A car picked us up outside our hostel at 4am. The early start was necessary as the journey takes hours, and once the sun rises the heat is unbearable. In the backseat were the other couple on the tour today, Mateo and Ivonne. I was too tired for traveller chit chat, so grunted at them and closed my eyes.
The long drive took us twisting around the side of a mountain range, overtaking lorries. We pulled over and a figure approached from the dark. He introduced himself as Rhys and would take us the rest of the way. He gave us each a board which soon became heavy in our arms. Jen knew a trick to slide it behind our backpacks which everyone copied. With the sky still dark, Rhys led us with a flashlight.
This tour had been hastily organized. The operator mainly did flights over the Nazca Lines and we had flown with them on a charter plane the day before. When I mentioned an interest in Cerro Blanco, our agent Julio said he could do it. There were no booklets or pictures, just a price if we could agree on one. We couldn’t and decided to leave it. But later that day Julio called at our hostel. He had found another couple interested and would accept our price. The sandboarding was on!
The first section of hike took us through ghostly, desolate wasteland, with nothing but rock and grit. The odd bush was sun-scorched into twisted charcoal. The clouds sat below us and my ears popped. We approached the dune from behind, as trekking up the slope face would be impossibly difficult. From here it was a three hour hike to the summit.
At our first drinks break I felt awake enough to chat. Mateo was Swiss and Ivonne was his attractive Colombian wife. They were fresh off their first sandboarding experience yesterday at Huacachina, the desert oasis town. The dunes there are fun but a fraction of the size of Cerro Blanco. Now based in Switzerland, they added this detour through Peru before they go to Medellín to visit Ivonne’s family.
I asked how a Swiss man came to speak fluent Spanish, and he explained that he used to run a restaurant in Guatemala, ‘but that was another life.’ Mateo was now a watchmaker for Rolex.
He looked the sort too, with glasses that he kept readjusting back up the bridge of his nose. I imagined him being like one of Santa’s elves in the toy workshop.
‘How does one even become a watchmaker?’
‘You go to watchmaking college, of course.’ He’s kidding, right?
‘Are you always on time?’
‘I think so.’
Ivonne spoke Spanish and French, but not English, so once I wore out my ‘hola amigo’ as far as it would go, we just exchanged smiles. Jen offered her some grapes and after she took one, I used it as leverage for photo-taking favours.
Rhys was a petite Peruvian who spoke limited English. I quickly ran the course of my Spanish down to just exchanging smiles with him too.
Jen persisted ‘So you’re, like, a professional sandboarder, then?’
‘¿Un profesional?’ he chuckled. ‘Sure.’
Soon after sunrise we took our next break at a rocky hill top.
‘Who did this?’ Jen asked, pointing to a collection of towers made up from stacked rocks.
Rhys answered while Mateo translated.
‘Climbers. It’s tradition before going down Cerro Blanco.’
Jen built a stack for us, giving me the honours of laying the final rock. More than anything, I thought the stacks looked like tombstones.
Mateo urged us to keep going while he stayed behind for a few minutes. ‘It’s 7am,’ he explained. ‘I need to go.’ Like a finely tuned Rolex, Mateo’s body ran like clockwork.
For the final stretch to the summit we struggled up the powder-soft sand. This was exhausting, as the sand collapsed underfoot and we sunk backwards with every step.
We paused twice more for breaks, allowing Mateo to catch up. This was slow, hard work. My calf muscles were burning. But our efforts were rewarded as up on the knife edge rim, the views were inspiring. The mountains and valleys were far below; the city of Nazca in the far distance. We were on top of the world. This was sand-Everest. And I was its Edmund Hillary.
The team were treated to a couple of practice slopes. Rhys pulled a handful of wax sticks from his pocket and ran them over our boards, to help us glide over the sand and build up more speed. Having sandboarded the previous day, Mateo volunteered to go first. Balanced atop the dune peak, Mateo lay flat on top of his board. Rhys crouched behind and pushed him off. We all watched as Mateo rocketed down the slope before arriving at a graceful end. Ivonne soon followed. On my turn Rhys explained that I needed to keep my feet dug into the ground to control my speed. He pushed me away and it was an exhilarating, if brief, glide down the slope.
