Quillatoa Friday, 5th to Sunday, 7th April 2007

Having returned from Bellavista on Monday, I was looking forward to a few days relaxing around Quito, rather as I had been a week ago. The two Joe’s from OLA Adventures were gearing up for a trip to Quillatoa, which is a massive crater lake some 100km south of Quito. The itinerary was well advertised see, (http://ola-adventures.com/category/trip-itineraries/), and was exciting quite a bit of interest. As it became necessary to use the much larger 14-seater Mercedes Unimog, there was also going to be space for me. How could I refuse? Even though this meant that I had to pack for the Galapagos 5 days before I travelled.

It didn’t look as though I was going to have enough time this trip to do Cotopaxi, after all. After next week and the Galapagos I would lose my altitude acclimatisation, so I decided to get a bit of high Andean trekking while the blood was suitably thinner.

The drive south on the Pan-American cuts for miles through the spectacular Valley of the Volcanoes, scenes of colonial Spanish-Inca battles with stories of untraced hoards of Inca gold.

Should you need convincing of the case of global warming, you only have to compare the current diminutive snow line on Cotopaxi (5897m), with that recorded on all the picture postcards. Local hill people repeatedly refer to the retreating glaciers.

After a four hour trip (inclusive of stops) we arrived at the Andean market town of Sigchos, see photo, (
>Sigchos market) where we stop for a browse round the thriving market, mostly local produce and meats.

`The Hostel Cloud Forest’ at Chugchilan is a short 23km distant, but it will take the best part of an hour. The Unimog has already started to prove its’ worth. The roads have been variously rock, gravel. shifting lava sand, narrow, precipitous and climbing quickly to 3500m. However, how do you get these views without such pain? , see photo,

We make a short diversion to avoid a recently washed out bridge. The locals wave us on with great enthusiasm. The diversion is just about possible. At a `T’-juction of the dirt road, we have to turn left with a 200m precipice to our right - only there is a near one-metre crater set to capture the front offside wheel. English Joe eases the ‘Mog forward. The giant wheel drops into the crater and smartly grabs its way out. You have to admire German miliitary spec vehicles.

On the high Paramo we stop for a facilities break. The air is crystal. Even at this height, the lava-ash earth is being tilled by the women of the local villages.

A number of the passengers have taken to riding on the roof, see photo, (Up on the Roof - 1)
This is definitely not for the faint hearted, as the ‘Mog is a good 5m. high. Fortunately, there are so many eager participants that I am denied this coveted opportunity. So be it!

We arrive at Chugchilan mid-afternoon after an hour’s lurch along the washed out track. We are immediately impressed with the busy efficiency of the hostel’s owners. Beds are mainly in dormitory style rooms with en-suite shower, etc. The big plus is the very cosy bar, dining room, lounge that has a free-standing wood burner, good for wet boots and other gear.

Not to waste any time, we venture out, via the local graveyard to the surrounding plateau, see photo, (Deep cut plateau - Rio Toachi)
This is rather like wet moorland, but has been tilled and cultivated in part. We walk to the edge of the spectacular Rio Toachi canyon and circumnavigate the edge for a couple of km, returning, in the rain, before nightfall,

Saturday is the big day. I walk into the village at 6-00a.m., to witness preparations for the Easter fiesta. Stalls are being set up in the village street,
,shops opened, and in the back lanes on the small farms, freshly slaughtered pigs are now beimng butchered by whole families, see photo, (Pork Butcher). The responsibility seems to fall to the eldest son who is justly proud of his strong butchers forearm. As I return to the hostel, lines of villagers are carrying pork joints shoulder high to their stalls.

Breakfast, and there are three options. Firstly, a horse trek to the mountain village of Quillatoa and return in the Unimog; secondly, a one hour drive to Quillatoa. then a steep hike down to the blue green 3km diameter volcano lake, followed by kayaking on the lake, then those of less heart can hire a mule for the climb out of the crater ($5-00) with lunch in Quillatoa village. The third option is drive to Quillatoa, then trek back to Chugchilan. I choose this alternative 10km trek back to the hostel.

Led by our diminutive guide, Maria, from Chugchilan, we climb away from Quillatoa around the rim of the crater for about 2 km. , see photo, (Quillatoa crater rim). The route is steadily up and down giving alternate views of Laguna Quillatoa, see photo, (Laguna Quillatoa)
and the mountains across the Toachi canyon. We climb to just short of 4,000m., and before turning down the slopes we can see the rest of the party, diminutive yellow and red kayaks near the opposite crater shore.

It is hot, sticky and exhiliarating. We can see and see and see for miles.

Maria is a mine of information. She points out plants and flowers every few steps. We are given herbs to smell, to taste and to wonder at the ills that can be cured by three-day infusions. Essential ingredients for soups, for stews and marinades, many unfamiliar to European ears.

