Tell me everything

We ended up staying two nights in Sorata before we left for the circuit. Because we were uncertain about the track, mostly misgivings about the altitude, we hired a guide… or tried to. This was a real palava – the three guides on the Sorata tourism website didn’t respond to my Whatsapp messages; there was nobody at the tourism office on the first day; we managed to find someone on the second day, one Don Julio, and all was well for a time. Then after we’d sent a few messages to confirm the route details, Don Julio called back, to check if we had a tent… for him! It turns out that while Don Julio was a local experienced in wandering the mountains themselves, he didn’t quite have the gear to get himself through as we were hoping. It was all in all a hilariously chaotic situation – his strategy was to walk with us to the campsites, then find someone at each of the hamlets that he could bunk with, before running to find us again in the morning. The first day, he actually told us he was just going to head home for the evening. While we committed to the first day of pay and guiding, we quickly realised that we could probably make do by ourselves, and also that the sleeping situation wasn’t ideal for anyone, and excused ourselves of his services for the remainder of the hike. 

Don Julio did provide interesting information for the first part of the hike – hiking tourism used to be far more prominent in Sorata, but post COVID (and probably since the roads were built) the allure of hiking and tourism agencies have diminished. He used to be a porter for hikers and climbers in the area, and is a native of the mountains, so was very comfortable with the track we walked.

Day one started with the three of us taking a very bumpy road for over an hour up to Lackathiya – a small hamlet where there is also an unused tourism office, a relic of previous years. The track ambles over various tracks in farmland to the east for a while before beginning to ascend steeply to the Illampu pass. This used to be the only track to the mines in the mountains – so a highway, essentially. On a good day, there are incredible views of the mastiff, but we only had a few sneaky peaks before the clouds made their bed. Before the road was built, this section was the main connection into the villages in the range – it’s a fairly rocky climb, and if you’ve also taken a taxi, make sure you walk slowly to prevent the altitude from doing anything weird to you. Stopping for lunch at Paso Illampu should give you incredible views, before dipping down the other side through a much more shallow valley. Descend for some time before eventually reaching a perpendicular valley, tracing the valley wall, and meeting up with the road. It’s easy walking along the road for a couple of kilometers until Ancoma, where the ‘track’ dips behind a property and follows the adjoining valley. Walk until you find a suitable place to camp – the trail continues the next morning on the true right of the stream (straight up the valley wall, into a different adjoining valley for the next pass). We camped on the true right in an old stone walled pen, taking off our boots a little early to cross the stream. The weather cleared up a bit, so the view up the valley to the snow peaks was incredible that night and in the morning. This campsite is at 3800m, so it’s reasonably warm overnight, but still high enough to see you hurtling into the tent after sundown to escape the cold.

Day one’s campsite is at the bottom of the valley, and the track for day two starts by heading up the valley wall – about 100m. This is a rough start to the day, take the time to use switchbacks when you can. Because of the easterly angle of the next valley, you should get sun once you finish this particularly steep bit. It’s then a continuous trail up this new valley for a couple of hours – the path becomes more unclear as the valley lengthens, and is at times boggy, so pick your path. Once we reached the pass top (4400m), we took a break before a muddy descent on the other side. Make sure you descend on the true right of the river for the easiest (and eventually correct) path. A number of switchbacks gave us great views of the valley Coyoco sits in, but it’s rough on the knees. Once you make it to the bottom, follow the road until you reach the town. We picked up some extra bread here, the stores are pretty basic so don’t rely on them too much. After a break and a restock, cross the river at the bridge, following the road to the south. This climbs again with the track remaining as the road, although it splits into the new road and an older one, to the right. The right-hand ‘road’ leads to the campsite marked on the map, and is much more private (the ‘old’ road is eventually blocked for cars). There are a few random houses in this area and plenty of old stone ruins, though we didn’t see anyone around. Despite the proximity to the road, there were some nice grassy areas and a bubbling brook that we pitched up alongside, and we had a really lovely night’s sleep here, at about 3900m. One thing to watch out for is the prickly grassy mounds that exist around this altitude. We initially thought we’d picked a lovely soft spot, but the grass is so sharp it breaks off into anything in touches! Thankfully, we didn’t stick any holes into our groundsheet.

