A cautionary tale of trekking from Michael Woodman
On a trek last year I met someone aiming to make money out of her holiday photos. Alice’s business plan was to give presentations at travel exhibitions and to work the village halls of the nation with state-of-the-art slide shows.
Her key innovation would be to pocket extra fees for mentioning companies and products – cash would do nicely, but in reality anything from a free camera to a free holiday would do the job.
Sadly, she had made a lucky sales pitch to the very same travel company that my wife Elizabeth and I had engaged for a trek. And a perplexing exchange of introductions ensued at a hotel foyer in the Peruvian town of Huaraz, high among the Cordilleras of the Andes. The two of us turned up at the appointed time, eager and acclimatised from four days of preliminary trekking. Alice, meanwhile, had spent several fraught days flying out, making the eight-hour bus transfer from Lima, then tracking down her boots and baggage from Miami.
Over dinner in downtown Huaraz, we explored the mismatch of expectations, which had quickly emerged at the hotel. Alice had been counting on us to enliven her photos, and could not see why we wouldn’t fancy appearing as model extras. We meanwhile explained that we’d been promised an experienced mountain leader for a demanding trek in the remote Huayhuash range.
Alice sensed that she could be out of her depth here. Her knowledge of South America derived from watching Touching the Void; she had never previously led a trek, and had no training in first aid or altitude risks. But she had been assured that the local crew would take care of all that, and - falsely - that she would have a satellite phone in case of a serious mishap.
But it became rapidly apparent that Alice would be unable to converse with this local crew. She spoke no Spanish, and the guide, cook and donkey drivers spoke no English. Elizabeth and I would have to run the trek, and Alice tag along. We had counted on having someone useful around in case of emergency. Instead, our much greater experience could put us in the position of responsibility.
Fortunately nothing much went wrong, and our emergencies were limited to Alice sustaining a minor gash to her hand when, flustered after dashing back to a previous night’s camp to recover her hat, she took a flier running down some loose scree. There was more excitement that day when we met a John Wayne look-alike, complete with saddle-slung carbine. He chatted with our local guide, Maximo, in their native Aymara, and he relayed to me in Spanish the calming news that it was OK, the Sendera Luminosa were not back in business - he was just a vigilante, and catching a local bandit would in fact make his day. It seems that there is a stretch on the far side of this circuit where some bad guys from a neighbouring valley do a bit of mugging. But hospitable and enterprising local herders have put their man on the beat to keep the tourists flowing.
The leader of another trek, spotting the rookie nature of our outfit, tactfully offered help and advice, even a few tutorials in our mess tent of an evening. Alice also received a run-down on the sort of disaster that can occur when mountains turn seriously nasty, and how allegations of blame soon fly if any aspect of the organisation seems faulty. She became quite subdued, briefly, as the talk turned to a tragedy on a trek run in 1999 by her present associates.
We returned home, and I unearthed the following extract in the final accounts of that firm - it subsequently changed its name and went bust: “Contingencies: During the year the company received a claim for compensation of £7,052 relating to an expedition which took place in Nepal. The company had made wide use of third party guides on the expedition and feels that in the unlikely event of a successful claim against them, will hope to pass on these costs to their agent in Nepal for settlement by them without any further cost to the company.”
Now, if the whole idea of taking an organised trek is to extend your capabilities, accompanied by someone for whom it is all familiar ground, how do you avoid trekking firms run by people who leave details to chance, and seek to blame someone else if it all goes wrong?
Googling for comments or blogs on your prospective company - and its senior staff - can produce astonishing results. But this seems paranoid, and you never know who may have an axe to grind. A better option would be to contact the BMC - as I found out rather too late. They don’t impose standards or regulate, but they do have a list of questions that you should ask a prospective tour company. They even have advice, which trek leaders should know all about, on common cultural pitfalls like skimpy dress and intrusive photography.
Michael's love of mountains centred on rock climbing until the 1970's, but now actually in his 70's, he's happy just to keep on trekking! He regards BMC membership as vital since it's the only way he can get insurance.
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