Vultures After Me Again

It’s about a 10,000-foot drop from Huayna Picchu (‘Young Mountain’ at Machu Picchu) to the river bottoms of the Urubamba River. If you’re lucky (relatively speaking) you might bounce off of a rocky outcropping which would end any speculation in your panicked mind of the certain outcome below. If not, the gravel and rock-strung floor of the Urubamba canyon will end any question of what happens when you slip and fall off Huayna Picchu.

Now it looks like I’m going to risk life and limb in that mountain citadel resurrecting one of my first adventure/suspense/romance novels. ‘Follow the Cobbler’ is coming back to life. It was an exhausting pursuit the first time around. I expect this second rebirth will be just as challenging.

After an absence of almost five years I’m renewing my quest to ‘find the Cobbler.’ The pursuit began in 2010 and after a year’s worth of writing it ended up languishing as an unpublished novel.  Other projects crept ahead of its editing and the book lay dormant until a yawning gap in my writing schedule pushed it back to the forefront. This time around my editor has been engaged and we’re off to the proverbial races…around the world.

There are no 911 calls to make nor any medivac helicopter that can be summoned when you’re in Machu Picchu. If you fall off the mountain you die and then the vultures will eat you. Probably long before any recovery party can trek to the site of your scattered remains.

I thought about that scenario as I pondered my bad luck at not being able to climb Huayna Picchu the only afternoon I spent in Machu Picchu. If you want to climb this mountain adjacent to the ruins, you probably need to be in Machu Picchu for at least two days. Trains only arrive around noon each day and it’s safest to start climbing the mountain early in the morning at first light.

Above all, you must return before nightfall. After dark, your chances of missing a step or walking off a narrow ledge on the edge of the mountain increase expeditiously. And then you die. It seemed the perfect spot to place my two protagonists (Brian and Katherine) in pursuit of the Cobbler while being hunted down by hunter-assassins hot on their trail.

Machu Picchu is a pre-Columbian 15^th century Inca site that was created at the height of the Inca Empire. It was built in classical Inca style with polished dry-stone walls. No mortar was used in constructing the buildings. Yet the stone walls are so tightly packed together that not even a piece of paper can be slipped between their joints.

With its discovery in 1911 by explorer Hiram Bingham, Machu Picchu made its debut as an authentic archaeological enigma. For as much as the ruins have been picked and poked and examined, the ancient city still largely remains a mystery.

You don’t have to be a mystic or a shaman to appreciate the wonders of this lost city of the Incas. At almost 8000 feet above sea level, the ruins sit high on a mountain ridge above the Urubamba Valley of the Andes Mountain range in Peru. It seemed the perfect lair for a mysterious figure such as the Cobbler.

Standing among the ruins for the first time is breathtaking. Flocks of birds soar by beneath your feet and you look down on the clouds that gather in the canyons below. The thin air can wreak havoc on those with respiratory issues or are out of shape. Few people move quickly at that altitude unless K12 is their playground or they’re mountain goats.

In this age of computer technology and high tech medicine, it’s easy to look back at those ancients and laugh at their worship of the sun and the moon as their Gods. Yet their understanding of climate change (without Doppler radar), architecture (without 3D digital imaging), construction (without concrete or mortar) and agriculture (without computer forecasting charts) is quite remarkable. Their cures (now lost over time) for some illnesses would rival the best that the Mayo Clinic has to offer. For as much as they were behind the times, they were so far ahead of us.

To get to Machu Picchu, you must first travel through Cusco. Hundreds of years ago, Cusco was the historic capital of the Inca Empire. It’s an ancient city with many of its modern buildings built upon the ruins of its predecessors. Mayan culture abounds everywhere; in the people, their clothing, their mode of transportation and certainly in the central marketplace. Their lifestyle hasn’t changed for hundreds of years.

At over 11,200 feet, movement around Cusco must come slow and easy. You’re advised to chew on coco leaves to help cope with the altitude. I woke up at 3:00 am one morning unable to breath. If panic had set in, I’m not sure how I would have survived. Fortunately, I imagined a long slow run up a mountain trail and eased my nerves back into place and then steadied my own breathing. I doubled down on my leaf count after that night.

Of course there is a counter to the benefits of coco leaves. That would be forgetting you have them in your pockets or not cleaning out your pockets thoroughly of their residue before going through customs. At the airport a fellow ahead of us forgot that lesson and was quickly surrounded by machine gun cops and angry dogs. Then he was hauled off before he could explain his mistake.

There are two sure ways to get to Machu Picchu. Either by railroad or the ancient Inca Trail. Back in the 80s, the Shining Path (local terrorists fighting the government) were robbing and killing travelers along the Inca Trial. We opted for the railroad instead.