Maria sets a consistent demanding pace in her snug fitting pumps - surely not the footwear for mountain slopes? She pushes on across a 45 degree fine sand incline, see photo, (Lavasand slope, Quillatoa). As each of us follows, the crater slope cascades from under our feet, the following walker having to plot a different traverse in the yielding sand. We pause for water and take in the distant twin Volcan Lliniza and Cotapaxi in the clouds. Looking to the North-east the first tongues of mist from the western Andean cloud forest are fingering their way over the passes above Chugchilan, see photo, (Trekking from the lake)
.

We drop down from the crater rim through scree slopes but are soon on the soft grass of the highest cultivations. Andean indigenous workers start to appear. Little family groups, one leading a pig on a rope, a young boy tending sheep in a lane, others with great bundles of faggots, babes slung over their backs, mattocks clung in nut-brown hands, everyone of them big white grins and smiling faces from under jaunty trilbys. Maria is given and pays respects in turn. Then she shares the woes and fortunes of some of those we pass.

At the edge of a cliff we enter a narrow cleft, one boot wide. As we slide down we bang one hip after another on the sheer damp sides. A stream has cut a 10m deep fissure in the ash. After 300m it opens out to the edge of the cliff where we zig-zag and scramble downwards, until we reach a log bridge. We traverse the cliff across the pliant timbers, quickly. If the bridge failed there would be a 500m drop to the canyon below. Cutting horizontally across the face we encounter another wide ash slope. The gathering mist clouds race up the banks around us, threatening rain. An urgency creeps into Maria’s voice. She doesn’t want to be caught on these treacherous ash slopes in the rain. We immediately recognise her concern and variously scramble across the sand.

Maria hurries on and we are overtaken by a colourful rider, red saddle blankets flashing, footsure chestnut horse skirting around and ahead of us down the grassy slopes. Wonderful, see photo, (Vaquero, and incoming clouds).

We stop for lunch. We sit on a grassy knoll overlooking the first building, a run down hacienda. The cocks crow, and the smell of pork meat cooking, rises.

We are now on the flat valley floor and pass through the village of Guayama with its church, school and compulsory basketball court.

A steady climb takes us over and into the Rio Sihui canyon which is crossed via a concrete bridge. This lower sheltered valley is filled with eucalyptus trees, introduced throughout the Andes following the clearances of the previous cloud forest.

We cross another log bridge and the track winds upward. We can only be less than 1km from the unseen Chugchilan. For my part, I’m now finding this tougher going. We are at about 3,000m and climbing back to 3600. Despite having trekked many hundreds of miles when I was younger, I am carrying too much weight in my rucsac and I am low on glucose. A banana gives me a boost after 10 minutes. I am having to rest frequently as we climb the final few hundred metres, my throat dry and rasping.

Maria takes my pack, her Andean physiology untroubled. I am grateful. We climb through the final ravine, where that morning I had seen pigs butchered for the weekend’s fiesta, the cobbled streets guiding us to the cosy hostel.

Sunday - Fortunately, yesterdays exertions allowed me to sleep through the all-night festivities emanating from the nearby community hall. By all accounts, the village fiesta went on until 5 a.m. fuelled by the persistent cuban rhythms of the invited dance band.

Todays options were another equally demanding trek to the higher cheese factory, or to the same destination on horseback. I chose the latter, partly because of yesterdays exertions, but also because of the glamour of a horse ride. So, I gathered with others outside the hostel to choose our horse. Mine turned out to be a wilful filly, Linda. She always wanted to be out front and then insisted on walking on the extreme edge of the track. She would freqently walk atop the kerbside ridge overlooking the slopes, see photo, (The Cheese factory trek, horse on the edge). I was confident of her ability and concluded that she was simply offering the most breathtaking views possible. havingh no option, I go with the flow. This was my first venture on horseback - thankfully in a Western saddle.

After about an hours climb, mostly through damp clouds, we arrived at the cheese factory which had originally been set up by a group of Swiss nuns some 150 years earleir. This unique for Ecuador cheese, replicating a tangy Emmental, beata the socks off the tasteless Mozzarella consumed by 95% of the populace. I bought more than 2 kilos for a modest 14 dollars. Very much VFM.

Slinging my rucsac with the cheese around the pommel, we trekked methodically through the rain back to the hostel. Maria, our guide from Saturday assisted the group. She trotted back and forth, encouraging, goading, whipping, all the time with her 3-month baby slung in a sheet across her back, Trek to the Cheese factory). Only dismounting to feed the infant while the owner led her horse, then re-mounting, plus Nino for the rest of the decent. Seeing how the other half lives certainly puts your own life into perspective.

Maria, you made our weekend. (Maria, Trekking Guide)

The Easter weekend traffic did not. Home late at 10.30 p.m. Up at 5.00 a.m. Monday, Taxi to the airport for the Galapagos.

Trackback URI | Comments RSS