Wheezing Toward Wonder: the Laguna 69 Day Hike

I had fallen into a trap familiar to hikers, climbers, and anyone who’s ever trudged up the unrelenting slope of a mountainside: the belief that this steep stretch must be the last one. Just one more push. One more rise. Surely the lake waits just over that next ridge, glittering in all its alpine glory.

If you keep thinking this way, you’ll eventually be right. Eventually. But only after paying your dues in the currency of false summits, hidden switchbacks, and the ever-present burn of quads and lungs on fire.

Such is life in the mountains. Glorious, punishing, deceptive—and somehow still grand.

The Cordillera Blanca's Laguna 69

Laguna 69 is one of those places whose name feels like a bad joke until you actually see it. Then it doesn’t matter what it’s called. Tucked high in the Cordillera Blanca of northern Peru, this glacial lake sits well over 4000 meters, framed by jagged peaks and fed by waterfalls that tumble straight off the snowfields above. It’s part of Huascarán National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and a magnet for altitude junkies, photographers, and hordes of gasping tourists who were told the hike was “moderate.”

Despite the name, it’s not the 69th most beautiful lake. It’s just one of the many unnamed lakes in the region, and when the park was being cataloged, someone apparently gave up on poetry and just started numbering things. But trust me—Laguna 69 deserves better than a number. It’s a place that earns your awe the hard way.

The real challenge of hiking to Laguna 69 isn’t the distance—it’s the altitude. The trail itself is manageable, but your lungs might not agree. Most of the climb takes place well above 4,000 meters, and by the time you’re grinding out the final switchbacks toward the lake, there’s just not a lot of oxygen left to bargain with. It’s the kind of hike where your legs might be willing, but your lungs stage a quiet rebellion.

Just be aware of that before tackling this hike.

The Nature of the Hike

The wife walking the early part of the trail

It’s six kilometers up from the trailhead to the lake. And I do mean up. The trail begins gently enough, mostly flat through a valley that feels like it was stolen from a fairy tale—twisted trees, a meandering creek, and a simple beauty that makes you think you’ve wandered into something sacred.

But the grace period doesn’t last. Soon the trail tilts upward and rarely looks back. Steep switchbacks carve into the hillside, each one demanding rest breaks where the only sound is the rasp of your own breathing, heavy in your ears.

Unless you’re German. The German tourists seemed to float up the trail without effort, as if they’d evolved past the need for oxygen. They’d saunter cheerfully past me, offer a bright “hello!” and disappear up the switchbacks like it was a casual stroll through the park. I’m not proud of this, but there was a small, dark part of me that wanted to hurl them off the mountainside. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately?), they were moving way too fast to catch—so instead I just tried to grunt out something that vaguely resembled a friendly reply and kept my murderous thoughts to myself.

Switchback cutting up the side of the mountain

Luckily, there’s plenty to gawk at while trying to catch your breath (and trying to stay conscious). Mist curling around the ridgelines. Glaciers hanging like frozen waterfalls above your head. Real waterfalls, too—tumbling off cliffs, vanishing into the valley below.

I’d trudge, one foot in front of the other, until my heart felt like it might just beat its way out of my chest. Then I’d stop. Sip some water. Take a photo. Try to remember why I thought this was a good idea. And then I’d plod uphill again.

Repeat for a few hours, and you’ll make it.

Peaks across the valley dance in and out of clouds

A City in the Sky

If you plan to hike to Laguna 69, just know: your gasping and wheezing will have an audience. Don’t expect solitude. This is one of the most popular day hikes out of Huaraz, and nearly everyone gets funneled onto the trail the same way—by signing up with a tour company, hopping on a bus, and getting unloaded en masse at the trailhead.

There’s a steady flow of hikers on every section of the trail. And while that can be a downside, it also makes for some top-notch people-watching.

