Intro
The morning in Carhuaz felt different the moment I stepped out without my bike, my legs light but my mind set on a different kind of vertical gain. The sky was a wide, dominant blue, promising a rare day of clarity in the Cordillera Blanca, though the gravel and mud of the hiking trails would prove just as demanding as any mountain pass. I traded the hum of tires for the rhythmic strike of boots, seeking the high-altitude silence that usually exists far above the reach of the local collectivos.
Strawberries and Small Change
- I started the day at the central plaza, standing by a street stall as the town hummed into life. My breakfast was a thick, warm quinoa drink, and I remember the specific grit of the grains and oats against my teeth as I mixed in a handful of raisins and nuts. It was fuel for a long haul. By 07:00, I was behind the church, negotiating with a collectivo driver who seemed determined to turn my solo trip into a private charter. He claimed rain was coming and wanted me to pay for the empty seats. We eventually settled on a price, but when we reached Hualcan and he refused to give me change for a ten-sol note, the familiar sting of the ‘tourist tax’ soured the air. I walked away, refusing his sixty-sol offer to drive me the rest of the way to the trailhead.
- Luck shifted quickly. A flatbed truck, heavy with the scent of ripening fruit, was rumbling up the mountain to pick up a harvest of strawberries. I hopped in the driver cabin. The driver dropped me a kilometer from the trailhead for a fraction of the cost. I brushed my teeth in the mountain air and set off, quickly catching up with two hikers, Dylan and Johan. The trail wasted no time, turning into a steep, muddy staircase of loose rock and damp earth. We stripped off our layers within twenty minutes, sweat cooling instantly whenever the wind caught us through the thinning canopy.
The Vertical Slog and the Swirl-Haired Cows
- By 10:45, we reached Laguna Rajupaquinan. The wind here had a sharp, predatory edge to it, forcing us back into our shells. Small waterfalls streaked the grey rock faces at the back of the lagoon, looking like silver veins against the stone. The vegetation began to fail as we pushed higher, the path zig-zagging through a landscape that felt increasingly lunar. We were interrupted by a group of local residents: a breed of high-altitude cattle with strange, cowlick-like swirls of hair on their foreheads. They watched us with total indifference as we fumbled with our cameras, their heavy breathing the only sound in the thin air.
- We hit Laguna 513 at 12:45. It lacked the neon-blue punch of Laguna Paron, but the scale of it was more imposing. Sheer, grey cliff faces boxed in the water, and the moving clouds created a restless shadow play across the surface. While the others started their descent to meet their driver, I stayed behind. I found the entrance to the Laguna 513 water tunnel, a dark, jagged mouth in the rock. Standing at the edge, I listened to the turbulent gurgle of water rushing through the mountain’s guts—a heavy, hollow sound that seemed to vibrate in my chest. It was a sensory anchor that made the mountain feel hollow and alive at the same time.
The Sound of the Mountain
- Seeking even more isolation, I pushed further up to Laguna Cochca. I reached it by 14:15, and the transition was immediate. While 513 was defined by grey stone, Cochca was wrapped in deep green bushland. I was entirely alone. The silence there wasn’t empty; it was punctuated by the thunderous roar of distant avalanches. I couldn’t see the snow sliding off the glaciers above, but the sound was unmistakable—a low, visceral rumble that echoed off the peaks like heavy artillery. It is a sound that stays with you, a reminder of the shifting weight of the ice just out of sight.
- I began the long descent at 15:00. By the time I reached the trailhead at 17:00, the last of the tourist vans were preparing to leave. One driver offered me a lift, but his group was late returning from the heights. Rather than sit in the cooling shadows, I decided to hike the remaining 5.5 kilometers down to Hualcan. The mountains began to glow in the fading light, the massive bulk of Huascaran turning a bruised purple against the orange sky. I reached Hualcan at 18:30, caught a private collectivo back to Carhuaz, and ended the night over a plate of spinach and cheese ravioli in a creamy mushroom sauce. I followed it with a slice of sponge cake glazed in lucuma, the maple-like sweetness finally settling the day’s physical toll.
Overnight
I stayed a second night at a family stay in Carhuaz near the Plaza de Armas. It was a basic room, but it provided the space I needed for digital housekeeping and a quiet place to decompress from the sensory overload of the glaciers.
Reflection
If you miss the afternoon collectivo window, be prepared for a six-kilometer hike on tired legs or a significantly higher fare for a private ride back to town.
Route summary
- Date: 2026-05-03
- Distance: 23.80 km
- Elevation gain: 1075 m
- Elevation loss: 1610 m
- Duration: 10 h 31 min
- Time in Motion: 5 h 27 min
- Average Speed: 4.4 km/h