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The Other Boats Turned Back

WHILST we were eating lunch near the summit of Taquile Island, the sky suddenly clouded over and became menacingly dark. Lunch was suddenly cut short as we had to hurry down the hill to our boat before the weather gets too severe. The distant storm that I had seen earlier had come in our direction, and very fast too.

We walked down another path towards the other side of the island. I assumed our boat had gone around to the sheltered side after dropping us off knowing the storm was coming. We walked down the cobblestone path initially following a gentle grade passing numerous houses behind rock walls down to a small saddle. We passed under a couple of stone arches. I saw a couple of new born lambs in amongst the livestock. Here they farm sheep, cows, guinea pigs and chickens. They don’t have dogs or cats here as the people consider them to be delicacies for eating rather than as pets or working animals. Once over the saddle, the track descended steeper and steeper as we headed downhill.

Towards the bottom we could see our boat moored up with seven other tour boats. They were in a harbour that was a lot more sheltered than the jetty we had been dropped off, but there was still a big swell coming in over the angry steely blue grey water rocking the boats. The grey cloud above us was very angry, and the wind was picking up. Fortunately there was no rain yet.

We finally reached the bottom of the hill and climbed over three other boats rocking in the turbulent water to get to ours. Once we were all on board, we were led inside the cabin as it was too dangerous to ride on top or at the back. There was another boat tied up to ours. We had to wait until that one was loaded with its passengers and cast off before we could leave. Fortunately that didn’t take too long. We left the other boats to head out into the angry grey lake.

Pablo cast off our boat from the moving raft of boats and almost immediately we encountered quite a big head swell. The boat lurched and rolled heavily in the grey storm. The other boats came out with us tracking their way back towards Puno now unseen in the greywash tempest. What had been pristine dark blue water under sunny skies was now a turbulent steely grey soup. Waves were breaking over the bow and washing over the windows as the boat bounced around like a cork in a storm.

The angry waves inflated under the powerful wind. A boat travelling next to us suddenly turned back. Perhaps the passengers in it were terrified or maybe the pilot decided it was too dangerous to press on into the head wind. Over the following twenty minutes all of the other boats turned back, but we continued defiant. No one complained, but we held on for dear life as we were tossed around in the lake caught in amongst the fierce storm. The charcoal coloured land disappeared behind us enveloped in the squall. We were going blind now, alone in the turbulent water, not knowing if we were actually making any progress any more against the fierce head wind and mountainous waves.

The waves assumed the shape of the rugged headlands beyond, making it hard to tell what was wave and what was headland. To the right a sliver of blue sky appeared, indicating the storm will be over soon.

Finally the storm did abate. The sky behind us was still dark. Defined cloud covered the sky up ahead. A couple of the boats that had turned back quickly caught up and passed us as we reached the first of the mainland headlands. Our boat was the slowest on the lake. The sky lightened turning the water into a green grey colour as the swell reduced to a comfortable roll.

There were more squalls of rain ahead of us, but they weren’t rough like the initial storm. As we passed the small village between the headlands, the sun broke through in front of us illuminating an amazing half rainbow behind us in front of the bluish black stormy sky. The sun started shining through turning the water into a silver colour as we passed close to the waving forest of reeds.

I had been surprised with the amount of rain that had fallen. The lake receives about 610 millimetres of rain every year, mostly from condensed water evaporated from its surface. Most of it falls in the summer thunderstorms coming off the Andes on the other side of the lake. This would have been one of the first thunderstorms of the season.

We continued towards Puno, with the sun quickly falling down to the horizon. Large draping squalls of rain from new storm cells created soft veils over the contorted hills near the city. A couple of other boats joined us, the ones that didn’t turn back. I’m sure the other boats would have left the island by now, but won’t be arriving back in Puno until after dark.

Mid level alto stratus clouds hovered overhead just one or two kilometres above us, appearing unnaturally close thanks to us being at such high altitude.

We eventually cruised into the channels of Uros between the reeds. Heavy rain started falling shortly before our arrival at the dock. It was too wet and cold for us to ride in the cyclos back to the hotel, so a mini bus picked us up and took us to the hotel. The gangway up to the wharf was rather slippery as we hurried towards the van wearing our rain gear in the driving rain. It dropped us at the hotel, and we hurried inside through the courtyard to the shelter of our rooms.

Once the rain stopped falling, we walked down the main street to the pub where I had found the others last night. We had a long dark brown table set up for us in the middle of the room and we were served nice food, though a little expensive. I had alpaca meat (two fillets), some seasoned rice, and two baked bananas. The plate was white with a rusty red outside covered with a sprinkling of green herbs. For desert I had some soft ice cream served in a large wineglass.

Another storm struck during dinner, but it had cleared by the time we had finished. I returned to the hotel for an early night before yet another storm passed through. The summer rainy season had definitely set in.

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