The ancient railway is a narrow gauge rail line that was recently washed out by the flooding of the stream, which runs alongside it for miles. The old wooden rail cars are as ancient as the locomotives themselves that pull the tourists and vendors to and from the ruins.

At every stop, tiny urchins and vendors flock alongside the rail cars, peddling their wares. Most of the children just have their hands out for offerings of money or food. It’s heart breaking to see those children begging for anything you have to offer. Many were about the same age as three of my grandchildren. There but for the grace of God…

At the base of the mountain you can’t see the ruins on top. The switchback that leads up to Machu Picchu only allows for two small vehicles to pass on the road. There are only inches between them when you pass. That gives you a taste of Huayna Picchu.

Besides the terraced gardens, the numerous outbuildings and clusters of stone structures not yet categorized, tour guides like to point out the three main structures of the ruins. The Intihuatana (Hitching post of the sun), the Temple of the Sun, and the Room of the Three Windows. All three are located in the Sacred District of Machu Picchu. All three are fascinating but they’re not the heart and soul of Machu Picchu.

If you want to truly feel and understand the wonders of that place, you must wander off by yourself. Get lost among the ruins and let the grass covered stone pathways lead you from

one cluster of buildings to the next. Walk along the terraced gardens where crops used to thrive.  Imagine yourself, some 500 hundred years ago, living in that vibrant city above the clouds.

 

The ruins are the same, the pathways remain unchanged and the mountains and clouds and flocks of birds are all the same as hundreds of years before when dark-skinned ancients went about their daily business. But instead of google, the Incas had their oral history. Without GPS, they relied on trail runners. They had no hiking boots so they wore thatched sandals instead. Woolen clothes were warmer than any Patagonia jacket.

I’m told the climb up Huayna Picchu is a slow and treacherous venture. The path up the mountain departs from the Sacred Rock area. The most direct climb to the summit takes experienced climbers several hours. Rising more than 1300 feet above the Principal Plaza of Machu Picchu, the pathway goes up an almost vertical stairway of more than 130 feet and passes through small caverns carved from rocky walls. Mountain mist can make the grass and stone pathway very slippery. High winds often buffet and pummel climbers even as the hot sun above bakes them.

Now I’m going back to Machu Picchu if only in my mind. Together with Brian and Katherine, we’ll explore the ruins once again and hike up Huayna Picchu. I’ll go slow and easy, trusting on my instincts and fear of heights to keep me away from the edge of the mountain. Brian and Katherine can do all the heavy lifting. I’ll let my fingers do the rewriting. It’s going to be one heck of a climb once again.

Even the sight of those circling vultures won’t keep me away from living my long dormant fantasy of climbing above the clouds and finally getting that story out of my system and into print.

If Rocks Could Talk

My old desert haunts encompass the southwest corner of Arizona, southern New Mexico and deep forays across the Mexican border. I’ve traveled through dusty adobe towns and wiggled through narrow slot canyons that could rain down death at any moment. I’ve hidden in pueblo ruins and scanned the ridgeline for the telling silhouettes of my trackers.

So venturing into Northern Arizona wasn’t as much a trip back in time as it was a new journey of discovery. It was a mind trip as well as a real one.

Before leaving for Sedona, we traveled back in time to a mining camp east of Phoenix that lay nestled under the shadows of the Superstition Mountains. Ever since an ancient sea receded from the area, these mysterious silent sentinels of granite have been looking down from the ‘Supersticiones’ on the passage of time unfolding all around them. Long before my Camry rolled under the shadows of the Salt River Mountains, known to the Pima Indians as Sierra de Supersticiones, the ancients had left their mark and disappeared. After them came the Pima Indians and the Apaches before the miners and settlers shoved them out.

By the late 1800s, the Goldfield mining camp had become famous for the sheer quantity of gold and ore extracted from its mines. Now only the buildings were more weathered than the miners who once worked there. By the 1890’s the town boasted three saloons, a blacksmith shop, a general store and one brothel. But once the vein faulted and the grade of ore dropped, the town began its slow gradual slide into decline. The town that once claimed it would soon best Mesa and Phoenix all but disappeared.

The treacherous conditions of the mines were only offset by the hardship of travel under the constant of raiding Apache war parties. Long after the last Apache had succumbed to white pressure, I could still feel the Apaches still looking down on me even after all of these years.

It’s like filling my head with inspiration with every glance up at those rugged peaks. Leaning on the hood of my car, I was back among the Apaches once again. At least in spirit.

