Pink Fanny Pack Boys vs. the Inca Trail: Our Peruvian Trek Adventure

Galavanting in the Andes – Tradition Meets Altitude

In our mid-30s and perhaps a bit slower than we once were, we four friends still make it a point to embark on a grand adventure every year. The Pink Fanny Pack Boys – a tongue-in-cheek name born from well, a pink fanny pack provided by one of our OG members. This year’s destination? Peru, to tackle the legendary Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. Landing in Cusco (already over 11,000 feet high) gave us an early taste of thin air and excitement. Over coca tea and deep breaths, we laughed about how this trip might finally humble us. Little did we know, the Andes were listening.

Our journey wasn’t just a casual vacation; it was a pilgrimage of friendship and endurance. Every step on the Inca Trail would test our lungs and legs, but we had something stronger than altitude on our side: camaraderie. We’ve been buddies since school days, and our collective stubbornness (and humor) has seen us through countless escapades. As we tightened the straps on our pink fanny packs at the trailhead, a passerby chuckled. One friend quipped, “We’re easier to spot if we roll off a cliff!” – a morbid, inside joke style of humor that earned groans and a round of high-fives. With that, the Pink Fanny Pack Boys were ready to conquer the Andes, one step at a time.

The Inca Trail Challenge – Dead Woman’s Pass and Beyond

Looking down at Dead Woman’s Pass (Warmiwañusqa) at 4,215 m – the highest, most infamous point of the Inca Trail. Reaching this pass on Day 2 tested our limits and our lungs.

We knew the Inca Trail would be tough, but nothing truly prepares you for Dead Woman’s Pass – ominously named and sitting at about 4,215 meters (13,828 ft) in elevation. The climb up felt like nature’s stair-master from hell: endless stone steps winding upward into swirling mist. As the air thinned, our group’s banter quieted to focused breathing. I kept reminding myself that thousands of people do this every year, yet in the moment each step was a personal battle. We’d read warnings that Dead Woman’s Pass is notorious for causing altitude sickness at its summit, so we were on alert for headaches or dizziness. Sure enough, about 1,000 feet below the pass, one of the boys – the fittest among us, ironically – paused, hands on knees, muttering “I see why she’s called Dead Woman.” We all laughed between gasps; humor was our coping mechanism.

It took us about four grueling hours of ascent that morning. At one point, I was literally counting off 20 steps at a time before rewarding myself with a sip of water. The switchbacks were cruel. Every corner seemed to reveal another, steeper stretch of trail. But giving up was never an option; our pride (and mutual stubbornness) wouldn’t allow it. Finally, our trek poles clanked against the sign at the summit. We made it! The euphoria at Dead Woman’s Pass was indescribable – part triumph, part relief. We collapsed in a heap of hugs and high-fives, our hearts pounding out of our chests. The view from the top was staggering: velvet green valleys on one side and a cloud forest on the other, peaks stretching into the horizon. Above the clouds, with the world at our feet, we felt alive. The hardest part of the Inca Trail was behind us (or so we told ourselves), and a great sense of satisfaction washed over us.

Of course, what goes up must come down. The steep descent from the pass pounded our knees, and by lunchtime our legs were jelly. Yet, even on wobbly legs, we couldn’t stop grinning. Surviving Dead Woman’s Pass became an instant legend in our group lore – the time we all “nearly became Dead Men at Dead Woman’s.” It was brutal, yes, but it set the tone for the rest of the trek: perseverance with a side of humor. If we could do that, we could do anything… or at least that’s what we teased each other as we hobbled into camp that evening.

Camaraderie on the Trail – Laughter and Perseverance

One thing kept us going when the climbing got tough: camaraderie. The Inca Trail might be a physical trial, but it’s also four days of quality bro-time without modern distractions. Our camp nights were filled with laughter (and occasionally the sound of one of us snoring like a dying llama). In the evenings, we’d collapse into our dining tent and recount the day’s highlights: “Remember when Dan’s hat flew off the cliff and a porter sprinted to catch it?” or “Who nearly face-planted on that last step? Oh right, all of us!” The ability to laugh at ourselves turned soreness into shared comedy.

