Canoa: 21/04 - 25/04

Upon arrival I walked the 2.5km south from town to the Sundown Inn, an ex-mid-range hotel now a cheap backpacker hostal right on the beach. There Jess, Chris and I re-united with a love as strong as the magnificent waves crashing into the shore behind us. They then related their bitterly harrowing 2 week experience at the Sundown in which they were forced into doing nothing in the sun, surfing and eating fresh lobster and prawns. Also staying there were Eric and Laurel from California and Joe and Martha from England on a tur-de-volunteering through Ecuador. Charasmatic family abuelo (grandfather) Jaime (sort of) ran the place while also teaching the others Spanish a few hours each a day.

Canoa was a quiet fishing village and obviously was once `found`by Lonely Planet, because it now boasts more bars, cafes, restaurants and accomodation options (all in the `tourist`end of the price range) than actual locals (or gringos for that matter). Mind you the fiesta-happy locals somehow manage to party and in some cases dance in a ridiculous fashion most nights of the week despite a lack of business. They were also friendly enough and unobtrusive towards us visitors which made a welcome relief from most gringo haunts. The buildings were tastefully developed and several places had beautiful design-work and very relaxed and green settings to chill out in.

The next night I caught up with a SAE crew who were co-incidentally in Canoa on a tour of the coast. It was a grand night of meeting newbies, listening to people holding court amongst 8 others while discussing studying neuroscience and looking for two missing SAE tour members. We also soaked up pounding techno at a beach bar in a rather cliche fashion, but all good. On this night my crew definitely wasn`t avoiding sincerity - at one point I was asked what I write about on my blog to which I replied `oh, just take the piss out of people really` which I of course had to explain what meant. The explanation sunk like a stone, dragging the conversation with it. Not even a `in a nice way` disclaimer could save my evil soul. In process of the missing persons search I was escorted to the police for questioning... That was me questioning them if the would fire up the kick-arse quad bike to give me a safe ride back to Sundown. No, they said, because it didn`t go on the road only on sand. Instead, after a tearful goodbye with SAE, I rode shotgun on a long-distance bus with the drivers for free! Saved $2! The next morning upon jogging to Canoa on the beach I ran into SAE again and discovered the missing persons had been found, but I didn`t quite figure out if this was a good thing or bad.

I swam regularly in the lush and warm surf, relaxed, ate lots and started to read my first adult (not that kind of `adult`, J-nett) novel in Spanish, `The Pilgrimage` by Paulo Coehlo. Slowly. On the Friday morning Chris and I sought out `Coffee & Eggs`, a house/cafe nestled in the scrub and hotels not far from Sundown. As we approached a gated fence I wondered if the family had kids - Chris decided it was to keep the vicious pit-bull inside. Ha ha, very funny Chris. I had gotten just far enough into the yard to not be able to escape an athletic and highly aggressive pit-bull attack when this very scenario materialised right before our eyes. Luckily `Julz` (or something) held off on ripping out my jugular until he could be called off. And as we later found out he was a complete pussy-cat; a `pat-slut` if you will. Canoa`s current (temporary or otherwise) downturn and issue with locals had apparently left the owners closed, by for us `non-Ecuadorians`, no problem. There we drank good coffee.

That night we saw Joe and Martha off and in our wanderings in the middle of town came across what I thought was some kind of African tribe calling in high voices to each other - it certainly sounded like it. It turned out to be frogs!! Trippy. After eating we found a beautifully set designed `eco-lodge` where you could lounge secluded under palm trees while enjoying the perfect sea-breeze and quite ocean ambience. This we did. Without being approached by any staff about buying or anything for that matter. It seemed quite odd that we could just gringo on into a place, sit down and soak it up without having to spend a dime! The other highlight of the night came from Laurel who is a mental health therapist for young sexual offenders and the people that work with them. She kindly enlightened us all on the 8 rules of an Appropriate Sexual Fantasy. Here they are. Take note Thiess.