 

 I think I got a C minus in my one and only college Geology class. That’s too bad because even a cursory knowledge of rocks would have been helpful as I gazed up at some of God’s truly wondrous creations, Red Rock Country in and around Sedona, Arizona.

Located just two hours north of Phoenix, Sedona boasts some of God’s most colorful creations.  Long before the first human stepped foot in the Verde Valley, ancient winds began to blow rose-colored sand grains into magnificent crimson-colored mesas. Around 8,000 B.C., the Paleo-Indians came to the Sedona area via a natural land bridge that connected North America to Ancient Asia. After them came the Hohokam, the Sinaguan and finally the Anasazi known as the ‘Ancient Ones.’ The quest for gold and silver brought the first white explorers around 1583.

Among the many monikers that Sedona likes to boast about are the breath-taking mountains and the vortexes below. Sedona has painted itself as a magical place where artists of every type are inspired to create their masterpieces or struggle to find their muse. I must admit being struck by the sheer size and beauty of the mountains and buttes all around us. Much like the San Jacinto Mountains in my own backyard, the sun seems to paint these mountains with a different personality by the minute.

I can now understand the publicity shots Sedona loves to share with the world. I’m sure you’ve seen the pictures of individuals sitting on some mountain butte contemplating their navel as the sun is setting. The entire region does have a different feel about it. It’s a setting perfect for contemplation and creative thoughts.

It was only after the first roads were built into the Sedona area in the mid-twenties that growth and prosperity soon began to follow. Now there’s a new twist in attracting tourists and the curious.

Vortex hunting has become big business.

            

Some locals claim that Sedona has long been known as a spiritual power center because of vortexes of subtle energy located in the area. “The subtle energy that exists at these locations interacts with who a person is inside. It resonates with and strengthens the inner being of each person that comes within a quarter to a half mile of it” or so the literature says. There are male and female vortexes but that would require too much of a definition and certainly a suspension of belief for a non-believer such as myself.

 

After perusing books on old time Sedona, I came to the conclusion that the spiritual aspect of this place would have been seen as a strange and even silly phenomena thirty years ago. But today it sells hotel rooms and some folks seem to have bought into it yoga mat and sunsets combined. I suspect for most visitors it’s more a trip inside their head than anyplace else.

The whole New Age, spiritual, metaphysical, mind-tripping moniker got started around the mid-seventies after a journalist came out here and wrote about her spiritual experience on top of some butte. New Age hippies followed and soon there were conferences here just focusing on spiritual healing and vortexes and healing crystals. Now Sedona and most of Red Rock Country seems to have captured a large part of that mysterious market. We were told that artists, writers and seekers from all around the world flock to this Red Rock Country for the spiritual uplifting experiences there.

Not to be left out of finding my muse, I went searching for my own personal vortex… but more about that later…

There are several ruins scattered about the Sedona area. One of the most fascinating is Tuzigoot (Apache for ‘crooked water’). The Tuzigoot pueblo was built in stages on top of a long ridge rising 120 feet above the Verde Valley. It was occupied between 1100 and 1425 A.D and was once one of the largest communities in the Verde Valley. Its occupants were a people called the Sinagua. These ancient farmers quickly learned about the plants, animals, soils and climate of the Verde Valley.  This resulted in active trade and exchange of ideas that enriched all of the cultures of prehistoric Arizona.

 During my trip to Machu Picchu I was able to escape the swarming crowds that were clogging the ruins and find a quiet spot for contemplation. I found a ledge where I could dangle thousands of feet above certain death and ponder my life just as their ancients had done centuries before.

Unfortunately at Tizigoot, the hideaways were either locked up or taken over by a curio shop. Like most of the Indian trading posts during our trip, these too had genuine Indian artifacts that, I suspect, may have come all the way from China. It wasn’t quite the same as in Peru. And yet simply being among the ruins released my imagination to fly in a hundred different directions.

North of Tuzigoot and just as mysterious is the Grand Canyon. God had a field day on this one.

Unfortunately, it was raining and foggy most of the way up to the canyon. Once there, we were lucky to get in just a couple of shots before the clouds dropped down into the canyons and coated everything with a blanket of soft gray. Unlike the pristine, colorful pictures of this magnificent chapel, we got some rare and mystical photos of a Grand Canyon rarely seen by visitors. In the end it was a nice preview for a return trip we definitely must take.

I never did find my own vortex; male or female. Other than a little dust coating my hair and sand stinging my eyes, I just felt the wind swirling around my welcoming body and mind. All the talk of spiritual places and personal vortexes reminded me of some carnival atmosphere but instead of hucksters, I had to listen to hotel desk clerks and tour hawkers. A closer examination of the criteria for finding a personal vortex can be better explained by one sentence in the local literature…”If someone is at all a sensitive person, it is easy to feel the energy at these vortexes.” I rest my case.