Inside jokes were born at every turn. At one rest stop, gasping for air, our friend John remarked that his pink fanny pack must be filled with rocks because it felt so heavy. For the rest of the trip, anytime someone slowed down, we’d ask if they needed to unload the “rocks” in their fanny pack. We even started measuring difficulty by “fanny packs.” Dead Woman’s Pass, for example, was a “five-fanny-pack” challenge on our totally scientific scale. These quips might have meant nothing to outsiders, but to us they were comic gold that kept morale high. Other hikers we met on the trail often smiled as they overheard our ridiculous banter. A few even asked about our matching packs, which sparked conversations and quick friendships. We were proud to explain our group’s origin and the annual tradition; some dubbed us “the pink pack gang,” and we welcomed the fame.

Our camaraderie also showed in more touching ways. When one of us had a low moment – a twisted ankle or a wave of altitude nausea – the others stepped up without hesitation. I’ll never forget when I was lagging behind on day three (my energy crashed hard before lunch). The guys noticed I wasn’t in our usual formation. Instead of charging ahead, they slowed the pace, cracked a few jokes to lift my spirits, and even divvied up items from my overstuffed day bag to lighten my load. That simple act spoke volumes about our bond. It wasn’t spoken, but we all knew: we finish this trail together, as we’ve done with every challenge since we were kids. In tough moments, we’d echo our unofficial motto, borrowed from The Three Musketeers: “All for one, and one for all!” Cheesy, perhaps, but out there on the trail it felt profound.

By the time we reached camp each night, exhausted and grimy, there was a palpable sense of accomplishment in the group. We’d pass around a flask of “celebratory” pisco (just a sip – altitude and alcohol don’t mix well, we learned) and toast to another day conquered. Through every blister and breathless incline, our friendship turned an arduous trek into an unforgettable adventure. Perseverance was a team effort; when one faltered, the others supplied the encouragement (or sarcasm) needed to push on. In the end, it wasn’t just Machu Picchu that motivated us – it was knowing that we were in it together. The Inca Trail tested our bodies, sure, but it outright proved the strength of our decades-long friendship.

The Unsung Heroes – Guide Miguel and the Porters

If we were the stars of our own little adventure movie, then our guide Miguel and the team of porters were the dedicated crew making everything possible behind the scenes. We had booked a private trek with a local outfitter (Sam Travel Peru), and Miguel was assigned as our guide. Little did we know he would become the fifth Pink Fanny Pack Boy by journey’s end. Miguel was a Cusco native in his late 20s with endless knowledge about Inca history and an even more endless supply of patience for our shenanigans. He quickly learned all our names – plus the nicknames we hurled at each other – and matched our pace both on the trail and in humor. By the second day, he was dishing out jokes as quick as our own, even quipping that he needed a pink fanny pack to keep up with our style. (We are seriously planning to mail him one as a thank-you.)

Humor aside, Miguel’s presence was a godsend. He’d hike at the back with whoever was slowest at a given time (often me right after lunch), making sure no one was left behind. He taught us some Quechua phrases – including how to properly pronounce “Warmi Wañusqa” (Dead Woman’s Pass) – and shared legends of the very mountains we were climbing. Under Miguel’s guidance, we paused at several ruins along the trail that we might have otherwise blown past. He’d stop and say, “Amigos, look at this – it’s an Inca resting place,” and suddenly we’d find ourselves in a mini history lesson, grateful for the break and the insight. Miguel had a way of bringing the past alive; when we reached Intipata and Wiñay Wayna on Day 3, he described how the Incas farmed those terraces, and we all listened, mesmerized (and also glad to not be walking for a few minutes!). In quieter moments, he’d share about growing up in the Sacred Valley, and we, in turn, shared stories of our hometown mischief. By the final night, it honestly felt like Miguel was one of our lifelong friends – he fit in that well.

