Chapter 4

North of Cuzco in Peru, close to the start of the Machu Pichu tourist trail, the llamas and alpacas were being herded along the narrow winding track.

The animals did not complain. They shuffled along at a hypnotic pace. Each beast still had its warm winter coat despite the beginning of the snow melt. It would soon be late spring.

Four herders accompanied the twenty seven animals. These were local tribal men who knew the mountains well. They preferred working with the animals than having to farm lower down the mountain, or within the cramped silver mines, or the pittance that they could earn from working on the coast among the non-tribal Spanish colonisers.

The route would take them from the Urubamba river, past the Inca ruins of Llactapata, over the high pass of Warmiwanusca at 4,200m and down past the more impressive Inca sights at Sayacmarca, Puyupatamarca and Winaywayma. The herders would then hand over their precious cargo at Machu Picchu.

The 4x4s had off-loaded the crates for the tribal men to pick up earlier that day. The vehicles had been late. The quantity of crates was seriously reduced. A fifth of the expected boxes had not made the journey from Potosi through to their rendezvous north of Cuzco. The 4x4s had covered a formidable thirty six hour route of Andean wilderness and rough, hard tracks.

The animals were making steady progress on the difficult walking ledges. Much of the path had been previously cut into the side of the mountainside and to the edge of the pathway lay steep, formidable drops. The animals just followed the leader and, every couple of minutes, the beige llama at the head of the procession gave off a tinkle of noise as its neck bell clattered against its glistening fur coat.

It had been raining hard over the last few days. The herders had been surprised by the unusual conditions and still led the llamas and alpacas, wearing poor leather sandals. The animals were each weighed down by the crates tied onto their backs. This added the weight of a small adult to each of them. The head llama reached a steep and narrow gulley in the path and let out a small snort. The closest herder whacked his stick against the animal’s hind quarters and she stumbled forward again, leading her twenty six fellow beasts onward.

The herders were tired, having enjoyed their last evening before working. The local lager cusquena had been acquired from a friend’s tourist stall at the heart of Cusco and had featured strongly on the previous evening’s menu. Their responses were slow.

The lead herder saw the rocks start to slip above the animals only after the first five llamas had begun to straddle the path within the gully. He ran to push the beasts back to the safety of the non-moving path behind them.

He was pushing the beige llama as she lost her rear footing and a large boulder crashed into her, taking the animal down the gulley. The landslide had begun to gain momentum and there was nothing that the second herder could do, except watch, as a further four of his beloved animals and his cousin were thrown down the gully and over two hundred metres to the valley floor.