Despite not finding my personal vortex, the trip was a great success. There was still a lot I hadn’t seen. I missed Fort Defiance, Canyon de Chelly and the Painted Desert. But not really. I wasn’t there in body but I was in mind and spirit. I could feel the hot sun blistering my neck and the ripples of heat waves dancing across the cactus-studded desert all around me. I can taste the dust and the dirt and the rank odor of soldiers in the field. I could feel the tension as my eyes scanned the horizon for tell-tales signs of danger and perused the deep shadows of the rocks all around me. The Apache are all gone by now but my imagination wasn’t about to let them get away so easy. I was trying to process the ever present fear and anxiety so I could capture it on my keyboard.

Northern Arizona provided a wonderful journey back in time and mind. Although the metaphysical spirit never grabbed me, I did feel a certain connection with the land and its past inhabitants. I didn’t have to go looking for my muse since I’ve been chasing that dream for years now. The journey was more a mind-trip than a physical one. But it was a journey that filled me with a deeper appreciation for the artistry of nature and the my own imagination running rampant over my keyboard back home.

And Then the Vultures will Eat You

It’s about a 10,000-foot drop from Huayna Picchu (Young Mountain) to the river bottoms of the Urubamba River. If you’re lucky (relatively speaking) you might bounce off of a rocky outcropping, which would end any speculation in your panicked mind of the certain outcome. If not, the gravel and rock-strung floor of the Urubamba canyon will end any question of what happens when you slip and fall off Huayna Picchu.

There is no 911 call to make nor any medivac helicopter that can be summoned when you’re in Machu Picchu. If you fall off the mountain you die and then the vultures will eat you. Probably long before any recovery party can trek to the site of your scattered remains.

I thought about that scenario as I pondered my bad luck at not being able to climb Huayna Picchu the only afternoon I spent in Machu Picchu. If you want to climb this mountain adjacent to the ruins, you probably need to be in Machu Picchu for at least two days. Trains only arrive around noon each day and it’s safest to start climbing the mountain early in the morning at first light. Above all, you must return before nightfall. After dark, your chances of missing a step or walking off a narrow ledge on the edge of the mountain increase expeditiously. And then you die.

Machu Picchu is a pre-Columbian 15^th century Inca site that was created at the height of the Inca Empire. It was built in classical Inca style with polished dry-stone walls. No mortar was used in constructing the buildings. Yet the stonewalls are so tightly packed together that not even a piece of paper can be slipped between their joints.

With its discovery in 1911 by explorer Hiram Bingham, Machu Picchu made its debut as an authentic archaeological enigma. For as much as the ruins have been picked and poked and examined, the ancient city still largely remains a mystery.

You don’t have to be a mystic or a shaman to appreciate the wonders of this lost city of the Incas. At almost 8000 feet above sea level, the ruins sit high on a mountain ridge above the Urubamba Valley of the Andes Mountain range in Peru.

Standing among the ruins for the first time is breathtaking. Flocks of birds soar by beneath your feet and you look down on the clouds that gather in the canyons below. The thin air can wreck havoc on those with respiratory issues or are out of shape. Few people move quickly at that altitude unless K12 is their playground or they’re mountain goats.

It was a wonderful confluence of several events that placed me high in the Andes back in the mid-80s. The need for a film crew to travel to Peru to do a documentary on that country, a boss who was anxious to send someone besides himself and a willing family that let me leave country and home for an adventure down south.

In some of my other blogs, I’ve waxed poetic about the Triangle Bar of my youth, my vision quest in the Amazon rain forest, meeting Snow White in Brussels and hanging out in the coffee houses of Amsterdam. Each experience represented a unique opportunity for me to meet new and wonderful people and create memories that I’ve now been able to draw upon as a writer. Machu Picchu was certainly one of those unique experiences for me. It figures prominently in my suspense thriller, “Follow the Cobbler,” which is now in its second rewrite.

In this age of computer technology and high tech medicine, it’s easy to look back at those ancients and laugh at their worship of the sun and the moon as their Gods. Yet their understanding of climate change (without Doppler radar), architecture (without 3D digital imaging), construction (without concrete or mortar) and agriculture (without computer forecasting charts) is quite remarkable. Their cures (now lost over time) for some ill-nesses would rival the best that the Mayo Clinic has to offer. For as much as they were behind the times, they were so far ahead of us.

