Isla Del Storm!!
It was Em who stayed awake while Eug dropped off to sleep almost as soon as his head hit his makeshift pillow. And what a good thing this was that one of us stayed awake a little longer than the other, because the storm we’d seen across Lake Titicaca had begun to tear its way across the water directly towards our tiny, isolated camping spot on the Lake shores. Before long we were in full emergency mode……
Em’s hatred of lightening had meant she’d been unable to close her eyes once the tent had been zipped up, and while Eug had reassured her it was only cloud lightening and nothing to worry about, she was having none of it.
Outside, and around 20 feet away, the gentle lapping of the lake’s waves had been replaced by a more urgent crashing, while the first heavy rain drops began to pelt the tent and the wind tried to tug at the canvass, making for a strange noise that didn’t bode well. Eug had been woken by this time, and we both decided to get anything that wasn’t essential for warmth back into our rucksacks.
Too late! Em’s bag was soaking from the waist down, a result of the strengthening wind outside pulling tent pegs from the sand and the heavy rain creeping inside the flysheet. Eug dived outside with spare lines and his head torch, grabbing rocks and tying down the tent lines as best he could, while Em attempted to mop up the pool of water inside the tent and get everything else away into ruck sacks.
After tying the lines as best as possible, Eug went to the small cave beside the tent and began to watch the waves and where they were getting to on the beach. When we’d arrived we’d made a mental note of where the small waves reached – that rock had all but disappeared now, and every so often one wave would break new ground, creeping closer and closer to our tent.
While the cave was okay, in that we’d checked when we’d first arrived on the beach for bats (known for rabies in these parts), spiders and anything else unpleasant, it was only good enough to stand in and then only in single file. We took the decision to evacuate everything from the tent and get it into the cave, along with ourselves, and once this was done we both used our head torches to monitor the waves which were now crashing onto the beach. It was pouring down, the wind was cold and gaining strength all the time, while above us the sky was frequently illuminated with flashes of lightening accompanied by huge growls of thunder.
We’d decided that if the waves reached a certain spot more than five times in two minutes, we’d drop the tent and get that into the cave with us as well. We didn’t need to wait more than 30 seconds before the largest wave yet came rushing up the beach, went well past the marker we’d agreed on and licked at the underside of the tent. Right, this was now v scary and we had to move quick!!
Tent dropped and hastily stuffed inside a black bin bag (much of our stuff was in chaos at this point, having been stuffed haphazardly into our ruck sacks), we stood in the cave again staring out at the blackness punctuated by frothing lines of surf getting closer and closer. We had to get out of here, a decision confimed when the next line of surf nudged at our cave entrance.
Ruck sacks on we made a dash from the cave when we thought we’d have our best chance of missing the surf and heading up the beach, and apart from one (very) wet foot each we managed to get ourselves a few feet further up the beach to the foot of the cliffside we’d descended only a few short hours ago in bright sunlight.
This was the strange thing, looking back. By now it was only 11.30pm, three hours since we’d zipped up and looked forward to a good night’s sleep. Now our tent was a mess in the back of a ruck sack, we were drenched from the waist down by the torrential rain and rapidly running out of flat ground from which to secure our safety. We decided the only thing we could do was attempt to find a way up the cliff face, amongst the gorse, dirt and loose rocks and between mini canyons gushing with water running off from above us. If we were scared before, that had been nothing to the s*** we were in now.
We got into a system where Eug went ahead for 20 feet or so, checking our route was safe and that we didn’t find ourselves in a position of no return, before screaming to Em that all was okay and she could follow. The wind tugged at us, the rain lashed down and the earth beneath crumbled as each step was made up that horrible cliff face, but after about 30 minutes we could make out the looming walls of the Inca ruins above us. Now all we had to do was find a way into them that didn’t involve literally scaling the walls to the top.
Somehow we did, and it was only down to good fortune. Here the land was flat, and while the first ruins we entered were only stone walls without roofs offering little protection from the wind and nothing from the rain, at least we were away from the dreaded waves, still crashing loudly far below us and even audible over the howling wind. Stooping through 4 foot high ‘doorways’, we entered room after room without roofs, before entering one doorway that led into a downhill sloping passage. Here there was an entrance at the end, facing the lake and acting as a funnel for the wind to whistle through and back out from where we’d entered – but this passage had stone flags above it, and while they leaked a little and a torrent of water was rushing down the floor of the passage. it was the driest place we’d been since an hour before in the cave on the beach.
The passage was 15 feet in length, 6 feet high at the top, dropping to less than 5 feet at the bottom entrance, and only 3 feet wide, but this was better than nothing. There were no signs of bats, but we disturbed two small birds that fluttered frantically around our heads before heading off into the storm outside.
With our tent groundsheet Eug went to the bottom entrance, clambered up above it and managed to secure it with a couple of stones to at least provide some defence from the gale force wind. The sheet flapped incessantly and the wind threatened to tear it away and expose us all over again, but with a bit of ingenious use of stuff from our ’emergency pack’ it held firm.
We were both cold, very wet, just a little scared (!) and knew now that this was to be our home for the rest of the night. We changed our clothes and set about making a brew, both managing to hold down a Snickers bar even though it tasted bloody awful. We couldn’t sit down, mainly because our passage still had a stream of water running through it, but also because the width of the passage and the slope made it impossible, and while the rain had ceased to a drizzle and we could see stars appearing in the distant sky, this meant the temperature had begun to drop. We worked out we had just less than five hours to wait until sunrise, when we’d be able to find a way back to the nearest village, three miles away, and get back to Copocabana.
Our time was spent singing, playing word games, making brews until we felt sick of coffee and generally trying to remain cheerful. We both knew the worst time would be the ‘death knell’ hours between 3 and 5 am, and while our spirits did drop during this time, we never reached the stage of sleep that we both dreaded in this passage from hell. Eug joked he’d thought he’d seen the last of mine passages after his trip down the Potosi mines!!
Outside the storm had dissapated, and while the wind was the last to go away, at least things improved a little. With clearing skies we both put on all our clothes, including our hats and gloves, which when we’d packed we didn’t really expect to use. But it was a very good job we had them with us.
The arrival of dawn seemed to take absolutely ages from the moment of the first hint of brightness in the eastern sky. Neither of us could wait to get moving again, and after what seemed like an eternity it was time to leave our temporary home – hurrah!
Both absolutely knackered, we headed slowly along the path to the local fishing village, all the time the sky brightening around us and evidence of the world coming to life again. Across to the south east the 6000 metre snow capped peaks of the Bolivian Andes were touched with deep reds and oranges as the world revolved and the sun brought warmth to a land that had been devoid of it. As we reached the edges of the village and passed through ancient Inca terraces we met and saw what seemed like hundreds of locals tending crops and animals, all of them looking slightly strangely at us – unsurprisingly, considering our dishevveled state and the fact it was still only 6.30am!! One chap we met immediately asked if wanted to ride back to Copocabana, and apart from nearly snatching his hand off, we grinned and laughed, said yes in our best Spanish and set about following him down to the beach. After what seemed like a lot of faffing around as he first went out in his row boat to fetch his launch in for us, we were on the boat and motoring alongside the Isla Del Sol. All was peaceful now, without a hint of the storm that had tore into the island the night before, and we jut sat there, rocking from side to side and snoozing from time to time as we sailed across the lake for two more hours.
With the land of Copocabana beneath our feet at last, we headed into town and got breakfast. Magical to say the least! It now seemed as if our wild and unforgettable adventure was a million miles away, in fact just a nightmare from which we’d awaken. But we have the pictures if you remain sceptical!!
Tags: Bolivia at last!
mihai