Field Trip: Imbabura Bushwack II, Partial Redemption

Headed out and up by 8.  Two hours to bike drop in the pines and the changing station.  30 min. refuel/stash bike/change-over.  One hour to the top of the quebrada turnaround.  45 min. back to bike and 30 min. back to Otavalo.  Elevation gain/loss: unknown.  Cloud-cover: variable. 

This time, I'd had the right approach, on the right side of the quebrada.  A quebrada is a break, literally -- a ravine.  Some of the only remaining forests line these deep chasms.  The Heart of Imbabura is itself a quebrada that opens up at the top.  I headed looker's left of the HoI.  The Heart is supposed to be enchanted since nothing can make it across the span.  Except birds I guess.  I'd head straight up the side of the volcano, and then my trail would cut left, almost horizontally across the mountain away from the Heart, until I hit the next quebrada.  These ravines are several hundred feet deep in parts.

They say Papi Imbabura protects this valley.  He is omnipresent, looming even as the clouds settle over him.  The first thing I do when I walk outside in the morning is check him out, to get some sense of the weather.  I'd been up the other side, but that approach gives you several thousand feet of starting elevation advantage.  15,000' total, there are three little mini-volcanoes in front of it.  I'd shoot for the saddle between the middle hill and the main cone.  The volcano has not erupted for 14,000 years, they say.  

I took one wrong turn, headed up too early before breaking back left across the mountain.  The last/highest fields are peppered with shelters.  Shepherds and farmers often walk hours to get up to some of these pastures and fields.  I passed one man, shouldering his hoe, headed down, a dog at his heels.  Most of the farm work -- most everything here -- is done by hand.  Passing him, I had to walk the bike for the steepness, and met a woman who'd broken off her work to come down.  She was looking for me to give her money, and I would surely have, if I'd had less than the ten I always keep in my bike shorts for emergencies.  She looked at my big pack, camera, glasses, bike -- all my gear.  Didn't believe I had nothing to give, which of course was true.   She motioned with her hand, told me to go back down.

So I did, feeling a weird mix of righteousness and guilt.  I shook it and cut back across on a more familiar road, before turning back into the mountain and heading upwards again.  Eventually, I had to walk the bike.  I dropped the seat as far as it would go and settled in for the push, my eyes on a pine grove that the clear mountain trail emerged from.  

There is one "hotel" at about the point where the mountain bends into the real ascent.  From here, my hour and a half climb seems completely flattened out, though the legs know better.  In two passings, I've yet to see anyone at the hotel, five little guest houses and a glass-lined dining room.  I passed on by, eyes on a pine grove I figured was a good place to stash the bike for the hike.

Once in the pine grove, it began to spit a little rain.  They say this is Papi Imbabura peeing.  The grove is nearly vertical, so that there is little difference between sitting and standing on the slope.  After changing into some dry clothes and heavy boots, I was hiking by 10:30, headed into the paramo, much steeper on this side than my last walk on the hill.  They do not do switchbacks here.  The trail heads vertically up, and then horizontally across.  You can even see it from our house, an inverse L cut into the mountain.   

I was back to the bike by 12:15, back to the house just after 1.  Papi Imbabura stayed in the clouds for the whole hike, but by the time I was back at the base, the whole shroud had lifted.  Such was my redemption of sorts -- I'd found the right path to the path, but half short the summit, I'd leave it for another day.  

Imbabura swallowed by clouds, barely half visible.

The Heart draped with clouds.

I'd head up this pasture -- littered with rock, it's one of the only spots left unplowed at this elevation.

Looking back across the pasture

My target, far left, there is one dark patch of pine forest below the smaller cone directly above the road.  Imbabura still ensconced in clouds.

Legumes above 12,000'

 A lichen-coated pine, it was nice to sit in this grove and listen to them whisper.

Looking right up the quebrada towards the shrouded summit

Looking back down at Otavalo, between the two dark hills in the center

Trail view -- you can see how it is "benched" into the side of the hill.

This trail's been cut, whether as a border or for livestock, I'm not sure.

Looking up the drainage of a smaller quebrada, you can see what it might have looked like before being deforested.

Lago San Pablo and some sense of the slope

Heading back down the vertical section, my pine grove in the center of the frame.

Lunch: a salami sandwich, banana-walnut break, and a grenadilla for dessert.

The changing station -- having bad ankles, I'd humped the boots.  Along with food, extra water, several layers, bike tools, and camera, it was a decent load, but kept me in the saddle for the descent!