And then there were the porters – the true superheroes of the Inca Trail. We were a private group of four, yet it took about a dozen porters (plus a cook) to support our trek. These guys (mostly local farmers from nearby villages) would break camp after we left each morning, race ahead carrying 25 kg of gear each, and have the next lunch spot or campsite set up long before we arrived. It’s humbling to see: as we huffed and puffed up steep steps with our modest day packs, these porters would bound by, smiling, hauling heavy tents, food, and duffels as if it were nothing. (Fun fact Miguel shared: the Peruvian government allows each porter to carry up to 25 kg, or about 55 lbs, and they have checkpoints to ensure no porter is overloaded. Still, 55 lbs on those inclines is wild – and many do it in sandals!) We made a point each time a porter passed to step aside, clap, and cheer them on with a hearty “¡Vamos!” They deserved a parade, honestly.

Every afternoon when we staggered into camp, the porters greeted us with cheerful applause (a tradition on the trail that never failed to lift our spirits). They’d have our tents pitched, warm wash water ready, and popcorn popping in the dining tent. Yes, popcorn at 12,000 feet – these legends knew the way to our hearts and stomachs. We’d collapse into our camp chairs, and within minutes our cook (another hero) would serve up plates of hot, hearty Peruvian food – think lomo saltado, quinoa soup, and even a cake on the last night. We ate like kings, thanks to them. One evening we tried to help clear plates, and the porters almost shooed us away, insisting we relax. Their work ethic and kindness were beyond anything we expected. We made sure to express our appreciation repeatedly (in our best broken Spanish and through Miguel’s translations). On the final morning, we gave the porters a round of fist-bumps and a big tip – it still felt insufficient to thank them for literally carrying the weight of our journey. They are the unsung heroes of every Inca Trail trek, and we will forever be grateful for their support and good humor. If anyone earned the right to wear a pink fanny pack in glory, it was our porters.

Breathtaking Landscapes – Ruins, Peaks, and the Sun Gate

Throughout the trek, whenever we remembered to look up from our footing, the scenery was jaw-dropping. The Inca Trail is not just a hike; it’s a journey through wildly diverse landscapes. One moment you’re in lush cloud forest draped in moss and orchids, and the next you’re staring at snow-capped Andean peaks under an endless sky. We’d turn a corner and suddenly there’d be an ancient Inca ruin perched on a hillside, as if casually dropped there by history. On Day 3, we descended into the Pacaymayo Valley after Dead Woman’s Pass and felt like we’d entered a different world – misty, green, and alive with the sound of cascading streams. That afternoon we explored the ruins of Wiñay Wayna (“Forever Young” in Quechua) and gazed out at terraces clinging to steep slopes, marveling at how the Incas built agriculture into the mountains themselves. Standing among those centuries-old stone walls, with llamas grazing nearby, we genuinely felt the mystique of the Andes. One friend joked, “Forget Machu Picchu, I could retire right here!” – and for a peaceful minute, we all agreed.

Of course, Machu Picchu itself was the grand finale. We woke up at 3:30 AM on the fourth day, eager and anxious for the climax of our trek. After a bleary-eyed breakfast and a checkpoint in the predawn dark, we hiked by flashlight to the Inti Punku, the fabled Sun Gate. Reaching the Sun Gate just after sunrise was a moment that will forever be etched in my memory. As the rising sun began to burn off the morning haze, we got our first glimpse of Machu Picchu city far below, with the slender peak of Huayna Picchu guarding it. It was otherworldly. We stood there in awe, a quiet falling over our usually boisterous group. I’ll admit it – I felt a lump in my throat and saw more than one misty eye among the boys. After four days of pushing ourselves, we were rewarded with that iconic view that we’d all seen in photos but which is infinitely more powerful in person. Machu Picchu sat nestled among green mountains wreathed in cloud, looking every bit the lost city of legend. We took a group photo at the Sun Gate, goofy grins and all, then simply sat for a while, soaking it in. It wasn’t just the view; it was the sense of accomplishment and history combined.

