July 5th. Leaving Mollepata behind, the road soon transformed into a series of tight switchbacks once paved. Now half buried under rubble from frequent landslides. We could hardly believe our eyes. Looking ahead, the route snaked its way down our side of the canyon and the same up the other side in a dizzying amount of hairpins that has been carved straight into the mountain, like something out of a National Geographic magazine!

My heart was racing a little, not sure if it was from excitement or anticipation. Steering Bruce past rockfall debris, tight corners we also drove around a sinking tarmac section marked only by a few white painted stones, marked as a vague warning. Around and down, each hairpin lead to another, each with a sheer drop. Spiralling deeper into the canyon until reaching the bottom and crossing a narrow bridge.

Now for the climb, up we go, eyes locked forward as the pavement vanished and turned to rough, dusty dirt. The track twisted and climbed higher with every turn. Thankfully the ‘road’ on this side was wide enough in places for on coming vehicles to pass.

We’re on the edge of the Cordillera Blanca, we can see snow capped peaks in the distance. Our heads were on a swivel, trying to take it all in, it’s breathtaking. Reaching the summit we entered a small, isolated town. Taking some time to shake off the adrenaline we had an Ice cream and walked around the pretty square before pushing on as the sun was starting to dip.

No room for error

Squeezing through the village streets we followed google maps directions. Again the road turned to dirt as we descended past farmlands into a grey stone expanse. The backside was more treacherous than the front. We followed along behind a couple of trucks bigger and heavier than Bruce. Stopping to watch their line as they crept across the loose scree slope of a colossal rock slide. Looking up we could see half the mountainside had come crashing down. Bruce slipped a little & the camper box rocked hard. Praying momentum wouldn’t tip us over the edge. There really was no room for error.

Eventually, we found a small roadside pull-out for the night, safely clear of any looming rocks above. As the sun set over the canyon, we washed down the day’s rush with a stiff gin and tonic and spectacular views.

talabacha canyon

July 6th. Somehow we managed a good night sleep until cars started to pass by a little before first light. We could hear them slowly creep by, no doubt curious as to who we were.

Rolling on by 9am the sun was warm was lovely. Along the road we watched the path in front of us narrow to little more than a ledge that traversed far in front of us before dropping below to the canyon floor.

The Talabacha Canyon is a dramatic, lesser-known gorge that’s a favourite among Overlander’s. Slicing deep through the mountains, sheer rock walls tower steeply above the narrow winding road. It’s raw, remote, hot and dusty. Sparse vegetation clings to the cliff face, while the river snakes along the canyon floor in shades of beige and brown.

The road itself is notorious a hair-raising single lane cut into rock, at times barely wide enough for a single vehicle. Crumbling edges and blind corners demand our full attention. Guardrails are minimal and drivers rip by us like they are on a six lane highway. No music today, full concentration is required. I’m leaning out of the window calling out the amount of inches we have to spare, while Tim keeps the box from being torn open on his side. Six inches, eight, four inches I call. There are several tense moments as sometimes I take too long to call out as I try to calibrate how many inches on the front wheel that could be less that’s what’s on the back wheel!

We descend and climb again until the canyon opens to breathtaking views of the surrounding Andean foothills and distant peaks. Rockfalls and landslides are constantly reshaping the river as boulders bigger than the truck tumble in. Not so many potholes, a little washboard and lots of WOW factor. The amount of roadside crosses and memorials are the real reminder that not everyone makes it.   Bruce is running well and Tim is an excellent driver.  

canyon del pato

Turning South into ‘Duck Canyon’, we’re now on a road extremely narrow and laced with more than 20 unlit, rough cut tunnels carved through solid rock. Our headlights catching walls and water dripping ceilings. Emerging, the view would explode into vistas of towering, jagged ridge lines. Crazy truck drivers blast their horns in warning for oncoming drivers to get out of their way. We’d hold our breath, squeeze as close to the edge as possible, as they roared past, brushing within inches of us, diesel & dust swirling in their wake.

It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once – the beauty, the majesty, and the sheer thrill of surviving each kilometre. The cliffs, the tunnels, the roaring rivers are unlike anywhere we have ever experienced.  

Then suddenly we out, the road is double wide, that was it! We made it!!

Exhausted & elated we survived 2 long days of the most spectacular scenery so far. Climbing once more towards a village we found a perfect spot to camp for the night, tucked in behind an adobe brick wall, out of sight.  What a drive!   It demanded everything from us. An unforgettable glimpse into the wild heart of Peru.