Story and Photos by: Mittie Roger
When I set off to Machu Picchu, I had no idea that my hiking partner would need an Incan descendent to carry him piggyback down the Camino Inca. Back in Louisiana, where I’m from, I’d trained like an idiot, taking my gator bait dog off leash in the swamps for hours with my fully loaded pack. Porters were out of the question. When I asked if he felt ready, he shrugged. “I’ve done outward bound.”
So off we went, from below sea level to a peak of 12,000 feet, hiking for 4 days through lush, foggy forest and into alpine climbs, pushing aside hallucinogenic Angel’s Trumpets and slurping coco leaf tea. After the first day, his right knee was aching. “Can I put a few things in your pack?” The next day it was the other knee. “I guess I was favoring it,” he said. Some more stuff hopped into my pack.
So off we went, from below sea level to a peak of 12,000 feet, hiking for 4 days through lush, foggy forest and into alpine climbs, pushing aside hallucinogenic Angel’s Trumpets and slurping coco leaf tea. After the first day, his right knee was aching. “Can I put a few things in your pack?” The next day it was the other knee. “I guess I was favoring it,” he said. Some more stuff hopped into my pack.
Needless to say, it didn’t end well. On the third day, both knees gave out. Our guide clicked her badass Peruvian heels three times and two porters stepped out from behind a dew-speckled wall of jungle leaves. One carried the pack and one carried him. He hung his head in shame as a New Zealander ran backwards in front of him, videotaping his descent to Machu Picchu.
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