Entering Machu Picchu later on, we spent hours wandering the ruins – temples, terraces, and llama-dotted lawns – with Miguel giving us a rich tour. Despite having seen many pictures, the scale and detail of the site astounded us. From the precise stonework of the Temple of the Sun to the echoes of ancient markets in the plazas, Machu Picchu lived up to its hype and then some. We also hiked up Huayna Picchu (because apparently we hadn’t punished our legs enough!) to get a condor’s-eye view of the citadel. The infamous “Stairs of Death” on Huayna Picchu had us in a bit of a vertigo-induced sweat, but reaching the top gave a panoramic view of Machu Picchu that made our hearts soar. From up there, the ruins looked tiny and fragile, an almost surreal sight, and we felt on top of the world – literally and figuratively.

The breathtaking reward: Machu Picchu unfolding from the misty Andes. This view at the end of our Inca Trail journey made every hard step worthwhile.

Looking back, the landscapes of our Inca Trail hike were as much main characters in our story as we were. Each day brought new natural wonders: thundering waterfalls, sheer cliffs dropping into river gorges, and quiet stretches of ancient stone path enveloped by jungle. At night, the stars above our campsites were unbelievably bright – the Milky Way spilling across the sky – reminding us how far we were from city lights. We often fell asleep to the faint sound of distant rivers and the whisper of the wind through the Andes. These are scenes and sensations a camera can only partially capture; the rest live in our bones now. As a group of guys who have traveled the world together, we all agreed Peru provided some of the most spectacular scenery we’ve ever witnessed. It’s the kind of beauty that makes you feel small in the best possible way.

Side Quests – Rainbow Mountain and Humantay Lake

While the Inca Trail and Machu Picchu were the centerpiece of our trip, our adventure didn’t end there. Being the overachievers (or maybe just gluttons for punishment) that we are, we had added a couple of extra hikes before and after the trek to fully experience Peru’s wonders. These side quests turned out to be highlights in their own right.

Humantay Lake was our acclimatization hike, planned for one of our first days in Cusco. At the obscene hour of 3:00 AM, we rolled out of our beds and piled into a van to drive out to the trailhead. After a few bumpy hours and a hearty mountain breakfast, we started the trek up to Laguna Humantay. The hike was short (only about 1.5 miles up), but wow, was it steep! Gasping in the thin air, we followed the trail as it zigzagged up a dusty ridge. Every time we thought we were close, another hill appeared. But when we finally crested the last rise, we were greeted by a scene out of a fairy tale: a turquoise glacial lake cradled at the base of a towering snow-capped peak (Mount Salkantay). The water was so intensely blue-green it looked as if someone had dumped a giant bottle of food coloring into it. We learned the lake sits at roughly 4,200 meters (13,779 ft) above sea level– no wonder we were huffing and puffing on the way up! – but the altitude only made the achievement sweeter. Up there, the air was crisp and the scenery absolutely pristine. We took our time snapping photos and simply sitting by the shore, legs dangling towards the icy water. One of my friends, caught up in the moment, was about to jump in until a guide from another group warned that swimming is not allowed (sacred lake and also hypothermia, hello!). Instead, we satisfied ourselves by dipping our fingers in – it was frigid, as expected from glacier melt. Humantay Lake was the perfect preview of the beauty Peru had in store for us, and it also gave us a dose of confidence: if we could handle that hike while jet-lagged, we could handle anything.

