Despite the 8 a.m. sleep in, the sun was still behind the mountains when we emerged from the tent. Frost covered everything. Half an hour later the first rays hit us, but even when we packed up the tent at 9 a.m., it was still soaked. To leave camp, we needed to cross over a shallow river. It took 5 minutes of negotiation and a small amount of bravery before we succeeded in this task.

 

The first 2 km to the next campsite was moderately torturous, although having a string of switchbacks helped enormously. Once we arrived, Danny rested while I dumped my backpack and zipped over to Laguna Cuchillacocha, only a kilometre away on a somewhat visible path. It was similar to yesterday's lake but less striking. I took a couple of quick photos before racing back to Danny.

 

We chose another campsite as our next break point, only 1.5 km away. It was 1.5 km of hell. The incline increased significantly and there was virtually no trail to follow. Using our phone map and the sporadic piles of rocks some kind people had erected, we very slowly inched our way up the incline. Just trying to breathe was laborious. Although the final section was flat, trying to push through tall grass with boggy mud underneath meant every step was a gamble. The only upside was the amazing view of the mountain range around us, becoming more spectacular the higher we climbed.

 

There were 2 more kilometres to climb to reach the pass, and I constantly wondered if I was going to make it. At least the trail was visible for the most part, and the rock cairns assisted us across the large boulders towards the end. With our legs and lungs screaming at us we finally made it, crossing over the pass at 5,090 m. On the other side, in the Cojup Valley, were more white mountains, but the clouds drifting over meant the peaks didn't have the brilliance that comes with the contrast of a blue sky. We descended slightly before having lunch, hoping the clouds would shift for us. They didn't.

 

Going down wasn't as fun as I had hoped. It began on loose gravel on an acute angle, causing us to skid uncontrollably. Eventually the rocks were replaced with grass, but with no physical trail to follow we had to make our own route down. There were 2 route options on our map; we chose the northern route, as it would deliver us closer to a lake I wanted to visit. The steepness didn't relent, and despite creating a series of switchbacks down the slope, it still took just as long to descend as it had to climb up. I had no idea if the other route was this treacherous, but it couldn’t have been worse. Much to our dismay, soft flecks of snow started falling from the sky. Looking down the valley, we could see grey clouds floating towards us. Time was now a factor.

 

At the bottom we made our way over to a river, where we had another 5-minute negotiation about how to cross (superhuman jumping was one of the options). Once overcoming this barrier with some rock-hopping, it was then a short walk up the path to an unofficial campsite, sitting at 4,430 m. Rain and snow were falling lightly by the time we arrived, so it was a mad scramble to assemble the tent before we became soaked. The rain lasted over an hour, during which time we had more inquisitive cows checking us out. Again, one licked the tent. Another followed us around whenever we stepped outside, which was quite nerve-racking. After a while they grew tired of us and wandered off down the valley.

 

When the rain finally stopped, I decided to take a quick walk over to Laguna Palcacocha, 1.5 km away. Temporary mesh netting was blocking the entrance, to keep out humans or animals I wasn’t sure. As there was no sign, I hopped over the low stone wall beside it and continued on. From there, a few quick switchbacks delivered me to a lookout over the lake. The backdrop was stunning, with white mountains and glaciers tumbling down, although without the sun shining down and it being late in the day, they sat dark and dreary. Unfortunately, the water itself was not a sight to behold. Several 44-gallon drums were floating in the water, discarded haphazardly. A pump plus an array of pipes ran straight from the shore into the water and the whole area smelled like diesel. Maybe that mesh netting at the entrance was to keep out humans after all.

 

Once again, we didn't encounter a single other hiker today.