Each morning starts the same in the Andes: the frost is heavy on the insides of our tents and falls with the slightest movement, while the realization that it´s going to be a freezing exit from the sleeping bag is tempered by gratitude that the thirteen hour night is over. Yes, sunrise in the Andes is a momentous occasion each day, one that feels a million miles away from home. Kurt typically is the first up and dutifully begins brewing fine coffee on the camp stove. Matt emerges shortly thereafter. Nobody says a word, we just stand around in the frost like cold lizards – or maybe zombies – until the sun arrives to warm us. By midday it is fearsomely hot in the sun and the down clothing is replaced by sandals and wide-brimmed hats. Then, just as one is getting used to the idea of a nice afternoon siesta, the sun drops behind the skyline and the climate is icy once again.
One thing I am reminded of daily is that here in the Cordillera Carabaya, unlike in the western Andes, we are never alone. The moraines we investigate and the valleys we explore are someone´s backyard. Herds of alpacas swamp our campsite, followed by ferocious dogs, and mining trucks, laden with gold ore from Limbani, compete with our 4 x 4 for road space. We´ve met some interesting folk here, too, such as the toothless, Quechua-speaking alpaca herder high on a moraine, to school children asking us how to pronounce derogatory words in English.
We´ve been at Aricoma a week now and, I am pleased to report, have a lot to show for it. In addition to scratty, dusty beards and admirable tans, we´ve mapped and sampled glacial deposits young and old, from the last glacial maximum right up to the present day. This work has taken us up into the high valleys, where the last remnants of glacier ice are tucked away in shady recesses above 5000 m elevation. Here, we are surrounded by imposing peaks and deep, glacial lakes of indescribable beauty. It truly is a geologist´s dream, if a cold one.