Planning is always important for anything in life, especially for any adventure travel trip. But then no one can plan for every eventuality and so mishaps do occur. Like an unplanned climb and night walk/hike on the Inca Trail in Peru.

I said to a running friend that there should be an adventure trail run on the Inca Trail in Peru. My friend told me he just read something about that and gave me a phone number in Los Angeles of the guy who apparently was planning just such a run.

To make a long story short, I contacted the guy, signed up for the trip and so joined a group of 12 adventure long distance runners in Lima, Peru. From there we did a 100 mile surrounding of Mount Assangate, a massive mountain in Peru.

The real crazy happening, however, occurred on what was to be the actual Inca Trail one-day marathon run. Being the official designated photographer for the group, I said I’d go ahead of the group to scout out a great shot where I can take pictures of all the runners on the trail. No problem, my friend said; just watch at the Y-junction and go RIGHT, after that you are on the Inca Trail and can’t get lost any more. Yeah, right, apparently he never had run with me.

Well, the next morning I left the campground at 4 a.m. with my camera and a medium sized fanny pack with two water bottles, a few power bars, some money and a flash light with a spare set of batteries. All set, I thought and went off into the dark. Soon I arrived at said junction and turned the way I thought I was supposed to go.

Soon it got light and I was on the way up a fairly steep mountain pass going higher and higher. After four hours I had a funny feeling in my stomach like when you know something isn’t right. Remember, I was in the middle of nowhere on a steep mountain pass in Peru. Eventually I saw a man, an Inca that spoke no English and not even Spanish: only his native tongue. I stopped and said “Machu Picchu” pointing towards the top of the pass. The man didn’t say a word – nor did he have to. He just turned around and pointed down into the Valley where I just had spent four hours climbing up to he spot where I was standing.

Saying that I swore would be an understatement but it was my screw up and so I had no other choice than to head back to where I just had come from. Almost exactly at noon I arrived at the junction where I took then wrong turn and swore again. A half mile farther, I saw a house and a case of Coca Cola stacked on the ground with a nice Peruvian women and a small boy. She understood my few words of Spanish and sold me three cokes, one for the kid, one for the women and one for me, one of the best drinks I ever had (other than the coke that was literally flown into a Sahara Desert camp via the Moroccan Air force for a six day adventure run).

Well, my friends had neither a clue where I was nor any way to find out because the Inca Trail has a start and an end and no access in between. I started on my solo trek and around 5 p.m. and arrived at a camp site where I met a group of four young Peruvian hikers. Assuming I was going to camp. They asked me about my equipment, pointing to my rather Spartan outfit and looked at me like I was crazy. When I told them about my misguided trek up the wrong pass and that I planned to actually WALK the entire Inca Trail at night alone, they knew that I was crazy since that had never been done nor was the trail to be walked at night. They were nice enough to invite me to dinner, an aluminum pot with chicken noodle soup, one spoon making the round. It was one of the best meals I ever enjoyed. I didn’t want to but I had to leave and did after a warm farewell to my new friends.

The first two hours I had a full moon and had no problem seeing the trail, which had steps that were up to two feet tall at times. Unfortunately, two hours later the moon disappeared behind a cloudy sky, not to be seen again that night. No worries, like the Aussies say: I had my trusted flash light giving me enough light to see the trail. When I got a bit tired I sat down, had a sip from my bottle and half a power bar. When I almost fell asleep, I got up and hiked up, up and away into the night.

Soon I arrived at the first major ruins (forgot the name) and that’s where my trouble started. The main trail vanished into thin air and all of a sudden there were at least half a dozen trails, with no clue as to which was the correct one to take. I took one trail after another only to return to the same spot until I finally got onto the correct one and off I was again. The only problem was that this scenario repeated itself on four more occasions, losing lots of time.

Was I scared, not really? It was an eerie feeling though, knowing you are all alone out here in the middle of nowhere and no one knew I was wandering around in the wilderness all alone.

Finally, around 5 a.m. I saw the first light of a mildly pink dawn, immediately feeling a surge of confidence and energy streaming through my body. After another two hours I saw an old house but no ruins. It was the end of the trail but again, there were at least three trails and each of the three tourists I asked gave me different directions. I didn't realize until two hours later when I saw the rail road tracks that I had yet again taken the wrong trail.

After walking three miles on the tracks I came to the small town of Aqua Calientes where I was supposed to be. After a quick breakfast and the knowledge that I finally had arrived, I took the short bus ride to the entrance of the ruins.

The gatekeeper asked me if I was the German guy that got lost and I said yes, I was. He told me that the rest of our group had arrived at the ruins two hours ago and were wandering around. Shortly thereafter I met the first runner of our group and told him my story. After that I asked him how much time I had. I had until 2 p.m.and I said, okay, I am going to be busy until then doing what I came here for, taking lots of pictures. At two, I met all my friends and over lunch I told them my story. The leader knew about my previous adventures and said he was not too worried about me, but then there was nothing any one could have done about it anyway.

I want to say this: When I e-mailed a German friend about my mishap, he told me he was going to take this trip the following year. Guess what? Apparently my story must have gotten around because at the spot where I took the wrong turn there was now a huge arrow with the inscription: To Machu Picchu. Never again will someone take the wrong turn!

This is only one of at least three others equally crazy and adventurous stories, but that’s for another article...keep on adventuring the world and you never know what awaits you around the next bend.

Jurgen Ankenbrand, AKA the Ultra Kraut, (German, Ultra Runner).