Discovering Laguna Grande: The Hidden Jewel of El Cocuy National Park!
Happy Tuesday, my dear friend. Thank you for being here again in this new year. I appreciate it a lot.
Following up on Tamara’s last adventure in El Cocuy, this new chapter brings us up the mountains to a wonderful place called Laguna Grande.
The trekking up to the destination is challenging yet full of emotions.
Grab a coffee, take a comfortable seat, and enjoy!
The backpack on his shoulders, the trekking boots, and the brisk pace of someone used to long hikes. It's Julio, the guide I contacted a year ago from Italy to accompany us along the trails of El Cocuy National Natural Park, where access is only possible with a permit and a certified local guide.
We check in at the park office for the briefing: they explain the rules to us, we sign the forms, and we set off. We walk through cultivated fields and solitary farms, where the intense green of the pastures contrasts with the dark shadows of the mountains in the distance. Julio warns me about the slippery rocks.
"Okay," I reply jokingly. "I wouldn't want to have to call the air rescue!”
He laughs, pointing to a horse grazing in the meadow. "That's our air rescue. If you get hurt, they’ll come pick you up on horseback."
We stop often to drink and stay hydrated, preventing altitude sickness, as we climb higher, and by evening we will reach 3,600 meters, where we will spend the night.
Orchids, bromeliads, and quinine plants adorn an isolated house. I stop to take photos of the flowers. A woman approaches us and invites us inside. She chases away a turkey that approaches threateningly, picks some mint leaves, and prepares an infusion for us.
She lives there alone. Goats, chickens, and turkeys keep her company until they end up on the plate, along with the potatoes from her garden.
I ask her if she ever goes down to the village. She replies that she goes once every two or three months to buy things she can't produce herself. It's a long trip. Those who have a horse take a day, but she has to ask for a ride with the lechero, the truck that picks up the freshly milked milk from the farms every morning. She rides in the back, among cans of milk, to reach Guicán, where she shops and spends the night. The next day, she returns home in the same way.
Up here, the noise of urban comforts doesn't reach. The price of the serene atmosphere of the high mountains is a tough life.
Crossing the forest, among colorful flowers and blue streams, we reach Hacienda La Esperanza: a simple patio surrounded by spartan rooms. For dinner, they serve us cabrito (young goat), while Julio explains the route for the next day: Laguna Grande awaits us at 4,600 meters.
In the morning, we are the only ones on the trail, just us in the land of the U’wa, one of the last ancient people not yet extinct, the indigenous who resisted the conquistadors, the missionaries, the settlers, and the oil industries.
A 3-day permit and a prohibition to meet them.
Advancing uphill under the blazing sun, a wild world opens up before us: the arid wonder of the páramo, yellow expanses of frailejones, rocky cliffs topped with pearly ice, and beyond the passing clouds, a blue sky where all the magnificence stretches into infinity.
The mind is lost in such a scene. With each step, the insatiable desire to live emerges. I am vibrant, lively, filled with revolutionary joy. Nothing more is needed.
Walking among the tall frailejones, Julio explains how their velvety leaves capture the humidity of the air to return it to the soil. Above them, the yellow flowers stand out like little suns, contrasting with the harsh climate at these altitudes.
We are now over 4,000 meters. The vegetation thins out, and we proceed across rocks until we reach the long-awaited 4,600 meters.
Before us, Laguna Grande, a mirror-like lake that reflects the magnificence of the two glaciers: Concavo and Pan de Azúcar.
A satisfaction filled with wonder.
A triumph, not only of legs and lungs but of the spirit, which opens in silence before the vastness.
The glaciers, sacred to the U'wa, exude a respect that feels tangible. Their shades of white and blue vibrate with an ancient sacredness. Here, man is just a fragment of a natural and spiritual order that overshadows him.
We remain in contemplation.
On the way back, we are caught by hail, followed by relentless rain. And I begin to feel the symptoms of altitude sickness.
I watch Julio's feet advancing ahead of me to avoid losing the trail as raindrops pound hard on the hood of my jacket. The headache grows stronger, and I slow my pace, aware that we will reach the hacienda later than expected.
It gets dark, and we turn on our headlamps.
On the horizon, a strip of sky, yellow like the gold the conquistadors sought, and red like the blood of the indigenous massacred. All around, black, dense like the oil flowing beneath this land. Considered by the U'wa as part of the sacred breath of Pachamama, and that foreign companies' drilling rigs have tried to extract by trampling on their land rights and their desire to remain isolated.
A people who have long rejected contact with the outside world, with those who came here to take their gold, their oil, and natural gas, to evangelize them when they already had their faith, to civilize them when they already had their own values and beliefs, to study them when they didn’t want to be guinea pigs. I, honestly, understand them if they don’t want anything to do with us.
The next day, we were supposed to reach 4,800 meters, but altitude sickness forces me to descend, leaving the ascent to Ritacuba Blanco on my list of dreams.
Take care and talk soon!
Sounds like an amazing trip
Well said and lovely photographs!