history

The Cordillera Blanca, meaning “White Range”, is the highest tropical mountain range in the world, stretching over 180 km through northern Peru. Formed by the subduction of the Nazca Plate beneath the South American Plate, this range boasts more than 50 peaks over 5,700 m. Capped year-round with glaciers & snow, towering giants like Huascarán, Peru’s highest peak at 6,768 m, dominates the skyline. For thousands of years, these valleys have been home to Quechua-speaking people, descendants of the ancient pre-Inca cultures and later Inca Empire.

Their communities still practise traditional agriculture, herding, and weaving. Living in small villages scattered along fertile river valleys beneath the glaciers, life here remains deeply rooted in ancestral knowledge, with festivals and beliefs woven around the mountains. That said, modern day technology is now in their hands and that is kinda funny to see as they are dressed in traditionally, head down scrolling.

July 7th. Leaving the dusty roads of Canyon del Pato behind, we drove towards Caraz, weaving through small villages where life ticks by in hardworking & routines. Women working hard in the fields, children kicking balls along crumbling pavements, men leading donkeys loaded with grass bundles or firewood. It may not be the easiest place to reach, but every winding road and rugged pass is worth it.

laundry day

After four nights of wild camping, we were ready for a hot shower. Caraz is a larger town, and on its outskirts sits a farm that many other travellers had marked as a good place to stop. Advertised at 25 soles per person, I negotiated a rate of 60 soles for the four of us – roughly $23 CAD per night. The laundry had piled high and was top priority, with about four full loads to tackle. The kids pitched in, plunging and rinsing, cranking the wringer. In the warm afternoon wind, everything was dry within an hour. Meanwhile, Tim crawled under Bruce to grease the joints and tighten any bolts shaken loose on those bone-jarring roads.

laguna paron

July 8th. Woken by roosters at six, we made coffee and spent most of the morning chatting with a Swiss couple travelling north. We left camp around 1pm and began the 2.5-hour drive up to Laguna Parón – another narrow, mountain-climbing track, barely wide enough for us in places. The truck ground its way up steep switchbacks, passing the rockslide that had closed the road for the past two years but was now recently rebuilt. Check out the photo below of the steep chute we were just inches from – that’s the river way down at the bottom!

It seems all the best places require a little effort, and this turquoise gem was no exception. Cradled between mountains like a pair of hands delicately holding it for eternity, it took my breath away with every first sight and last look. That night, we camped under the stars in the freezing mountain air.

Hiking Laguna Paron to Laguna Artesoncocha

July 9th. The next morning, we set out to hike the length of the lake. As we walked the trail, the water glowed glacial blue, casting a surreal light onto the rocks. About an hour in, the trail abruptly vanished. After scouting for a safe route, we realised the only way forward was to traverse along the lake’s edge, rock-climbing style. The ledge was only about thirty feet wide; a slip would mean plunging into icy cold water. There were just enough hand and footholds if we stretched, and carefully we managed to keep our feet dry.

The trail mostly followed the shoreline, but in places we had to climb high and scramble back down. The views were spectacular, with jagged snow-capped peaks commanding our admiration. Once again, we were alone – not a soul in sight, and that’s always the best.

At the end of the lake, we climbed another forty minutes higher up to 4,300m, until we were looking down on a smaller, milky green lake below, Laguna Artesoncocha.

Along the trail, we passed a sombre memorial to a brother, sister, both just 22 years old from Arizona, and their friend, who perished here in 2006. Later reading online, I learned they had been out on a pre-climb glacier hike when they fell into a 100-foot crevasse. Roped together, all three fell in. It remains unclear whether it was a fall or if an avalanche pushed them in. They were missing for a couple of weeks before being found. Devastating for their parents to lose both children. A stark reminder of the raw power of these mountains.

After a lunch break it was time to turn back. Seven hours & 13 km under our belts, we returned to the truck hungry and happy.

That evening, we descended out of the canyon, camping with permission on a farmers property the night, the farmer was delighted to host us, he knew of Canada, asking ‘if it was very cold at the top of the world?’

July 10th. The following morning we buzzed back into Caraz to gather a few more supplies before heading out to a natural hot spring we’d pinned on iOverlander. Turns out a rockslide had destroyed the original pools, but locals had rebuilt them with rocks to trap the bubbling hot water. Not the nicest of places, garbage around, but we needed to get cleaned up before our next adventure and so we made do.

The altitude has been perfect training for our next big goal: the Santa Cruz Trek.