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A five-day journey through the Vilcanota Mountains took us to the heart of peasant communities and to three native queuña forests. Only two percent of Peru's forests are queuña, but their role as a genetic bank is more important than their size.
Text and photos: Álvaro Rocha Revilla
 He looked at me with kind, calm eyes. No shadow marred his intelligent brow. Constantino Aucca, or simply Tino, president of the Association of Andean Ecosystems (ECOAN), told me in his Cusco office that "this lovesickness for the queuña began in 1989 and I don't think it will ever end". The queuña, also known as the queñua, is a pre-Hispanic tree known to science as polylepis. With its reddish bark that peels away like paper, the queuña grows at altitudes of between 1,800 and 5,200 metres, but is best-suited to an altitude of 4,000 metres. "Far from roads and comfortable accommodation, which is why many of our scientific friends don't like too much the idea of visiting these forests", Tino joked.
Peru boasts 18 of the 21 species of polylepis known to the world's scientists. The renowned Norwegian researcher Jan Fjeldsa, knows more than most researchers about the high Andes, and he sees these forests as "genetic producers", which is a way of saying they have a high incidence of endemism and facilitate the creation of new species, in contrast with the Amazon which is "an accumulation of old species". It is no coincidence, says Jan Fjeldsa, that the principal pre-Hispanic cultures (Chavín, Inca, Wari, Tiahuanaco) emerged from the high Andes.
And that is where we were heading: to the high Andes in order to check on the health of the polylepis forests and see what the rural communities of the area thought of the development of adventure tourism in the region. We bid farewell to Tino Aucca, who warned us that the tour operators were betraying the peasant communities. "The big companies want big profits and they give nothing back to local communities". We were picked up and driven to Huarán, a cooperative in the Sacred Valley visibly in decline which still had a portrait of Velasco Alvarado on one of its walls.
Twisted Trees
From Huarán we began the five-hour climb to the community of Cancha Cancha. I was accompanied by Efraín Samochuallpa, Abdhiel Bustamante and Anahí Oroz, from ECOAN; and Laura Samaniego of Rumbos Travel. We passed the edge of a mixed forest of old chachacomos and new eucalyptus. We also saw elder and dry broom which had been affected by an aphid from Bolivia, according to Abdhiel. But what most impressed us was the proliferation of the thorny shrub known in Quechua as llaulillay, with its beautiful pink flower. "The flowers wither in twenty days", Efrain told us, reminding us of the song: "Love is like a plant, like the llaulillay that grows and withers, llaulillay". There is so much wisdom in that phrase.
We made our camp in the grounds of Cancha Cancha's school, at an altitude of 3,900 metres. Cancha is Quechua for "corral", which gives an idea of what Cancha Cancha is like: stone corrals everywhere. Genaro Huamán, our 24 year-old cook and a native of the well-known community of Willoc, had cut
 his finger. His cousin Benedicto Laucada helped him prepare the pasta, while Anahí, a reforestation expert, attended to the wound. It was a cold night, a freezing night.
The next day, at eight in the morning, we headed for the first queuña forest we were to see on this trip. It was a small group of twisted trees that climbed the slopes of the Mount Chiccón massif. Over half the birds that inhabit this forest are endemic species, and almost all of them are in danger of extinction. One of the endangered species is Cinclodes Real ("Royal Finch"), which only lives in these forests and has been reduced to an estimated 240 individuals. These twisted trees are of great importance.
Heights of Pachacutec
Soon after leaving the Cancha Cancha forest we came across several family groups harvesting potatoes of all colours. They piled the potatoes in pyramids which they covered with grass to protect the harvest from frost damage. They were using a kind of mattock known in Quechua as an "allachu". The sun disappeared as we climbed a slope that was tough on our thighs and knees, but we were still able to appreciate the incredible green tones and the three lakes over which great Andean geese flew, as well as the flock of llamas led by an arrogant male that screeched loudly whenever one of the group fell behind.