Fast forward to Rainbow Mountain (Montaña de Siete Colores) – our grand finale after completing the Inca Trail. Some might call us crazy for scheduling another tough hike the day after Machu Picchu, but in our defense, Rainbow Mountain had exploded on Instagram and we were eager to see if it was as unreal in person. So, at 4:00 AM (yes, another predawn start), off we went on a three-hour drive through the Andes to the trailhead. Stepping out of the van at 15,000 feet, the cold morning air took our breath away – or maybe that was the altitude. The trail to Rainbow Mountain was a gradual 5-kilometer (3.1 mi) climb, but at that elevation every step felt like we were walking through molasses. We trekked past herds of curious alpacas and local Quechua people offering horse rides to weary hikers (for a fee, of course). Pride kept us walking on our own two feet, although I’ll admit the temptation to hop on a horse was real when my legs started protesting. As we ascended, the landscape opened up into a broad valley painted with unexpected hues: rusty reds, vibrant greens, yellows, even purples in the soil – a prelude to the main event. Finally, after about 1.5 hours, we reached the overlook of Vinicunca, the famed Rainbow Mountain, and it was breathtakingly beautiful and bizarre. The mountain’s ridge looked like an artist had carefully layered strips of colors across it. We learned those rainbow stripes are natural, formed by mineral deposits, and that the summit stands over 5,000 meters (~16,500+ ft) high – higher than Mont Blanc in Europe! No wonder we all felt light-headed. The view was well worth the effort: on one side, the multi-colored mountain, and on the other, the sweeping Red Valley. It literally looked like another planet.

Rainbow Mountain (Vinicunca) in all its technicolor glory. At ~17,000 ft elevation, we were short of breath but awestruck by the mountain’s natural stripes. At the summit viewpoint, we did the only logical thing: collapsed, caught our breath and pulled out the camera for what might be our most epic photo yet. Tourists around us chuckled and some even cheered – the camaraderie among the cluster of strangers up there was contagious, everyone bonded by the shared triumph of getting themselves to this extreme place. We spent a good half hour taking it all in, and in true PFPB fashion, started a debate about which was tougher: Dead Woman’s Pass or Rainbow Mountain. (Verdict: Dead Woman’s Pass was a longer slog, but Rainbow’s altitude sucker-punched us harder. It was basically a draw, and both earned our utmost respect.) The way down from Rainbow Mountain was a breeze – gravity did the work on our jelly legs. Back in the van, despite our exhaustion, we were giddy. Rainbow Mountain was like nature’s grand finale firework show for our trip, and we’d witnessed it together.

Capturing the Journey – Cameras, Drones, and Daypacks

It wouldn’t be a Pink Fanny Pack Boys adventure if we didn’t overdocument it with a ridiculous amount of camera gear. Among the four of us, we had enough equipment to film a NatGeo documentary – which sounded like a great idea until we actually had to carry it all. As the unofficial trip photographer, I lugged a DSLR camera with two lenses, a GoPro, and even a drone in my daypack. (Not to mention spare batteries, chargers, and a lightweight tripod strapped on the side.) It was comical how over-prepared we were to capture every angle of our journey. My backpack basically became the group’s mobile camera locker. At the start of the hike, I was gung-ho about it – “No pain, no gain, guys! These photos will be worth it.” By hour five of Day 1, however, I was questioning all my life choices as the straps dug into my shoulders. Fortunately, my buddies had my back, literally. We took turns sharing the load – one friend would carry the drone for a while, another would stuff the extra lens into his own pack. Each time I tried to protest, they shrugged it off: “We need our cameraman in good shape for the money shot at Machu Picchu!” True friendship is carrying your friend’s drone at 13,000 feet, I tell you.

Despite the weight, the photographic aspect of this trip added an extra layer of fun. We became downright strategic about getting the best shots. Sunrise at the Sun Gate? We were there early, cameras ready, to catch Machu Picchu emerging from the morning mist. Hiking up Dead Woman’s Pass, we made sure to get a “we survived” summit photo with all of us triumphant (and sweaty) at the top – I balanced my camera on a rock and used the timer for that one, resulting in a perfectly imperfect candid of us group-hugging. We flew the drone in a few allowed areas along the trail and at Humantay Lake (far from crowds and respecting park rules) to grab stunning aerial views of the turquoise lake and our tiny figures next to it. The drone also captured an epic panorama of the Sacred Valley during our acclimatization tour – footage that looks straight out of a movie. We joked that our video montage of the trip might go viral for its mix of slapstick (there may or may not be footage of me slipping in mud, GoPro rolling) and sweeping cinematic landscape shots. One evening, under the stars at camp, we even attempted some astrophotography. Picture four guys in puffy jackets at 12,000 feet, huddled around a tripod at 2 AM, whispering excitedly as the camera shutter clicked away at the Milky Way. The results were a bit blurry (we might’ve shivered the tripod), but the memory is crystal clear.