On my second go I couldn’t come to a stop and turned sideways to avoid collision, disappearing down a crater. Everyone giggled. From the two practice goes I understood how if I didn’t keep my feet dug into the sand, the board was capable of creating unstoppable momentum.
With that, regular season was over. Now Rhys took us to the main slope of Cerro Blanco. At over a kilometre long, this single descent is like nothing else in the world. Staring down from the top, we couldn’t even comprehend the distance. It was a long way down, with no escape if something went wrong.
The group began to get nervous.
‘Right Mateo,’ I volunteered before people chickened out. ‘Show us how it’s done then.’
Mateo shook his head. ‘Too dangerous.’
He wanted to walk down. I couldn’t believe it.
‘Well I haven’t paid fifty pounds and hiked three hours to walk down the dune.’
Mateo wiped his glasses with the end of his shirt, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘It’s further than you think, Will.’
I glanced at Rhys who insisted ‘Feet! Feet!’
‘Will, I think I’m going to just paddle down carefully.’ Jen sat on her board. ‘The views have been great. And it was a nice walk.’
Ivonne said nothing, she was busy waxing her board.
‘Wooh! Ivonne’s going for the gold medal!’ I cheered. At least someone had some courage.
Mateo began his walk.
'Be careful, Will' Jen insisted, before following him.
I prepared to get my £50 worth. Laying on the board, Rhys gripped me from behind.
‘Feet, feet,’ he reminded once more and pushed me off.
I gripped my feet in hard, but the sand was so soft my feet slipped out, unable to hook onto anything solid. The board zipped along the silky surface. I belted out a 'Whoop!' as I blasted past Jen and Mateo. My board picked up more speed. I kept trying to grip, and the board fish-tailed. I felt panic as I couldn't stop the momentum. I hurtled into the white abyss. I'm going to have to throw myself off! Or I'll never slow down!
But just before I had to, my feet at last found a grip, and the board began to slow.
My hat slipped forward over my face, and my neck strained from being turned upwards. Spit had dripped down my chin and caught the sand. The slope was endless. I dug my feet in hard enough to grind all the way to a halt. I stood and shook myself off. I hadn't even made it half way down, but Jen and Mateo were still so far behind me I could hardly see them. I spat out sand, and noticed a billowing cloud rising up from the slope.
Out of it came a tumbling body, limp and dead. Jen?!
No.
Ivonne!
I ran across the dune to cut her off. She was in an uncontrolled spin and I threw myself at her just in time. She knocked me backwards and it took two attempts to bring her to a stop. When I heard her gasp for air I surged with relief. She must have been suffocating as she rolled down. But at least she was alive - for now. I turned her into the recovery position and she coughed out a mouthful of sand.
I stood up and waved for help. Unable to say anything she would understand, I just made soothing noises while we waited. I stroked her arm and checked her cheek, which was smashed in. Both her eyes were swollen shut and her nose was bloodied. Her right hand was twisted backwards. She groaned and cried in pain, the sounds trapped in her throat.
Mateo was the first to arrive. ‘Oh no, oh no,’ He cradled Ivonne.
‘Will, what’s happened?’ Jen shrieked, arriving next. Finally, a quiet Rhys surfed down to us on his board.
‘Water, please.’ I gave Mateo my bottle and he pulled Ivonne’s eyelids back as best he could to wash her eyes. But the swelling had clamped them shut. As he worked, sand, grit and even bits of dried leaves washed out from under them.
'What happened?' He demanded.
'I don't know. She must have come down too fast and lost control.'
Mateo tried to prop her up but she screamed in pain and had to be laid back down flat.
'We'll have to slide her down with the board.'
We got it under her, but as Mateo pulled she screamed again until he stopped. Her back must be broken. There was no way to move her.
We looked around and realized how much trouble we were in; stranded on the massive dune slope in the middle of this remote wasteland, with the sun quickly rising.
Each of us checked our cellphones for a signal. No bars. How would rescue be possible? There's no way an ambulance could get to us - even if we could contact them.
Mateo glanced at Rhys. ‘Helicopter? Money does not matter.’
He shook his head.