Sure, you’ve got the alpine elves from Germany, bounding past with suspiciously fresh faces. But you’ll also see couples in designer jeans and street shoes, gamely trudging uphill like they missed a crucial memo. I found myself thinking two things at once: What are these people doing here? And—mad respect for showing up and stepping this far out of their normal orbit.

Then there are the people (yep, more than one) hiking with a full-on 1980s-style boombox slung over one shoulder, music echoing across the valley like we were all in a very dramatic movie montage.

At 51, I was far from the oldest person on the trail, and definitely not the slowest (also definitely not the fastest). You get the idea. Laguna 69 attracts all kinds.

If you came seeking quiet communion with nature, you’ll be disappointed. But if you’re open to the strange magic of a thousand strangers struggling up the same steep path together, you’ll find the trail to Laguna 69 surprisingly human.

Glaciers spill out of the mist

The Lake Itself

The lake itself sits cradled in a cirque, surrounded by snow-streaked granite walls. It’s dramatic. Rugged. And—if I’m being completely honest—not the prettiest alpine lake I’ve ever seen. Not even top twenty.

It’s also crowded here, like everywhere else along this trail. Close your eyes and it sounds less like a remote glacial basin and more like a cocktail party, complete with laughter, and music. I had to scramble across a field of boulders just to avoid photobombing someone’s lakeside selfie—and to make sure no one photobombed mine.

Maybe Laguna 69 is more of an accomplishment than a revelation. A badge earned for effort rather than solitude.

That’s not to say it isn’t beautiful—it is. Even a mid-tier alpine lake still looks like a supermodel compared to most other scenery. But for me, the magic of this hike wasn’t concentrated at the top. It was in the winding valleys, the silver-threaded waterfalls, the distant peaks flickering in and out of the clouds. That’s where the trail kept surprising me.

So after about thirty minutes of lakeside resting, I stood up, took one last look, and pointed my boots downhill—genuinely excited to see it all again on the way back.

Laguna 69. Note the crowd on the left side on the image

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Epilogue

Pro tip: always shoot a pic of your tour bus's license plate. Many busses look exactly the same. This way, you will always know which bus to crawl back onto

How to Book a Laguna 69 Day Hike

Nearly every tour agency in Huaraz offers a Laguna 69 day hike. You likely don’t need to book in advance—just walk around town and compare a few options. Most agencies charge roughly the same price, and the tours are more or less identical: an early morning pickup, a long bus ride to the trailhead, a few hours of hiking, and then the same bus back in the afternoon, maybe with a stop for dinner.

You don’t need a guide for the trail itself—it’s well-marked and impossible to get lost unless you’re really trying. But booking the transport through an agency makes logistics much simpler, especially since the trailhead is a hours from Huaraz and there’s no reliable public transport that gets you there.

Just bring snacks, plenty of water, layers for all possible weather scenarios, and a sense of humor for the altitude. You’ll be fine. Probably.

A Word About Altitude Sickness

Laguna 69 sits at over 4,600 meters. That’s high enough to mess with your body in ways you might not expect. If you’re coming straight from sea level, don’t hike this on your first or second day in Huaraz. Give yourself time to acclimate—do some lower hikes first, drink plenty of water, and take it slow.

You can also start with a day hike to Paron Lake, also at a high elevation, but with a significantly easier hike to the lake (the road basically gets you there).

Some people use Diamox (acetazolamide) to help their bodies adjust. It’s worth talking to a doctor about before your trip if you’re concerned. Either way, listen to your body. Headaches, nausea, dizziness, and loss of appetite are common signs of mild AMS (acute mountain sickness). These symptoms might make you miserable, but they’re manageable if they stay mild.

However, if you—or someone in your group—starts showing signs of more serious altitude sickness (confusion, difficulty walking, trouble breathing at rest, or a dry cough that gets worse), that’s no longer a “push through it” situation. That’s a turn-around-immediately-and-descend situation.

The mountains will still be there tomorrow. Don’t try to conquer them if your body’s waving a white flag.