Day three is rough. Like, insanely so. The day starts with the remainder of a gentle (relative term?) ascent up the current valley. Continue along the old road until it meets up with the new; you’ll have to cross the river at some point, we did so at a vehicle ford. The present pass ends at 4500m, offering some lovely views of the massive valley as you tramp along. The other side descends more steeply – follow a mix of the road and llama trails into the base of the next river valley, about 4000m, then it’s back up again. This whole section is on the road, and is where we were passed by all the ‘traffic’ – a handful of jeeps and trucks. While it’s gentle (with lots of vehicle-friendly switchbacks), it’s a fiendish ascent of 700m until the campsite. We also had pretty average weather coming up here, with the clouds packing it in again and some light drizzle, so it wasn’t a great end to the day for us. The campsite for day 3 is a little strange – it’s a ‘laguna’ on the map but really a bog for the most part. There’s a sandy patch which is nice and flat for pitching right by the road, as you arrive at the laguna. There are a few rocky/uneven spots toward the other end of the laguna, though the running water is closer and it’s a bit more private it would be a much less comfortable sleep. This is the highest campsite – at 4750m – so be prepared for a cold night with frost.

Wake up the next morning ready to hit the highest point on the track. If you go for an early start, make sure you take care with any frozen poles – they’ll be much more prone to snapping. The highest point is called Abra de la Calzada, after which there’s an opportunity to diverge from the road and wander along the old hiking trail. This whole section has awesome views of the two lagunas below. However, there is a portion which traverses a boulder slope – which had suffered from a slip when we were on the trail, meaning it disappeared and turned into some dodgy path-picking. We had to scramble back up to the sturdiness of the road. And, once we’d got back on the road, it started snowing! Very cute at first, but it quickly became a bit problematic as the wind picked up and turned it into sleet. We hadn’t yet stopped for lunch, and with the sideways cold – now we couldn’t. We then lost trail again as it diverged from the road (cattle, llama tracks are everywhere!), and getting back on it meant sleet straight into our faces. We struggled on for about an hour, but thankfully the weather cleared up for our final climb onto the tops, which meant we could finally have some lunch before the wind picked up and got us moving before freezing. We had some lovely views over the tops, although our reactions were a bit dulled due to exhaustion. As always, the trail appeared and disappeared, but the general direction is clear for the descent into the Laguna San Francisco valley. This particular section on the mountain is very cool – it really feels like remote foothills, as you are finally completely away from the road.

However, the map had yet to give us the biggest lie! Laguna San Fransisco is a beautiful colour and looks like a lovely place to camp. As we descended, it appeared as a flat grassy old glacial valley, and the map told us the camping spot was right in the middle. Quite exposed – considering our experiences of mountain weather, we weren’t super keen to pitch up in such an open place. Then as we tried to explore the “track” to the campsite, we found the entire valley to be a bog. Fair warning – walking is really tough, and on the far side there are streams which can make your track impassable. We aren’t sure if it’s because we were so close to the rainy season, or if it’s always like that – but in our opinion, there was no way we could pitch up anywhere in the middle. Both sides of the valley were steep and full of thick alpine grasses and a variety of nettles – there’s an old stone hamlet on each side, but there’s no flat ground in either. It was one of those times where we were exhausted, underfed, over-altituded and filled with decision fatigue. Eventually we made our way further up the valley, after crossing, to a rocky outcrop, and were lucky enough to find a grassy spot (without bog!) to pitch up at. 5:30pm pitch and 6pm sunset meant a rushed dinner and a short evening to relax. If you’re doing this trek, learn from our mistakes! Head straight across the bog, don’t muck around with the map campsite, and head up the valley – the rocky outcrop is obvious from the top valley wall. There’s also a tepid stream (termas) on the way.

The final day begins with another ascent to the final pass. Head right up the valley wall along a mixture of old road and wide trail, and finally a gentle ascent through alpine grass. The pass is marked with a cairn shaped like a fullah with a hat on, and on a clear day you can see the spectacular blue of Lago Titicaca ahead, and the peaks on the right. The rest of the track descends randomly through farmland which gets progressively greener. Llamas turn into sheep into cattle as the pastures become lush. We lost the track a lot, ended up in several bogs, and generally were a bit irritated from exhaustion. However, luck stroke only a couple of kilometers after we reached the road. We were planning to walk to Milipaya, to then catch a taxi to Sorata, to then score a collectivo back to La Paz. However, a couple drove past us and offered us the lift to Sorata (for ‘un rojo’ – a 100 bol bill), saving us the 6km of walking down the road. So this walkie ended, with the kindness – well, opportunism – of strangers, and the chance to gaze at the changing scenery from the comfort of a seat rather than our two feet.