Intro
After a week of being pinned down by the coastal gloom, I finally broke away from the Casa Ciclista. The morning started with the familiar heavy slab of wet wool pressing down on Callao, but by the time I reached the desert north of the city, the gravel under my boots was radiating a dry, sharp heat.
The Concrete Shade at KM 105
- The Uber dropped me at Plaza Norte at 7:30 a.m., and the terminal was a frantic scramble. The staff at the Barranco bus company didn’t leave room for hesitation; they hurried me through the ticket line and onto a northbound bus within ten minutes. We crawled through the city traffic, the heavy slab of wet wool still clinging to the windows, but once we cleared the urban limits, the driver opened it up. The fog began to tear into ragged strips, and by the time I was standing at KM 105, the sun was actually punching through.
- It was a stark change. I started walking up a gravel access road, the silence of the desert replacing the roar of Lima. After about five hundred meters, I found a massive concrete sign that offered the only patch of shade for miles. I sat there and ate three bread rolls stuffed with salty cheese, watching the heat shimmer off the road. My forearms started to redden, and I could feel the sun tickle my skin in that way that precedes a burn, so I pulled on my Lycra sun sleeves. It felt strange to be back in the heat after so many days of damp coastal chill.
The ATV Assist and the Green Shift
- The transition from desert to oasis is subtle until it isn’t. At first, it was just a few tiny green specks in the dust, then dry bushes, and suddenly, by 1:00 p.m., I was at the ranger station surrounded by actual foliage. The rangers were firm about the rules—no camping allowed in the reserve right now—but they were incredibly helpful. They let me dump my heavy gear on a table in the hut so I could hike light. While I was repacking, I noticed a constant, high-pitched hum; the ranger explained it was the buzz of the poultry farm flies from a facility a few kilometers away. It was a persistent, vibrating backdrop to the conversation.
- As I was tightening the straps on my daypack, the ranger’s assistant mentioned she was heading deeper into the park on an ATV to meet some visitors. She offered me a lift to the trailhead, which loomed about two kilometers uphill. I hopped on the back, and we zipped up the track. That short ride changed the whole energy of the afternoon. Instead of a dusty slog, I arrived at the start of the loop feeling fresh and ready to climb. The kindness of that lift meant I had more time to actually look at the plants rather than my own feet.
The Ridge and the Desert Edge
- The hike itself felt like stepping into a different country. Everything was vibrant green, fed entirely by the thick mist that rolls in from the Pacific. I climbed toward the viewpoints, and the sun tickle returned as the clouds thinned out again. From the top, I could see the ocean as a grey smudge in the distance. To the west, it was all lush and dripping; to the east, the ridge dropped off into a landscape that looked like the surface of Mars—completely dry, brown, and unforgiving. It’s a fragile, strange little world up there.
- I spent a couple of hours weaving through the different tracks, passing a spring that had mostly gone dry and watching a few large birds—possibly hawks or vultures—soaring on the thermals above the cliffs. The buzz of the poultry farm flies eventually faded as I got higher into the rocks. By 4:00 p.m., I was back at the ranger hut, swapping stories with the staff while I rearranged my panniers for the trip back to civilization.
A Lift to the Castle
- Getting out of the park proved just as lucky as getting in. A family of three—a young couple with a one-year-old son—saw me waiting and offered a ride to Chancay. We spent the drive talking about the road and the coast, the conversation flowing easily as we bypassed the dust of the Pan-American Highway. They dropped me near the center, and I checked into a basic room at Hotel El Chavito 2.
- I dropped my bags and walked out to the cliffs as the sun began to dip. Chancay has this odd, faux-medieval castle right on the water, and seeing it silhouetted against the Pacific was a bizarre end to a day that started in a Lima bus terminal. I finished the night at a small spot near the Plaza de Armas, eating a plate of chancho with pineapple. Now, I’m just sitting on a park bench, the air finally warm and clear, writing this down before the sleep hits.
Overnight
I stayed at Hotel El Chavito 2 in Chancay. It’s a simple, functional spot near the central plaza and the cliffs, which made it easy to find food and see the sunset without a long trek.
Reflection
The green of the oasis is entirely dependent on the fog, proving that even a desert can bloom if the mist is thick enough.
Route summary
- Date: 2026/07/14
- Distance: 15.3 km
- Elevation gain: 540 m
- Elevation loss: 390 m
- Duration: 5 h 09 min
- Time in Motion: 2 h 57 min
- Average Speed: 3 km/h