1. Age. The subject must be within 1 year of age of you and you must be some kind of a relationship with them. The subject must (in real life) give permission or be a made up person.

2. The fantasy must be set in privacy

3. It must involve mutual satisfaction

4. It must involve condoms and/or a conversation about birth control

5. It must involve foreplay

6. It must involve afterplay.

7. The subject must give verbal and physical consent

8. It must not involve force.

Now I was of course fine with ALL of those but there was just one small problem. What if you`re not fantasising about humans? In our subsequent discussion Laurel did use the word `deviant`to describe thoughts and fantasies which I found a little disturbing coming from a mental health worker. Sorry if you`re reading this, Laurel, just my opinion :)

The next day we dragged all our crew to Coffee & Eggs and luckily Julz recognised us at the gate. I brought my Ipòd to plug into the impressive stereo system there and while we grooved away we enjoyed our coffee with milk and all the laptops hooked into the WIFI. Our friendly hosts shared some homemade ginger and orange moonshine and promised home-smoked bacon for the others the next day. As we lounged we saw 2 tourists walk past on the road, we supposed headed for the Sundown which as custodians we had abandoned for coffee. The English surfing couple Niall and Anna soon came back and found their way to our cafe though and we convinced them to stay for not only coffee but Sundown and the Spanish lessons.

We had a nice final night of cards and table tennis and said my goodbyes and retired for the night.

El Chaco - Quito - Canoa: 16/04 - 21/04

After I was dropped off on the outskirts of clean and nice El Chaco I headed directly for the main road to Quito to eat a little and waited over an hour (a long time in Ecuador) for a bus home. Apart from my physical exhaustion I felt quite mentally detached also for the duration of the several separate legs of my journey back to the Posada del Maple , which was lucky because I really stunk. I pity the Colombian lady who was next to me.

It was a long ascent in the bus to what seemed at least 4000m followed by a lengthy descent into the Quitumbe terminal including what would be the sweetest downhill run on a roadbike. Long easy corners, consistent decent decline and not too dangerous either. I had to catch two Trole busses home and even then had to walk a few km`s in Quito alone at night - something I`d heard was very dangerous so before disembarking I practised in one smooth motion drawing my machete out from my backpack and slicing phantom opponents. Luckily for the criminals they bothered me not and I arrived a muddy hot mess at the steps of the House of Maple Syrup late in the evening.

My hips felt like a 10-year old Alsacion`s, right knee was quite sore, my body had numerous cuts and scratches and I developed weird pussie (not pussy) bites on my left side which I was later explained as probably being the psycho ants from the jungle. I met Tanya from Canada along with her compatriot Maddy. Maddy and Jack, Luke and Jasen from Old Blighty had all met on a Mutual Dislike of Cali (Colombia) Forum and travelled south together. We went out (sort of) in overpriced Plaza Foch and generally tried to avoid decorum and sincerity. I had wanted to go to see ex-Brit and now porteño (someone from Buenos Aires) Rowan Blades who was one half of late 90`s prog house act Breeder, but didn`t. Nice one... oh well, I saved $15 I reckon (big bucks over here).

The next few days I spent trying to avoid a cold gained undoubtedly from spending 15hrs straight in soaked socks and boots and also hanging out with Jess from the States and her ecology classmates Nicole and Kelsy who had been studying and working in the cloud forest. This lot turned out to be even bigger chocolate fiends than me. If you believe that. :} I also loved Cyclovia again, washed, dried and repaired things and may have been seen escorting two different groups of Maple-lites to the Kallari Cooperative Cafe to get closer to God. Kelsy and I went to see `Shutter Island`. Whoo!! Great film.

