What a treat we had a few days after Christmas in Sucre. Antero's friend and colleague, Saul, has a great Toyota SUV and was willing to join us (and thereby, transport us) for a hike to the mountains of Chataquila. The day was sunny with huge cottony cumulus clouds, but not too hot with the perfect amount of breeze.
Antero had hauled me to Chataquila once before, on the back of his Yamaha 180 cc dirt bike. We had come to climb a pronounced promentory on the skyline called El Dedo (The Finger). As I recall we made it up about one pitch before retreating due to marginal protection and shaky nerves. All told, the hardest part of that day was holding onto Antero for dear life on the back of that motorcycle *NOT* made for two.
This day our objective was a two mile walk across the ridges of Chataquila, and then descending to an Inca ruin replete with a cave and cave paintings. The terrain along the ridge is otherworldly with rock formations that look they were made of splashing lava that was frozen in mid-slosh.
I was mystified as to why I hadn't spent more time at this place when I lived in Sucre in 1995. I guess for starters I didn't have a car or motorcycle (the ridge is an hour drive from Sucre). Antero also reminded me that I was busy playing music with a bunch of groups back then and didn't have a lot of spare time. Too bad really, because I think the beauty of this place trumps the quality of any of the music I was making in those days.
I estimate a person could spend a solid month camped on the slopes of Chataquila and climb something new every day. The rock appears to be relatively young sandstone for the most part, but it is pretty solid. I couldn't help but boulder a bit on a slightly overhanging face filled with ledges and pockets. Saul's son and nephew clambered up the back of the pillar for a great view from their perch.
Even though Chataquila is a very dry place, there were some beautiful water loving plants all around. The Inca, satisfying their predisposition for lofty locations with unlikely springs had done it again. Here we were walking along the crest of a ridge, the last place you might expect to find water, but there it was, trickling in braided channels here and there, feeding the thirsty ferns, lupine and mystery plant seen below.
We had to descend around 700 feet from the ridge to access the large cave and its paintings. They were different than anything I have seen in Peru, and in this setting their significance was amplified. As I have said previously, Sucre is a hard place to get to. It's a bit like Maine in that way. And for this same reason it's an easier place to find solitude. On this glorious hike we did not see another soul the entire day, except Paulo, the Quechua guard of the site.
We sat inside the mouth of the cave and gobbled up two roast chickens, boiled potatoes and llaqwa (Andean hot sauce) in the shade. There were serene pools in the spring fed streams on either side of the cave. I could easily imagine sleeping in the comfortable shelter of the opening, big enough for tens of people to lie here. Once again all the important Inca criteria were met: shelter, water, food (there are spring-fed fields nearby), and a defensive perch with a commanding view of the valley below.
The walk was a tad arduous for some of the members of our party, but nobody faltered. Poor Angie, Antero's niece, took a digger just 30 minutes into the walk. With a few bruises and scrapes she marched on, bravely wiping the tears from her cheeks. Even though I have hiked a lot and seen many places, this is a day I won't soon forget. If I ever get back to Sucre I will find a way to come back to Chataquila. (Saul, estas escuchando...?).
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