Most importantly, all that gear meant we have tangible memories to look back on. We’ve got hilarious GoPro clips of us singing 80’s hits (badly) while hiking, drone footage of the four of us doing jumping jacks on Rainbow Mountain (for reasons unknown, it seemed cool at the time), and hundreds of photos capturing everything from majestic ruins to goofy campsite moments. Sure, carrying the equipment was a literal pain at times, but now that the trip is over, no one ever says “I wish I took fewer photos.” Quite the opposite – we’re grateful to have documented our journey so thoroughly. Already, a few weeks later, we’ve had “slide-show nights” with family where we relive the trek through these images and videos. Hearing our parents and partners ooh and ahh at the vistas (and laugh at our antics) has been rewarding. And in a decade (or a few decades) when our knees might not allow such extreme adventures, we’ll have this amazing visual record to reminisce over. In the end, hauling the camera gear up those mountains was absolutely worth it. As we like to say, “photos or it didn’t happen!”, and boy do we have the photos.

Reflections at Journey’s End – One for the Books

When we finally returned to Cusco after Rainbow Mountain – sore, sunburned, and utterly satisfied – we treated ourselves to a celebratory feast and a few pisco sours. We clinked glasses and tried to put into words what this Peru trip meant to us. Adventure, challenge, beauty – those words came easily. But there was also gratitude. We felt grateful for the country and its people who had welcomed us, for the good weather we mostly enjoyed, and for our health holding up (more or less) through the high altitudes. Most of all, we were grateful for each other – for a friendship that has not only lasted through the years but thrives in the face of 4 A.M. wake-up calls and punishing mountain trails. Not every group of friends would voluntarily sign up for this kind of escapade, much less emerge even closer on the other side.

On the flight home, we flipped through photos on our phones: the four of us grinning at Machu Picchu, posing with Miguel, goofing off with alpacas, standing victorious on Rainbow Mountain. It struck me that in each picture, beyond the stunning backdrops, was the real treasure – us, together, doing what we love. This Peru trip will go down in our personal history as one of the best yet. It had all the elements: natural wonders that left us speechless, physical trials that pushed us to our limits, and countless moments of laughter that we’ll be talking about for years. There were inside jokes born on this trip that already make us crack up (“whose fanny pack rocks are these?!”). There were also moments of profound silence, like that sunrise at the Sun Gate, where nothing needed to be said at all. The blend of silly and sublime is what made it so special.

As we said our goodbyes at the airport, we were already tossing around ideas for next year’s adventure (Kilimanjaro, anyone?). Our bodies were tired, sure, but our spirits were recharged in a way only wild places and good company can manage. The Pink Fanny Pack Boys had conquered the Inca Trail and more, and we did it with style – maybe not always grace, but definitely style (I mean, those pink packs…). This trip reminded us that even as we get older and life grows more complicated, it’s crucial to make time for these experiences. Out there on the mountain paths, we aren’t employees or husbands or dads – we’re just a band of brothers chasing the next horizon, one step at a time.

In the end, Peru gave us everything we’d hoped for and some surprises we didn’t expect. We came for the bucket-list hike, and we left with stories of perseverance, friendship, and awe that we’ll retell forever. If you ever find yourself in the Andes and you see a group of guys in pink fanny packs cracking jokes and cheering each other on, come say hello – it’s probably not us, but they sound pretty cool. Anyway, ¡Salud! and until the next adventure…