Intro
The overnight bus dropped me into Chachapoyas at 6:30 AM, leaving me standing on the pavement with a head full of static and a body that felt like it had been folded into a suitcase. The morning was mostly sunny, but the air at the terminal was thick with the shouting of transport touts and the smell of diesel exhaust. I ditched my original plan to stay in the city, instead pivoting toward the vertical world of the northern waterfalls.
Breakfast at Earlin’s Table
- The Chachapoyas terminal was a gauntlet of noise. Men stood in clusters, their voices cutting through the morning chill as they shouted city names—’Pedro Ruiz! Bagua Grande! Moyobamba!’—like a rhythmic chant. I was too tired to argue, so I let the momentum of the crowd push me toward a van heading to Pedro Ruiz. When I arrived, I realized I was down to my last sixty soles, forcing a detour to an ATM before I could even think about Cuispes. That’s where I met Earlin.
- Earlin drives a mototaxi, a three-wheeled contraption that feels like a lawnmower engine wrapped in a plastic shell. I told him I needed food and a ride. Instead of dropping me at a greasy roadside stall, he stopped at a small shop where I bought two takeaway lunches, and then he drove me straight to his house. We sat in his kitchen, a quiet space away from the dust of the main road, eating breakfast with his family. There was no formality to it, just a shared table and the low hum of conversation while his children moved around us. It was the first time in days I hadn’t felt like a tourist being shuffled from point A to point B; I was just a guy in a kitchen eating mote before a long walk.
The Slick Mud of Yumbilla
- On the climb toward Cuispes, we overtook another mototaxi carrying Lia, a German traveler who had just finished school and was navigating South America with that specific brand of wide-eyed energy I seem to have lost somewhere in the climbs of Cajamarca or on the bus ride to Chachapoyas. We decided to tackle the trail together. The path to Yumbilla is a winding thread that passes the Medio Cerro and Crystal waterfalls, but Yumbilla itself is a different beast. It doesn’t just fall; it dominates the landscape.
- As we reached the base of the third drop, the trail dissolved into the spray zone. The air became a heavy, saturating mist that turned the earth into a slurry of slick, cold mud. Every step was a gamble. I could feel the grit of the sludge grinding against my boots as we navigated the alternate return route, which required hauling ourselves down steep sections using thick, damp ropes. Lia and I talked about the strange vacuum of travel—how you can meet a stranger at 10:00 AM and by 2:00 PM you’re trusting them to spot you on a muddy cliffside. We spent forty-five minutes on the final viewing platform, just watching the landscape, before heading the last 15 minutes back to meet Earlin at the trailhead around 3 p.m.
Sulfur and Market Soup
- By the time we got back to Pedro Ruiz, my legs felt like they were made of lead, but Earlin wasn’t done with me yet. He insisted on taking me to a small, local sulfur spring nearby. The smell hit me before I even saw the water—that sharp, metallic scent of rotten eggs that clings to the back of your throat. I stripped down and eased into the pond. The water was lukewarm, and there was a small cave tucked next to the falling water where the steam trapped the heat. It was exactly what my muscles needed after the verticality of the morning.
- To end the day, Earlin took me to the local market where his wife was selling soup. It was a simple, hearty broth, served in a heavy ceramic bowl amidst the evening bustle of the stalls. Eating his wife’s cooking while the market wound down felt like a closing circle. I eventually caught a transfer to Cocachimba, stopping only long enough to grab some fruit for tomorrow. I’m writing this from a bed at La Rivera Gocta, a basic spot right on the trail. The exhaustion from the overnight bus and the 350-meter climb has finally caught up. I brushed my teeth and crawled under the blankets immediately. If the clouds clear, I might see Gocta from the balcony at dawn, but right now, the only thing that matters is the silence.
Overnight
I stayed at La Rivera Gocta in Cocachimba for 50 soles. It’s a basic hotel situated directly on the trail to the falls, chosen specifically for the possibility of seeing the cataract from the balcony at sunrise.
Reflection
A mototaxi driver’s kitchen is a better place to start a day than a tourist information office.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-04-06
- Distance: 6.48 km
- Elevation gain: 351 m
- Elevation loss: 364 m
- Duration: 4 h 38 min
- Time in Motion: N/A
- Average Speed: N/A