Strike Five

Every time we go camping, it's an adventure.  We've yet to go camping in our car successfully, without some sort of problem.  Of our 5 attempts, each one has ended with some challenge.  Admittedly, one of the challenges was a trip where the tent poles didn't make it in with the tent.  Other than that, we've had accidents with dump trucks, failed brakes at 13,000ft, push starting the car a half mile in snow and starting the car behind a transport truck.  Guess which one this camping trip was...

We pulled up to Yana Qhocha, an alpine lake with a smaller lake above that fed it with a singing waterfall.  As we pulled off the road and drove a short distance through the boggy grass, we caught glimpses of the area we were going to camp in before the mist came swirling back in.  Once we got the tent up, we spent most of the afternoon inside, listening to the wind and the clouds swirl outside, and discovering that my tent is no longer fully waterproof...  Matias was in his element in the tent, roughhousing, driving cars and even lying quietly beside us, looking at a book of poetry as Collin and I read our own books.  We had a quick dinner of hot chicken soup, huddled on the lee side of the car, trying to keep Matias warm and avoid getting sopping wet.  After wolfing down dinner, we crawled into our sleeping bags to get warm.

As we fell asleep, I was entranced by the sound of a lone frog singing.  Yes, singing.  At least that's what it sounded like to me.  Collin thought it sounded like a noise from a horror film, right before something scary jumps out of the mist.  I thought it was one of the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard.  Granted, my family and friends tell me I tend to be effusive, but it was haunting and alluring.  The best way to describe it is to compare it's sound both to the dripping of water, drop by drop into a puddle and a soft marimba.  What a way to fall asleep; the sound of a crystal clear stream bubbling next to the tent, accompanied by the gentle droplet song of an Andean frog.
We woke up to the above view from our tent door, the edge of the lake looking down on the vast jungle below.  It was the only sunshine of the day,
and the only glimpse we got of the mountains looming over the valley and Yana Qhocha (Black Lake in Quechua) below.

We tried to eat breakfast on top of a plastic sheet before the sun slipped away, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone again and the mist swirled back in.

As we ate breakfast, we learned how wet it can be in the middle of the clouds.  Matias was a good sport, but by the time he was done with his cold cereal (wishing we'd brought hot oatmeal instead!), he decided he was done with camping.

Determined to show Matias that camping is fun and not always miserable, we decided to pack up and leave, or at least drive out of the clouds to somewhere we could hike in the sun.

Matias sat in the middle of the tent as we took it down around him.  As soon as he was warmly bundled up in his car seat, he felt immediately better and was content to wait while we finished packing up by 8:30am.  It's a good thing he was content to wait, because he had to wait a bit longer than we anticipated... another good 6+ HOURS!!  It was cold and high altitude, but we hadn't had any problems starting the car in recent months, so we didn't anticipate trouble.  But after 2 hours of trying unsuccessfully, we finally realized we had to come up with a Plan B.

Collin put on his running clothes and made a plan to run to the nearest village or car he could find, potentially over 10km away.  If he wasn't back by 3pm, I was supposed to start hiking out with Matias on my own or decide to spend another night in the soggy tent, hoping for some help the following morning.  It was Sunday and there was a wild festival in the nearest town.  Our chances of finding people willing or able to help us were slim.

the lake with the tall tall grass and the squelchy mud

 Matias and I ate PB&J, drove his matchbox cars around the car and huddled under blankets when the cold wind blew the wet clouds through the cracks in the car door.  When we took a bathroom break, Matias discovered a delicate spiderweb, outlined with droplets of dew.  I showed him how to gently tap the web with a twig so the spider came darting out.  We spent the next hour hunting for spiders and their webs, Matias exclaiming with delight every time a spider scuttled onto the web.

A little before the 3pm deadline, Matias and I were walking around the lake, pretending we were going on a bear hunt from the Michael Rosen book.  We were swishy swashying our way through the tall tall grass when we heard what sounded like a semi truck horn blaring through the mist.  I scooped Matias up and we swishy swashyed our way back to the car and then out on the road so they wouldn't miss us.  To my surprise, a HUGE truck rolled up, driven by a 15-year-old girl.  A family of 2 men, 2 women, a teenage boy, two teenage girls and two little boys spilled out of the truck, along with Collin, whooping and hollering in the back.

Our car was far enough off the road that we couldn't winch it back onto the main road.  After fiddling with the motor for awhile, Jhonny, the blue-eyed Quechua leader of the group, agreed to help us push it through the bog and back onto the road.  With 15-year-old Jhessi at the wheel, it took all 10 of us (including the two little boys!) to push the car backwards to the highway, everyone grunting and gasping for air and Matias watching wide-eyed from the sideline.  Once we hooked the car up to the truck, one of the men jumped in to steer and the other stepped onto the running board.  Collin and I sat smushed in the back, hoping the car would eventually jump start.  It took a couple miles and lots of tries before the car finally started, sputtering, faltering and acting like it didn't want to go anywhere.

rolling hills outside Tiraque

After thanking and paying the family who helped us, we finally sputtered into the nearby small town of Tiraque, low on gas, realizing the car was eating gas at twice the normal rate. From a local, we learned the town gas station was out of gasoline and the nearest station was up and over a mountain pass.  As we drove out of Tiraque, the struggling car barely made it in first gear up the mild rolling hills.  The only other way home was back the way we came and a long drive around the mountains to come into Cochabamba at the opposite end of the city.  But we didn't have enough gas to make it.  When we reached the main road over the mountain pass home, we watched car after car fly up the steep road with winding curves and blind corners.  I got out the warning triangles to place on the road if we couldn't go further, got ready to hop out of the car whenever needed, and started praying like crazy that we'd make it over the pass.  Just then, a slow-moving truck began to make its way up the sharp grade, a long train of cars following slowly behind.  We joined the train, going just slow enough that we somehow made it over the pass without incident. On the downhill, we gassed up and made it home exhausted and grateful.

the steep grade home

Collin said we should start a new TV series, Bear Grylls style, where we are dropped off in the middle of nowhere in Bolivia with our car and have to figure out how to fix it and return home, using the locals and our resourcefulness.  As much as I love adventure, I think I've gotten my fill for now.