AND I finally got an offer of companionship..... oh, resulting from my search for fellow trekkers. So Luke from Melbourne and I decided that due to his then current Spanish lessons to postpone our trek until the following week and I decided to visit the balmy coast and contacted my friends that I met in Santa Marta, Chris and Jess. They were keen and mustard and I therefore packed and shipped out, getting an immediate and empty semi-cama bus from Quitumbe - smooth sailing boys!

The 7hr journey was relatively un-windy (straight, some people say) and also quite forested and green compared with the central Ecuadorian Sierra - defintely not as steep. Despite having been in Quito on and off for several weeks my sleep was still being affected by the altitude and a return to a consistently warm and breathable air was a welcome relief.

Oyacachi - El Chaco, Cayambe-Coca Ecological Reserve: 15/04 - 16/04

Despite being very relaxed I didn`t sleep very well the Wednesday evening due to digestive problems and as such slept in, only getting to leave the town at around 9ooam. According to my guidebook this meant a long day of hiking and I set out downhill, towards the east and El Chaco and alongside the river at a decent pace determined to make my camp in good time. I passed some old ruins abandoned centuries ago after a landslide - my hurry kept me from exploring them properly but they looked interesting enough.

I continued on the gravel road for 10 km, crossing the river and back again and seeing what I thought at first was a logging coupe but turned out to be the passage of a massive landslide stretching hundreds of metres up into the hills. The campesinos (country folk) colonise wherever they can, hacking into the hillside for timber and then grazing dairy cows subsequently. ·%&/"· campos!! I know what you`re saying right now, `It`s not their fault; they`re born into poverty, unedumecated and just trying to survive as best they can`. Well, ok, but it`s not my fault I`m born into being a callous and judgmental bastard either :) Mind you their lack of machinery and infrastructure makes this logging far less destructive than if it were industrial and broad-scale and if I didn`t know better I might`ve assumed they were intentionally logging `sustainably`!

Speaking of a lack of education, that day I followed a campo (campesino) down the road for several kilometres with myself walking slightly faster than he. He knew I was there and kept looking back checking how far away I was - when I`d caught up some he would run ahead to get away from me!! Bizarre. And quite sad, really. Also very sad was seeing this cow and her mate with their front hooves tied together in the middle of the road; for what reason I can`t imagine. When the road finally petered out into the cobblestone trail the rainforest was still very much under arrest, and the whole day I was continuously being surprised and angered by how far into the steep river valley that was an `Ecological Reserve` they were allowed to penetrate. Their mules and cows were also the main culprits of making the track into the mudbath that it was.

Speaking of mudbaths, Mark Thurber had recommended me wear rubber boots - I didn`t. VERY muddy and swampy for long stretches at a time. A mudfight. The trek is classified in Mark`s book as difficult and I concurred - based upon my own difficulty rating system of how furiously and many times I said F%·*"· matrixed against how many times I slipped, fell over or nearly seriously injured myself.

The rainforest however became more and more intact and it was beautiful to be in. The already raging Oyacachi was a faithful companion throughout my trip - the only humans I passed were impressed (and/or bewildered) at my solito effort trekking to El Chaco and one young man seemingly jealous at my bravery insisted there were jaguars and bears in the selva that would eat me. I`d certainly have been lucky to see either of those! As I stumbled towards the finish line of the Cedro River I disturbed a pair of what I think were hoatzin, clumsy flyers about the size of guinea fowl. I set camp near the junction of the two rivers, removed my mudden boots and relaxed in a cosy beached cove, reflecting on my day in the wettest ecosystem I`d ever been in.

And so to describing the Friday - the wildest but most exhausting experience of my life... or something like that.

Despite the knowledge that in all probability there weren`t any predators of humans around such a disturbed area, the thought of a jaguar prowling around my tent at night was a little disconcerting. But my morning reality was much more beastly. Ants had eaten holes through my quite robust tent floor in many places and were crawling about my sleeping mat. The workers were much the same size as Australian coastal browns but the upgrades were impressive - beef-headed double sized soldier ants with decent nippers. F$&%$ campo ants!! Ok, so I packed up and turned the tent over to inspect the damage. There I discovered a quadruple sized terminator ant going hammer and tongs and he did not want to let go. It was only after I flicked his body from his head did the pincers eventually stop into lockjaw position - see photo.