Rhys wanted to walk up the slope a bit to see if the signal improved. Jen and Mateo sat on either side of Ivonne, helping her into the most comfortable position. Jen’s sarong was draped over her face to keep the sun off. A shadow darted across the sand and the three of us looked up at a huge Andean condor circling above. I left my water bottle with them, before following Rhys.
Walking up the soft sand was instantly draining, and within metres, with no sign of the signal improving, Rhys gave up. ‘We run.’
‘What? We can’t just run away- can we?’
‘No. We run for help.’
‘Oh yeah. Let’s do that.’
As the two of us jogged down the slope I wondered who had done the risk assessment for this tour.
The jog down hadn't been hard, but was far enough that I knew the journey back up would be devastating. At the base of Cerro Blanco was a rocky valley. We paused to catch our breath. I’m not sure what Rhys’ plan was here. I didn’t think I could run all the way back to Nazca; the city almost an hour's drive away. But at the end of the valley was a parked car, the same one that had picked us up at the hostel. Rhys explained quickly to the driver who spun the vehicle round and shot off down the road with us in tow. On Rhys’ phone I could see him call a contact, Julio, the tour operator. The driver stopped at a shop for Rhys to buy two bottles of water. I pulled my shoe off and emptied a cup of sand onto the ground outside the car. I didn’t know how thirsty I was until I tasted my first refreshing glug.
The sun was up now and Jen, Ivonne and Mateo were totally exposed.
The driver dropped us back off at the entrance to the valley. The White Mountain rose in the distance, and somewhere on that huge slope was Jen, baking in the sun and running out of water. We needed to move quickly.
After an anxious wait, an ambulance arrived, tailed by a motorbike. Rhys and I were able to hitch a ride in the back with the team of paramedics. With no seats left, I hung onto the handles as the ambulance struggled over the rocks, lurching to each side. The largest paramedic wore a face mask of a skeleton jaw, as if the Grim Reaper himself had come for Ivonne.
I hoped she wouldn’t wake up to see his face.
As the rescue team filed out, suited and booted, the biker who had tailed the ambulance came clambering round the side. He eagerly filmed the action on his phone like he was shooting his own Michael Bay blockbuster, and even pulled out a second camera for that extra angle.
‘¿Qué Pasa?’ He demanded, pushing his flip screen digital camera into my face.
‘Err hola amigo?’
He moved his line of questioning to a more articulate subject, but picked the Grim Reaper who barked at him, and the budding film maker backed off.
Julio stepped out from the front of the ambulance in his smart shirt and trousers. He wrapped over a hi-vis jacket and began the walk up. Rhys and I joined the slow march with the paramedics. The slope was so expansive I couldn’t see where Jen and the rest were. My calves were quickly screaming. This was the sort of ascent that was near impossible.
The paramedics looked worried; would any of us make it up there? I was all too aware that my role in this rescue was pointless anyway. What could I do to help? I’m not medically trained.
The Grim Reaper soon fell to the back of the pack, red faced and gasping. He had an equipment bag slung over his back and I discovered my purpose.
‘I’ll have it.’
He gladly relinquished the bag and, slinging it over my back, I resumed the march.
But progress was slow. Our heavy boots sunk into the soft sand and zapped us of strength, as it crumbled underneath and slid us backwards. We had to regularly pause to rest. Water bottles passed back and forth, but there was never enough. The paramedics wore thick jumpsuits and were cooked alive. Every step cost a terrible effort.
Julio waved from far ahead. He had spotted our group; three dots in the distance.
I could only summon enough strength for a few feet, before dropping to my knees, then rest, before building up the strength for the next few feet. The rescue effort was taking hours. The sun was at full bore. One paramedic collapsed in the sand. We would need our own rescue. This was the most devastating physical effort of my life. I couldn’t go any further, and finally fell in the sand too, defeated. A shadow circled over me.
I heard a cheer. Julio had reached the survivors. Now they needed the rest of us up there. To my left, the spritely Rhys was slowly making his distance. To my right were a couple of paramedics still crawling along, and behind was the Grim Reaper, spread-eagled over the sand. We would have to get him on the way back down. I summoned the strength for a couple more feet. Jen needed me, Ivonne needed the bag slung around my back, but most of all, I refused to be beaten by this stupid sand-mountain. I was still Hillary – God damn it! I staggered up and wobbled on my rubbery legs. Just one step at a time, Will. Just one foot in front of the other.
