“The whole wild world smooths and erodes at our touch. Stalagmites halt their drips, plants crumple away, rocks wear down and bark flakes off. It seems only what we’ve created builds it back. It’ll take a wiser man than I to understand why such a trend exists on a planet we call home.” – Old Sean
Sun in the East, Sean to the West
The next morning, I woke up at the truly bleary hour of 5:30 AM and hopped into a shuttle van that would take me to the coast. My goal for the day was to visit Paracas, a large nature reserve situated on the coast, locked between the two extremes of a vast, cold ocean current and a blazing, windy desert.
El Chaco, Paracas as a city is fairly unremarkable, so I’ll skip over it. Nevertheless, the coast is pretty enough with hundreds of tiny fishing boats bobbing offshore, sporting bright paint and funny patterns. The most amusing were the boats with shark teach painted on their thin hulls. The land portion of the National Reserve is made of tall, imposing brown cliffs with scarce plant life and only the wispiest clouds above.
It took a considerable amount of time, but I finally managed to secure a place on the ferry heading out the island chain known as Ballestas Islands. The Ballestas Islands are part of a reserve system called RNSIIPG (The National Reserve System of Islands, Islets and Coastal Guano Concentration Areas).
The Ballestas Islands
These islands cannot be accessed on foot, but the tour boats take visitors as close as safely possible.
Jetting out across the open sea, my group was first shown a giant geoglyph on the Paracas penninsula on the left side of our craft. A strange, cactus-like symbol without explanation and clearly visible to incoming ships was carved into the dusty surface. Theories on the strange symbol abound, from a ship signal, to a sea god offering to a marker pointing directly to the Nazca Lines to the south. The local name for this geo glyph is Candelabro. Regardless, we continued past this marker and into open water, the boat shuddered dramatically with every poorly-struck swell.
Finally, the islands loomed into view. Sheer, craggy cliffs of grey and brown hurtle upwards, with large caves revealing themselves to be imposing tunnel arches at the right angles. Waves batter the stones with excessive force, throwing white mist into the sky as our tour guide showed to be heard over the surf.
The best part, however, are the birds. Hundreds cling to the rocky surfaces, taking flight, wheeling free, waddling about or simply lounging on a place practically uninhabitable for humans. Large portions of the cliffs were steaked white. These were areas where guano (seabird excrement) had amassed. An utter lack of true rain in this part of the world has made the white crowns of these sea-stones a permanent feature.
Navigating the Crags
As we continued to traverse the edges of the islands, we were shown unique rock formations (in the shape of a striding elephant and another, the face of Jesus near a cave) along with old signs of humanity lodged deep in rock surfaces. A high-rise dock, research facility bunker and guano mining station (guano is a labor-intensive resource the reserve mines once yearly) all broke the rocky skyline.
Smaller, sharper rock pillars interspaced the island, thundering without moving while waves rushed at their sides. Atop these smaller spires lounged dozens of sea lions, arching heads in curiosity or flopping in relief while the sun poured down. We spotted vast, fat males taking up entire rock shelfs, curled females impersonating small boulders and occasional pups which rested restlessly, flopping about slightly while snoring. Where waters churned together, great rafts of white foam formed.
Again, however, I must mention the birds, for they colored the entire scene beyond anything else.
One island with a curved, soft surface, birds dotted the land so completely, it looked like a feather forest had obscured all soil. Penguins clutched ledges precariously, making odd waggles of their tails as they shuffled in and out from one another. Gulls brayed loudly whenever they were close, eying cell phones like they might be snacks. Noble pelicans dove from dizzying heights for fish, scattering smaller birds on their descent. Peruvian boobies muttered amongst themselves in large clusters.
Even close to sea lion heads, small sea pipers tittered and bounced. In the distance, great lines of sea birds flew in shifting formation, striking out from one island to another. The island was crammed full of feathered creatures, a dinosaur-descendent empire come again. Peruvian Boobies, Peruvian Pelicans, Humboldt Penguins, Guanay Cormorants, Incan Terns, and Standard Gulls reigned supreme on human-hostile stones.
Returning to Rainless Land
After viewing the islands, we struck back towards land, this time entering the Paracas deserts.
To put it bluntly, the Paracas deserts are beautiful, certainty, but it doesn’t diversify much after the first hour or so. Huge empty planes of strong browns mixed with slight reds go on forever in scratchy rises and falls. Stones, roughly fist sized and perfect for rolling an ankle litter the desert ground. Plant life is basically invisible, and the vast majority of the motion in the wavering sunlight comes from skittering lizards.
The coast, admittedly, is somewhat more interesting. Paracas has huge cliffs and relatively few beaches. But what beaches it does have are sand pits within the sweep of huge stone faces curving in protectively.
I spent my time mostly at Playa Las Minas, but more beaches were within easy walking and driving distance. The boulder-hopping walking trails along the edges support more skittering lizards, fist sized crabs of violent red with patterned shells and clusters of purple shells in harsh tide pools. Some of the beaches support rails and trails to help descend, some of them have large restaurants with boats bobbing off the shore, but all of them are encased in cold water from a deep sea current, powerful wind and an unforgiving sun in the sky.
So is Paracas.
Last Desert Stops
I finished my time in the Reserve with two stops. Firstly, I got lunch at Restaurant Tia Pily, which is on the tip of a peninsula attached to the greater peninsula. If I’m being honest, the food wasn’t terribly good but the view was pleasant and the birds that coasted nearby (including more penguins) were entertaining.
The last stop I made was to check out Mirador Playa Roja, a uniquely red-sanded beach with brown stone overhangs. Walking on the beach is prohibited as the sand wouldn’t restore itself after too much foot traffic, but it’s still nice to look at.
Finally done with the day and powerful sleepy from wandering about, I was happy to return to my hostel for a night of rest. I spent the majority of the evening with a roommate, playing pool and sharing some local (not notable) beer. Tomorrow, I’ll head towards my actual destination, the Nazca Lines.
Until then,
Best regards and excellent trails,
Old Sean
Written November 6th 2021
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