Crossing the suspension bridge (which was the limit for how far mules and cows went on the track) I immediately encountered my first taste of the complete grit-teeth mud slog climb scramble that would be my day - climbing over and through fallen trees, traversing precariously slippery cliffery and circumventing many landslides that were across the path. I travelled always near the river through rainforest slowly changing due to the drop in altitude - these forests reminded me a lot of the sub-tropical rainforests of South-east Australia, although with less large trees but far more water. The larger and more buttressed trees like strangler figs started to appear the lower I went along with palms. The dense vegetation was thick with vines and heavy with mosses, fungi and lichens.

After an hourish I arrived at a rushing creek, my first checkpoint. Earlier that morning I had identified that it was within the realms of possiblity to reach El Chaco that night, and I was pretty keen on the idea of not spending another night/day in the wetness. As such I avoided the main trail wandering off upstream and uphill to cross the creek much higher up at a waterfall and I descended to the confluence, pausing to snack on a sanga. A quick reconassaince mission to the cliffs beside the river revealed a vaguely feasible route of slippery rock-climbing followed by literal jungle-tackling through the entwined undergrowth. I figured in this way I`d find the track soon enough so I shouldered my pack and smashed it up there. After some quite intense exertion I cleared through the vegetation and to my surprise found the track! It was right there. Cool!

The roaring Oyachachi intensified with the addition of its many tributaries. I found the river bank for lunch and continued hiking along the boulder bank for a little after. If only it was all that easy!! The path soon re-entered the jungle and so I continued my journey of slipping, sliding, falling over and being scratched, spiked, jabbed and called names by cheeky forest birds. I also calculated I had broken about 2359 spiders webs, mostly with my face. F#@~# campo spiders!!

I was exhausted - everything started to become a blur and I just focussed on the path ahead of me. I don`t remember too much detail from the day. At around 300pm I made it to the Santa Maria River where the path had turned to swamp again due to ~#@€ campos and their grazing animals. I followed the swamp upriver to the suspension bridge across the wide stoney river bed - there was no access to the 2 metre-higher-than-me bridge save for a few unattached branches in the form of a ladder - it was very dangerous climbing it with a heavy pack on. I stopped in the middle of the bridge to survey the panorama. Up the two river valleys was virgin forest, and furher down the catchment started the farmland. The other side of the bridge was dug into a hill creating a dell of about 7m depth and almost vertical walls complete with mini-lake for footwear bathing. I saw no other option but to climb out. The vegetation was not well established into the dell walls and came away on several occasions - this was actually the most dangerous part of my hike.

I then followed cow swamps along the elevated river bank past a farming hut to descend to the river proper and found the powerlines which would eventually lead to El Chaco. A steady stream of farms lined the river until another suspension bridge where I paused to admire the river for the last time. My final leg was a 3.5hr walk along a gravel road to the town. By now I was literally and figuratively tripping with exhaustion. As I walked I watched, heard and felt a distant thunderstorm approach and enjoyed the light rain and cool breeze it brought. After 2 hours of painful squleching some locals stopped and I jumped into the tray. I think they might have expected some $ for the ride but being on a super-tight budget once we got to El Chaco I adiosed away feeling gay with a spring in my step and a carefree wave.

Candelaria - Riobamba - Quito - Cayambe - Oyacachi: 04/04 - 15/04

The bus journey back to Riobamba from Candelaria made me a bit sick for a few reasons: 1) It was a hot day 2) I`d dropped about 2500m in 4 hrs 3) I saw again just how well the Ecuadorian landscape had been trashed, including incredibly steep mountains devoid of trees in places on very marginal soils anyway. My physical funk continued for the (as usual) arduous bus journey back to Quito, consequent transfer to Mariscal. The only note of note was a rendition of Don`t Dream It`s Over en Español on the bus. I found a $5 a night (very cheap) bunk in the thick of yuppies-ville and crashed.