Jen waved from above. Twenty metres became ten, which became five. With one heave, I threw myself forward and Mateo caught my hand, pulling me up.
‘What took you?’ He joked.
‘Nothing.' I gasped 'Why, you been waiting?’
He gave me a bottle of juice. It was warm, sweaty and pure nectar on my tongue.
‘How is she?’
Ivonne was bundled up, all her skin covered with shirts and sarongs to stop her getting sun stroke or burnt. She was quiet and still. One side of her face was pocked and dented from whatever it had smashed into, and her swollen eyes were dark purple.
‘She is resting.’
I gave Jen a quick hug, who had spent the last few hours with her arm around the back of Ivonne’s neck, to prop it up into a more comfortable position. But it meant the end of Jen’s trousers had pulled up and exposed her lower legs, which were badly sunburnt.
When the Grim Reaper and the rest of the paramedics arrived, they gently slid an orange mat under Ivonne, while she groaned in pain, and wrapped her in it like a sarcophagus.
‘She’ll be ok,’ Jen whispered to Mateo, patting his arm. He grabbed her and burst into tears.
Julio, Rhys and the paramedics lifted the orange sarcophagus, and walked her down. Jen, Mateo and I followed in procession, carrying all the sandboards.
Police hovered at the bottom, having abandoned any interest in making the long march up. The police chief kept mopping his brow with a towel and finishing off everyone’s water. I had sand everywhere, through my shoes, clothes, hands and especially my trouser pockets.
The ambulance was full, so the police chief ushered us into his truck, confiscating the last of my water as payment. Rollicking through the rocky valley in the back of the police truck, Jen held her hand over her mouth and grimaced. Her skin was burnt but her face was white and tired. I think she had sun stroke.
‘Will, I’m going to puke.’
The police pulled over in town to buy themselves ice lollies, as reward for their hard work watching us come down the mountain. Jen opened the door and slumped out the side. She looked ready to pass out. A shop keeper saw her and rushed over excited.
‘Ok, ok! Un momento!’ He came back with a cup of medicine.
Jen gulped it down and then retched. ‘That's vodka!’
The shop keeper nodded his head, grinning. I shooed him off.
The police took us to the hospital where Ivonne was. I was shocked when I looked in the bathroom mirror. My face and beard were powdered white, choked with sand. My hair was haggard, greasy and wild. I looked like a tramp.
Mateo greeted us in the foyer. Ivonne had gone straight in for an X-ray and would then be taken to Lima for further treatment.
I thought the police had taken us to the hospital to be helpful, but we were actually wanted for questioning. One stood with a pen and notepad while the other asked the questions.
‘¿Usted fue testigo del accidente?’
‘¿Recibiste el entrenamiento adecuado?’
‘Uhh... Hola amigo?’
The two cops glanced at each other and the notebook was closed. We were free to go.
At the hostel we had a chance to assess Jen’s sun damage. Her legs had blistered up and felt like they were on fire, but for now she was asleep.
From the safety of our modest bedroom I pondered our fortune and near miss.
‘I’m so glad that wasn’t you.’
She stirred. ‘I’m so glad that wasn’t you.’
Several days later we made our way up to Lima and visited Mateo and Ivonne in hospital. The doctors had found a break in her hand, sternum and three places in her back. But there was no paralysis or brain damage. They had an ambulance plane booked that night to get them back to Switzerland. I asked how it was getting paid for.
Mateo pushed up his glasses. ‘With a lot of money.’
He’ll have to put in for serious overtime with Santa.
I awoke that night in a sweat; another dream about Cerro Blanco. The hostel room was hot and I got up to open the window. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Ivonne must have felt when she realized she had lost control. And how close I had been to losing control; how close that could have been to being me -or Jen. In my dreams I keep seeing the White Mountain, overlooking the valley, with its soaring peak of beauty and horror.
Sounds read will! Thanks for sharing! x
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