

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