Trapped by Blue Ice

Just before the Inca conquest of A.D. 1470

White Mountain in the Summer

Snow was falling on a glacier, in the Andes of Peru, on White Mountain (Huaytapallana), in the Valley of Mantaro, and as it felt it compressed itself into its new abode, and became part of that glacier, and the glacier, that winds its way down to the small lake at its feet (two other lakes along its side), during its transverse travel all the air bubbles that were trapped in the ice were squeezed out, thus, increasing the size of the ice crystals, making it clear, so very clear, like a window, with the sun shinning on it, and the blue sky, throwing a slight tint to it.
Toribio stood at the rim of the lake, knew the beautiful blue was the result of an overtone stretched in the water which drew light to it, he knew in some areas of the Artic, where he had been, earthquakes had raised the blue ice above the ground and created formations much like large frozen waves, he actually stood on some of those large waves.

But the more he looked into the blue ice, the more he became mesmerized to it…a mist appeared, it descended White Mountain like an umbrella being folded inward, thus, so was everything around, and it got colder. He knew he’d not make it out of his environment, up the hill, to the winding road down into the valley, and even if he did, he would get lost, he had come into the glacier and lake area too late, thus, he sat on a nearby rock and ate some small fish that was dried, stored and eventually transported inland and somehow—most likely by caravan driven by llamas, making its way to the valley, and eventually to the markets, where he purchased them, and along with some anchovies. This would give him protein to withstand some of the cold, for he had noticed an increase of the winds, they were picking up some moisture as they passed over his head, descended around him, the current’s low temperature resulted in a freezing enclosure, surrounded by the three headed mountain, as if almost enveloped into her womb: now he understood the blue ice, and this areas cold depths.

(Lost in the mist)

He was as if in a canyon, it was different than where he had originally been raised, by the coast, his father was a fisherman, he and his brother, and mother, and grandfather lived together along one street, close by to where they could enter sea every day, where they had their boat, and nets, each proceeding to his own familiar area to fish without competing with others, he was a Chincha fisherman, and he remember his father always being happy he did not have to till the land, his mother would trade her fish at the market for agricultural products they needed, and exchange; likewise for the farmer, with their harvested corps, who wished fish. And when they didn’t fish, like in the valley, when the farmers didn’t harvest or plant, they danced and drank.

He looked at the blue ice, the descending white mist, felt the chill of the winds to his bones, knew he was trapped by the blue ice, he now couldn’t walk around the lake, neither up the glacier, nor any nearer to the mountain; neither escape to the hill tops to find his way down the mountains that brought him up to this very spot, nor make it to the nearby village, Acopalca.

He now thought of when his little brother, now nineteen, he being twenty-one, raised Guinea Pigs, for both food and ritual; often used for curing and divination ceremonies in and around the Valley of Mantaro, from Huancayo, all the way to Concepcion. It had just been recently, he supplied several burials with whole guinea pigs, he wasn’t sure if they were to be eaten or used as substance for the burial, and afterlife, but it really didn’t matter to him.
He looked at the blue ice, kneeled down to look into it, saw ice worms, and a few others things, how pure it was he thought. And as he looked, the young man forgot, or perhaps didn’t notice, or perchance did notice, and didn’t care, no one would really know, but his life functions were diminishing, the cold was bring him, his body and mind, and sensory perception, and nervous system, to a state of being disorganized and indistinguishable performance, his vital functions were ceasing to operate properly, his brain functions, breathing, heartbeat all once maintained naturally, were seeing to be kept somehow functioning artificially.
He had no more fish, or food, just the cloths on his body, and a blanket made of alpaca, one his mother made for him, and he put it over him like a tent.

He had overheard some of the older folks in the lower village on his way up the mountain talking about the mist of the mountain, that it comes suddenly and blankets a person, and once lost, he freezes to death, and he knew by contrast, people, and animals expand a large amount of energy in such activities, and in doing so, allowing their body to break down sooner, and without a fire, or protein, there was no way to repair any damage that might occur, in time to survive the ordeal, once the organisms in the body collapsed, there was no replacement, at death and near death this energy needed to be available, wouldn’t be there, thus it was now inevitable, he had to remain until morning, when the mist would lift and he could make his escape, but he had to have the energy to climb the hills to top, and then down to the village for help.
As the night progress, it was as if he could feel all the cells in his body losing their tails, one by one by one, and death approached all the closer by each dead cell; the blue ice just within his reach.
The non-immortal organisms in his body were dying, and the phantom of death was getting closer. He thought: why must we die, then answered his own question, ‘Perhaps to make way for new ones,’ it was the simplest way of thinking, underneath that alpaca blanket, his home, his burial tomb to be. All that he was, became, was to be, was there, right there, right under that blanket that fell short to even keep his feet from freezing and turning black. He was sensing his body could no longer adapt to the environment.

Then all of a sudden his heart stopped beating, his body had dropped to sixty-degrees, he had been in the cold for hours, it was late in the night past twilight, his body was now ice-cold; his body was literally like a corpse.

The Morning After

In the early morning, Toribio was found by several village folks from Acopalca, he was snow-covered, curled up in a fetal position, inside his blanket-tent, less than ten-feet away from the blue ice, it was as if he had been frozen in chains, there was no visible signs of food about, his hip bones were sticking out; thereafter, his body was taken down to the village, and the best anyone could deduce was that the boy had died from starvation and frozen to death in the process.


Notes: The true fact is, a number of folks have perished in this area of White Mountain, caught by surprise of the mist, and a close relative of mine did get lost in this area, and his family had to seek out a guide quickly to search the area, and he and his son were rescued, this was perhaps some ten-years ago. Not an uncommon story. I have been to White Mountain myself, and it is a most beautiful sight and dangerous area if a person does not know its environment. And the story you have just read has more truth to it, than fiction. Some parts based on fact. Written 2-10-2009 (second title: “Lost in the Mist”)