The next several days were spent in Mariscal, flitting and gabbing. I quickly transferred from my cheap-house to a much better option, Posada del Maple, upon which I at first projected the hope of it being the `Cranky Croc of Quito`. It certainly is a beautifully renovated and decorated place, close to the action but on a quiet, plane-tree lined street. Not quite as alive as the Croc or with as comfortable beds but with fantastic breakfasts and a more consistently refined crowd.

During these turbulent times I fixed my Keen sandals, without which I would`ve died. I got my last rabies shot, without which I would`ve died. One day while taking an ice-cream I saw the great vision of a young guy pedalling hands-free on his Giant mountain-bike down Juan Leon Mera (a main street) singing to himself with a huge grin on his face as he strummed air-guitar on a shining new bicycle frame. Heh heh. Cool. Not so cool was seeing the aftermath of a woman who`d just been hit by a car, screaming and gasping for air with obvious internal injuries. Ecuadorian drivers are extremely arrogant and self-righteous on the roads and won`t stop for pedestrians; there are a lot of 4wd`s here in the inner city too.

I also attended another trivia night with SAE. This time I was fortunate enough to land myself on the wily veterans team, who impressed me all night with their intellects, an (almost) perfect score and a perfect team name - "I look at tranny porn all day at work and it gives me a ginormous boner". I took away so much intellectualisationalism that evening, the most life-changing fact being how to spell `ginormous`.

On our team was Mark Thurber, the co-author of the aforementioned-in-my-blog-in-another-post Hiking Guide to Ecuador, my current Bible. A cool guy. We chatted about some good hikes to do and he gave me his card for further reference. Sweet! My walk back to the Posada was probably the most dangerous of my trip with some make-up caked prostitutes clambering at my hands as I pushed through their sticky web of a beat.

I also re-visited the overpriced National Botanic Gardens of Ecuador, which is about as big as my ex-backyard in Northcote, with half the space inaccessible. Still it was reasonably well done with interesting sections on the paramo and an orchid hothouse - some of them were very delicate and pretty. I have included photos of the very plain-looking Ayahuasca vine and San Pedro cactus, two halucinogenic plants of choice in this part of the world.

During my time at Posada I met several interesting folk, like Karly from the US volunteering in a rural school, Elza from France working with the Chamber of Commerce here for 6 months, Peter the German who owns a hostel/lifestyle-resort in alternative Vilcabamba and Christian, the German student who`d volunteered in the Galapagos, was studying Latin and currently reading a rare and ancient mythical text in that language - see photo.

I called my brother Ned and his partner Heidi for Ned`s birthday - Happy Birthday Ned!! - we chatted amiably enough until Ned asked me how much I had been spending each month. `Let me see... oh yeah, only $7000 in 5 months. $1400 a month`. That does include a lot of hidden extras but when it boils down to it I realised I couldn`t continue to spend as I had been.

So I tightened the belt somewhat like cooking in house, eating a tonne (easy to do) at free breakfast, ate the $2 set lunches and scoring a free gym session due to a snoozing attendant. On my long walk to see `The Hurt Locker`, I passed this massive hole in the sidewalk, see photo - a busy footpath. Liability, what liability? The movie was pretty well acted and very subtley produced, well done. But I wouldn`t have orgasmed all over the movie theatre like some of the (American, ahem, say no more) reviewers though. There were definitely a few Holy Wood cliche moments there. Also interesting and slightly annoying was the cinema culture - I sat next to two oldies of which you would expect a constant stream of explanatory chatter, but the whole crowd was into it. It seems murmurring and low-level talking is perfectly acceptable here. Or maybe they took it in turns to read the subtitles and consequently explain it to each other. Yeah, that`s definitely it.

