My bus arrived in Huaraz at 5:30 a.m. The 10-hour trip from Lima was tiring, but with only 8 days planned for the Cordillera Blanca, rest could wait. Traveling solo and with minimal climbing gear, there still were a lot of details that I needed to sort out. A map and guidebook provided background information, but I still had many questions.

Huaraz, gateway to the Cordillera Blanca (White Mountain Range), is a lively town with open-air markets, colorful people and no shortage of tourist agencies; but its surroundings are what really draw visitors. The Cordillera Blanca, probably the most famous mountain range in the Peruvian Andes, is in many ways an ideal climbing or trekking destination. With 33 peaks towering above 6000 m (19,686 ft) and many more just below this height, the range offers plenty of spectacular options. Huascarán, the tallest peak in Peru at 22,206 ft, provides an enticing challenge for climbers visiting the area.

The range stretches for over 100 miles but is relatively narrow with roads connecting villages on both sides of the mountains. These roads facilitate access to the bases of many climbs. Many trekkers traverse the range and return to Huaraz by bus. Another benefit to climbing in this region is the stable fair weather that occurs during the entire dry season from May through October. I arrived in early May, and encountered fewer tourists than during later months. As with most of South America, the cost of almost everything is extremely inexpensive by U.S. standards. Most of my climbing questions were answered at the Casa de GuÕas (House of Guides), located near the center of town. Many trips are organized through this reputable agency, which requires its guides to complete a 3-year training program before they can become certified. Many of the guides speak English, but knowing some Spanish is definitely recommended. The guide with whom I spoke gave me updated route information and helped me to narrow down my options after I told him about my limited timeframe.

Fortunately, I had spent enough time in the highlands of Ecuador to facilitate the acclimatization process, but I would still need several more days before heading out on any major climbs. There wasn’t enough time for an attempt of Huascarán, but there were plenty of other great options. I finally decided to try to climb two separate peaks in the Ishinca Basin from which I could use the same base camp. Depending on how things went, I could cross an additional pass and head out by a different trail, or just double back on the way I came in. I had a plan - now I just needed gear and some partners.

The staff at the Churup Hostel where I stayed were very friendly, and experienced with travelers such as myself. They contacted Juventino, a certified guide with over 20 years of climbing experience (including nearly 100 ascents of Huascarán), who was available and willing to give me a discounted rate. I tried unsuccessfully to talk a couple of people from the hostel into joining us, but finally decided to just go with Juventino. I rented the gear that I needed from the hostel, including crampons, an ice ax, tent and a stove, all of which appeared to be in good shape. I only had a limited amount of gear because I was backpacking throughout Peru, and didn’t want to get weighed down or have to worry about having gear stolen.

After a couple of days of tours and acclimatization hikes, I was ready for a new adventure. The morning of our departure, I bought plenty of food for both of us at the open-air market in town. We loaded the food into a large burlap sack and took a cab to the small town of Colon, where an arriero (mule driver) with a donkey was waiting for us. The arriero was a colorfully dressed woman whose cheerful daughter seemed amused at our efforts to secure gear to the donkey’s back. Using donkeys to haul gear into base camp is standard practice throughout the Andes, and a good source of revenue for the locals. Facing 4,000 ft of elevation gain with a heavy pack, I didn’t mind supporting this tradition.

The scenic seven mile trail to camp paralleled the Ishinca River and took us along open meadows with blooming wildflowers, across farmland, and through a small forest with gnarly ancient-looking trees. We set up camp on a grassy meadow at 14,200 ft surrounded by large inviting peaks. Grazing around our campsite was an assortment of livestock including horses, cows, donkeys, llamas and alpacas. We shared the campsite with a few other climbing groups including Americans, Frenchmen and Spaniards.

On the other side of the basin was a rustic climber’s lodge where we stopped to chat with the host, and also filled up our water bottles with clean water. Our plan was to climb Urus (17,800 ft) the next day and then to attempt the taller Ishinca (18,140 ft) the day after. Although I hadn’t really felt the effects from the altitude, I decided to play it safe and started taking acetozolamide that afternoon.

We got to bed early but were awakened in the middle of the night by loud shuffling noises outside of our tent. We were in the Andes, so this couldn’t have been a marmot or bear. "Vaca!" screamed Juventino as he peered outside the tent. I knew vaca was Spanish for cow, but it didn’t make sense until I looked outside the tent. Staring at us from about 15 feet away was a large black cow with big eyes and a satisfied grin. Our food and trash bags were strewn around the beast. We angrily chased her off, but the stealthy bovine had already managed to eat all of our bread, trail mix and dried fruit. Fortunately, we still had our chocolate bars and a few other bits of food. I had hardly fallen back to sleep when my alarm started ringing. We reluctantly got up and prepared a hasty breakfast before starting up the climber’s path at 5:30 a.m.

I kept an eye on my altimeter as we slowly ascended above 17,000 ft, half expecting to suddenly collapse as we passed each thousand-foot interval. Juventino encouraged me to take frequent breaks, having only my word that I had actually taken the effort to properly acclimatize. The snow line was above 16,000 ft., and when we reached it we roped up and put on crampons. The glacier seemed solid with only a few easily avoided cracks, and we made steady progress. We reached the corniced summit of Urus at 10:30 a.m. We spent nearly an hour enjoying the great views before starting our descent. The altitude medication had caused some minor tingling in my fingers earlier that morning; but at the summit I felt strong. I was glad that I had decided to take acetozolamide. As we headed down, we crossed paths with the American and Spanish climbers who were heading up. We made it to the climbers’ lodge in time for lunch before returning to our campsite. I spent that afternoon resting in camp and preparing for Ishinca.

Without another major nighttime disturbance, I had an easier time getting up the following morning. We left camp at 3:30 a.m and traveled by headlamp up the steep, windy climbers trail. The sun began to rise just as we reached the base of the glacier around 7:00 a.m. Sunlit flutings on the nearby Runkarhua were spectacular. A boot trail marked the path to the summit, but we still needed to navigate around several large crevasses. Just below the summit a bergschrund required some careful maneuvering to get past. At last, we reached the summit of Ishinca. Three separate basins were now visible, with more peaks than I could count. We didn’t stay too long on the exposed summit though because of strong winds. On the way back to camp, we rested at a turquoise-colored lake. For lunch we ate bread generously given to us by the Frenchmen at our campsite. I was starting to feel rundown and was glad that we didn’t have to leave until the following day, especially since we wouldn’t have the benefit of a pack animal this time.

By the next morning I felt rejuvenated and enjoyed the leisurely trek out. I thanked Juventino for his guidance and companionship and offered him my LED headlamp as a token of my appreciation. The next day I was on a bus heading back to Lima. As the bus left Huaraz, I gazed back longingly at the Cordillera Blanca, feeling a connection with the mountains and knowing that I’d return.