To get to Machu Picchu, you must first travel through Cusco. Hundreds of years ago, Cusco was the historic capital of the Inca Empire. It’s an ancient city with many of its modern buildings built upon the ruins of its predecessors. Mayan culture abounds everywhere; in the people, their clothing, their mode of transportation and certainly in the central marketplace. Their lifestyle hasn’t changed for hundreds of years.

The Incas had a cure for altitude sickness too. Coco leaves. They’re illegal but everyone chews them. If cooked down to a paste and processed, you have cocaine. If left in their natural leafy state, you have a potent antidote for altitude sickness. We got ours in Cusco and I chewed them like candy until we flew back to the states. It seemed to work except one time.

At over 11,200 feet, movement around Cusco is slow and easy. I woke up, at 3:00 am one morning, unable to breath. If panic had set in, I’m not sure how I would have survived. Fortunately, I imagined a long slow run up a mountain trail and eased my nerves back into place and then steadied my own breathing. I doubled my leaf count after that night.

Of course there is a counter to the benefits of coco leaves. That would be forgetting you have them in your pockets or not cleaning out your pockets thoroughly of their residue before going through customs. A fellow ahead of us forgot that lesson and was quickly surrounded by machine gun cops and angry dogs. Then he was hauled off before he could explain his mistake.

There are two sure ways to get to Machu Picchu. Either by railroad or the ancient Inca Trail. Back in the 80s, the Shining Path (local terrorists fighting the government) were robbing and killing travelers along the Inca Trial. We opted for the railroad instead. You could take a tour bus but it takes forever and you’ll probably need to extend your visa before you even get there.

The ancient railway is a narrow gauge rail line that was recently washed out by the flooding of the stream, which runs alongside it for miles. The old wooden rail cars are as ancient as the locomotives themselves that pull the tourists and vendors to and from the ruins.

At every stop, tiny urchins and vendors flock alongside the rail cars, peddling their wares. Most of the children just have their hands out for offerings of money or food. It’s heart breaking to see those children begging for anything you have to offer. Many were about the same age as three of my grandchildren. There but for the grace of God…

Once I saw a mixed race girl, no older than five, standing on the tracks. She looked half white-half Indian. She stood out in stark contrast to her young companions and I couldn’t help but wonder what her future would be like in that predominantly Inca-Indian culture.

And there are often casualties along the way. On our train, there was one woman who was so sick from altitude sickness that she never got off the train, even at the base of the mountain. She stayed sick, doubled over in her seat and left, never seeing Machu Picchu after all.

At the base of the mountain you can’t see the ruins on top. The switchback that leads up to Machu Picchu only allows for two small vehicles to pass on the road. There are only inches between them when you pass. That gives you a taste of Huayna Picchu.

The secret of really understanding Machu Picchu is to stay at the tourist hotel built into the side of the mountain up there. That way, you have two days to explore the ruins and attempt Huayna Picchu.

 

 

Besides the terraced gardens, the numerous outbuildings and clusters of stone structures not yet categorized, tour guides like to point out the three main structures of the ruins. The Intihuatana (Hitching post of the sun), the Temple of the Sun, and the Room of the Three Windows. All three are located in the Sacred District of Machu Picchu. All three are fascinating but they’re not the heart and soul of Machu Picchu.

If you want to truly feel and understand the wonders of that place, you must wander off by yourself. Get lost among the ruins and let the grass covered stone pathways lead you

from one cluster of buildings to the next. Walk along the terraced gardens where crops used to thrive.  Imagine yourself, some 500 hundred years ago, living in that vibrant city above the clouds.

The ruins are the same, the pathways remain unchanged and the mountains and clouds and flocks of birds are all the same as hundreds of years before when dark-skinned ancients went about their daily business.

But instead of google, the Incas had their oral history. Without GPS, they relied on trail runners. They had no hiking boots so they wore thatched sandals instead. Woolen clothes were warmer than any Patagonia jacket. But coco leaves were still coco leaves.

I’m told the climb up Huayna Picchu is a slow and treacherous venture. The path up the mountain departs from the Sacred Rock area. The most direct climb to the summit takes experienced climbers several hours. Rising more than 1300 feet above the Principal Plaza of Machu Picchu, the pathway goes up an almost vertical stairway of more than 130 feet and passes through small caverns carved from rocky walls. Mountain mist can make the grass and stone pathway very slippery. High winds often buffet and pummel climbers even as the hot sun above bakes them.

If I ever get back to Machu Picchu, I intend to stay for two days. One to explore the ruins again and the second to hike up Huayna Picchu. I’ll go slow and easy, trusting on my instincts and fear of heights to keep me away from the edge of the mountain.

Even the sight of those circling vultures won’t keep me away from living my long dormant fantasy of climbing above the clouds.