I said my final (I promise) goodbyes to Yvo and Helen, who thoroughly enjoyed their Galapagos trip rubbing shoulders with an amazing variety of tame and photogenic sea and land creatures like Bill Gates and Leo di Caprio. Yvo was in town promoting his latest GU mix and kindly provided me with a copy. They were headed to Otovalo to the famous artesans market and invited me along - I could see myself spending more than I wished up there so I very politely and respectfully declined. Considering the circumstances they both reacted quite reasonably I thought... they weren´t angry, just disappointed.

But it was I who laughed bitterly of the disappointment after they missed their flight to Curacao. Not good enough, and they knew it. When we parted terms for the fourth time it was on a note of mutual disappointment.


My intended journey to Oyacachi was thwarted by an unexpectedly infrequent bus service - if I had checked an online resource I would have found that they only leave Mon, Wed, Fri etc and so I could have stayed another day in Quito. But then I wouldn`t have got to stay in pretty Cayambe and try their butter biscuits. It was rather boring though (despite seeing the fake-arsed underpants - I want them in men`s!!), because as I learnt pretty quickly, if you dont have $ then a town is just a regular old town. What was more with no book to read or fellow backpackers to talk shit with, I wandered the streets aimlessly, imploring desperately for people to purchase my chewing gum, squeaky toys and/or gold chains. I was saved from dying of extreme boredom however by a TV channel showing non-stop recent and not so recent movie previews in overdubbing, subtitling and just straight English.

The bus to Oyacachi was my first Ecuadorian bus experience where the bus wasn`t over-full or even full at some stage of the journey. We headed into hills of lush green farming country with lots of maize, quinoa and onion cropping along with dairy farming. Soon the bitumen turned to a well-made cobblestone road - how cool!! (if somewhat bumpy and slow). We passed through a few small towns before the cobblestone turned to dirt and the farmland slowly turned to paramo and hacked cloudforest. My frustration and boredom pent up from my false start started to dissolve as we entered the wilderness of the Cayambe-Coca Ecological Reserve. By then the scenery was beautiful - clouds rolling over the mountain landscape and small waterfalls everywhere. The cloudforest became dominant as we entered the Oyacachi River valley. I remember a gap in the fog revealing in the distance an enormous spurt of water jetting out into the rainforest from a high ridge. It was at least 5km away.

We arrived at the incredibly set and increasingly tourism-based town of Oyacachi, nestled in a bowl of forest and I directly made my way to the thermal baths where I set my tent for the night. Oyacachi is a magic piece of Ecuador. Everyone greets each other in the street, stranger or no, they all walk down to the thermal baths to bathe and socialise of an evening and are very friendly. And being nestled in a large rainforest reserve it seemed an idyllic paradise to me. The goodness of the luxuriously hot waters combined with a delicous cool breeze melted the rest of my cares away.

Sangay National Park (El Altar): 01/04 - 04/04

Sangay National Park was inscribed as a Natural World Heritage Site in 1983. The park covers some 517 765ha of varied ecosystems, encompassing all types of habitats from glaciers to rainforests, plains to volcanoes. El Altar (or Cápac Urdu in Quechua) is an extinct volcano that is said to have once possibly been the highest mountain in the world, but it blew its top. What remains is a rim of 9 major peaks of up to 5404m surrounding a huge crater.

DAY 1: Having met the owner of Hacienda Releche, Otovalo, who had just spent a year in Melbourne helping David Hayes train his thoroughbreds. I set out all-smiles, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. It was a tough and exhausting day. Although the track was wide and straightforward it was consistently uphill, and starting at 3200m with a 20kg pack was not too fun or good for my cranky old-man back. On the way I was passed by a group of equines loaded up with several humans and their equipment. Everyone there (except for the mules & The Mule) appeared to be having a rather fine time of it thanks very much, including one guy drinking a beer! The beauty of the mountains and El Altar slowly revealed itself throughout the day, and culminated when I finally reached the Collantes Plain which hosts the headwaters of the River Blanco. A long, steep valley and wide, boulder-strewn plain ending in El Altar`s snow-capped dignitaries. Amazing.