Against a strong wind we crossed the Pachacutec Pass, at 4,800 metres above sea level, between the snow-capped peaks of Sirihuani and Colque Cruz. Two more lakes appeared. A group of gringos was camped by the side of one of the lakes (the third group we had seen). Foreigners are usually guided by so-called "dog operators", who do nothing to ensure that a single dollar stays in the local communities. They set off from Pampa Corral, in the Lares Valley, and pass through the communities of Quishuarani and Cancha Cancha, before arriving at the Sacred Valley and Huarán.
We, on the other hand, were heading directly for Quishuarani. Of course, I say "directly", but it cost us ten hours of walking to cover the distance between Cancha Cancha and Quishuarani. Along the way, however, we came across two more beautiful lakes, a playful group of vizcachas (with that unusually dull-coloured breast they have) and the magnificent waterfall of Canchispaccha, which told us we were approaching Quishuarani.
Warm Reward
We were warmer than on the previous night. We camped once again next to the local school house, but this time at dawn a group of women in colourful hats, carrying children on their backs, took over the area and spread out their blankets, scarves and bags. Laura bought some white gloves for ten soles.
Puffs of mist climbed up from the Lares Valley as we ascended through Jatun Queuña, the second polylepis forest on our route. We saw more vizcachas, many llamas and an intense lake, as well as an interesting queuña reforestation project in which the entire community was involved. The little trees were protected from livestock by a fence. A peasant woman emerged from the forest with a bunch of herbs: according to the studies of
Marianna Mindreau in Willoc, polylepis forest supplies fifty species of plants used by rural highland communities, mostly for medicinal purposes.
As we left behind Jatun Queuña it began to hail. Then it stopped and we glided across the pleasant countryside of Quishuarani in reasonable light until suddenly the sky seemed to open and a heavy rain crashed down on us. It was then that a cyclist
in a red poncho passed us on his way to Lares, hurtling along at something like eighty kilometres per hour
 downhill, I swear. Cold, hungry and miserable, we suddenly spotted Genaro, on the edge of the trail, where he had prepared delightfully aromatic plates of pasta with vegetables and cabanozzi. We lunched in the rain, with the drops running off our hats and into our plates, but it was still a tremendous meal.
In Lares, at 3,250 metres, we found a telephone, a handful of houses and a group of young people with sad eyes. Perhaps it was the weather, I don't know. What is certain is that we were lucky enough to be camping next to the Lares thermal baths. They are the best in Peru and that nocturnal bath was almost magical.
Colossal Mantanay
During our fourth day's walking we climbed - surrounded by eucalyptus trees planted by ECOAN - along an Inca path to the village of Huaca Huasi. The villagers were harvesting their potato crop. A family invited us to eat "lisasuchu", a dish based on ollucos, potatoes and the herb known as "huacatay". It was a tasty meal. Great herds of llamas descended from the smallholdings to the road, raising a cloud of dust, with sacks of potatoes on their backs.
As the day ended we crossed the pass at Puerto Huaca Huasi and below us saw a fairytale lake: Aurraycocha. I climbed down slowly, very slowly, feeling that never again in my life would I see anything like it. Andean geese idled on the shore, and as we rounded the lake the first queuña trees appeared, reddish and robust: We were at Mantanay, the largest queuña forest in the Vilcanota Mountains, covering some 80 hectares.
We slept almost on the shore of Lake Yuraccocha. A stunning full moon illuminated our little lives. The hours before dawn were cold and drowsy. With breakfast over, we admired the Mantanay forest, with its queuñas that thicken at the rate of one millimetre a year.
Back in the Sacred Valley (in the village of Yanahuara), on our fifth day in the mountains, I learned that the Norwegian Jan Fjeldsa, who had attended the Second International Congress of Polylepis Forest Ecology and Conservation in Cusco in May 2006, had gone bird watching at the Malaga Pass. This expert had not been in a polylepis forest for twenty-two years, and he had been lucky enough to spot a Cinclodes Real. I took this as a sign: a sign that there is still hope for our queuña forests and also for the rural communities that might reap the benefits of tourism in their lands. In truth the two are linked: the communities will either be the keepers of these forests, or those who will plunder them if they continue to be marginalised.
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