I stopped next to the refugio to admire the valley for a while then set out for the base of the crater where scattered cloud forest provided shelter for camping. This took longer than I thought. It was very boggy and uphill. When I finally arrived I was in an altered state - time passed very slowly and everything was quite trippy and heavy. Another group including 3 older French climbers I`d met on the way up were going up to the crater that afternoon but I physically was not able to. I ate and eventually went to sleep, horrible as it was. Sleeping on a slope at about 4000m , not recommended.

DAY 2: The next morning I discovered I had many cheeky birds including hummingbirds as neighbours. The patches of cloud forest around were beautiful, very reminiscent of cool temperate rainforests in Australia. The birds and I were soon joined by a Park ranger who took my money and described the journey to the south for me. Then I set out next to a dramatic waterfall for the crater rim, another few hundred metres up. After the again exhaustive uphill I was more than rewarded. A gigantic turquoise lake at the bottom of the colossal crater, its in places 1000m high walls a mesmerising blend of grey-black stone, light green paramo (upland grassland and swamp) and snow. The lake is constantly being fed by glacier melt. I kept my quasi-promise to myself to try to swim whereever possible - however the water wasn`t too warm so it was more like a quick bush shower but who`s counting¿ I also discovered the bush with the purple lilly-pilly type fruit I had so enjoyed in lower Patagonia - what? Such an enormous range - it seemed only to be growing above 4000m there though as I hadn`t seen it before.

Then I saw one of the only 40 condors left in Ecuador sunning itself on the rock directly next to the waterfall. They`re pretty big!! He eventually flew off as I paparazzied closer. The cloudy morning made the views of the mountains not as clear as I would have liked but hopefully you all get a good idea! After a massive breakfast I set out to do a day hike from my guidebook map, one that leads to campsites to climb the northern spires of El Altar. I exited the valley, crossed the referenced creek and saw what I thought was my track switchbacking up a hill to the east. It was bound to cross my creek, I vaguely guessed but believed anyway. So I rockhopped up the beautiful stream, marvellng at the gorgeous vegetation and cascades. Soon I decided it was time to exit to find my trail. I had come to a very steep hill to climb. Oh well, grab onto the grass and head straight up. It was very tough even packless. After what seemed like well long enough I still hadn`t crossed the path so I sat down and had some lunch. Upon inspection `the path`was just a cow track that seemed to finish before it got to me.

So I made my own cross-country trek through the paramo into the valley as the clouds swirled around the mountains. Soon the going got boggy and I got stroppy. During one of my disturbed outbursts of joy I startled two white-tailed brocket deer who darted off into the fog. Yes I got photos, albiem vague and distant. Also disturbed was a rail-like bird with a long beak that sped off with a squawk similar to the ones we always used to see in the wetlands, Erin Farmer. I eventually struggled out of the swamp and slowly ascended to the ridgeline. Upon reaching it I discovered the I hadn`t really gone far as the buzzard flies, I`d just come around the back of Collantes Plain. As I looked down I saw anew picturesque patterns in the heavily grazed grass and multi-coloured ants setting camp between the streams. I then continued ascending the ridge to the top with amazing views to the west of the populated River Blanco valley and to the east of the shrouded Altar. The ensuing descent probably only took a half hour but it was down insanely steep tussock-covered inclines, switching back and forth and testing my ankles and knees no end.

When I returned to the valley I asked one of the Frenchies (who hadn`t succeeded in mounting Obispo, the highest at 5404m due to rain) about the trail to Camp Italiano. I also met Mark Bueno, an Australian/Ecuadorian who`s been living in Ecuador most of his life. Usually its the other way around. He and his many friends from Quito invited me to dinner for which I dutifully prepared my stock standard pasta with tomato paste veges. Their dinner was a range of packet snacks and noodle soup, but their gigiantic pot of water never actually boiled due to altitude and no lid. I could have told them that. We chatted amicably, my Spanish being rather lame at the end of the day as usual. All 8 of them seemed well-kitted for trekking and had well-paying jobs, also degrees of English ranging from great to less than great as far as I could tell. I returned the half-hour trudge to my tent across the swamp, creeks and boulders and went to bed.

DAY 3: And so to Camp Italiano. With 2kgs or so less food my pack was heavenly in comparison to Day 1. After crossing Collantes again the first part of my trek was a long sharp incline. With a 17kg pack I sure was glad it was the start of the day when I have energy to burn. I took many breath-breaks, pushing myself to eventually reach a path which followed a ridge around a mountain. This passed slightly above the swamp-line snaking up to a high pass. There I lunched. The path seemed to go quickly downhill, and remembering the vague directions given by Frenchie I set off cross-country holding my elevation line, trying to find either his Blue Lake, Camp Italiano or at least a pass through the intimidating craggery of the ridge in front of me. This was a simple and relaxing walk, kind of like a stroll down Merri Creek on a Sunday afternoon.

... .... ...

Naahht. Struggle town as usual through the paramo and steep valleys running across my path. I finally came to a relatively flat area under the much higher ridge. I examined my options. No Blue Lake, no easy pass through and not even a whiff of Camp Italiano. So I decided to pitch my tent in the best possible spot. As I did so the freezing cold rain got heavier. I was intent to be in tent before it got too intense. I was also inclined to not be too inclined either. Neither really came to pass. And so I was, remembering the words of some Brazilian dude the other day talking about dealing with altitude affectation, saying the best thing to do if possible is to sleep.

After my nap I set off up the steepness to the high ridge, much easier without the pack but still a thick and unpredictable scramble. When I reached the ridge I had fantastic views of the surrounding countryside. I continued up cow tracks past amazing rock sculptures from peak to peak. I was walking into heavy cloud. Hiking at such great heights was invigorating and magical. I reached a peak where someone had planted their walking stick and soon after sheer cliffs and an eerily quiet calm in the fog. It was brilliant. On that day I saw the entire range of paramo vegetation - the lower grasslands having such a spectacuar range of organisms and habits like the dominant poa-ish tussocks, danthonia-like grasses, lillies, spongy mosses, spiky bromeliads and the larger florescences of the puyas (Andean Spectacled Bear food), razor-sharp Pampas grass, lichen, many types of fungii, spiky pin-cushion-like plants and a large variety of wildflowers and Asteracae. As I had climbed higher I`d noticed less vegation but also different plants growing like a bizarre light-green cactus and an ice-plant. At the top of my climb there was very little vegetation at all. Because of the heavy cloud a relatively easy descent became at times confused but I found my camp eventually to settle down for the eating and the rugging up - a bit chilly at about 4300m.

DAY 4: My alarm woke me just as the dreaming was cozy after about 3hrs sleep. Sleeping and altitude don`t really play well together at the beginning. The exit to Candelaria involved getting to the main path. My pack gave me enough added downhill impetus to push my feet through false dirt masked as moss, hidden bogs, flimsy tussocks and mini-crevasses. What a battle! I eventually swore my way clear of the true paramo to reach the heavily grazed and burnt area - easier to navigate but still very steep. I climbed down to the rushing river, navigated a crossing and then scrambled up past the horses, cows and mules to the main path. Then to a focussed march down to the Releche to try to reach the 1200pm bus back to Riobamba. The heavy overnight rain had converted the black soil track into a mudslide. I slid, tripped and hot-stepped the long journey back to Candelaria to arrive just in time for my midday schedule.