Chacas’ new church. This is one of the regions prettiest towns, with a precious, grassy main square. Italian monks arrived here in the ’70s and have helped ensure the architecture remains reasonably traditional and that the plaza isn’t concreted over like in many other towns in the area.

Chacas’ Plaza de Armas. Not much goes on here, but it’s easy to lose a day or two chatting to the locals and sipping Pilsens, whilst admiring the fine local woodcarving on the surrounding buildings.

Chacas is not blessed with good restaurants however. Caldo de Gallina is one of our least favourite breakfasts – we’re not great fans of chicken foot soup…

A pedal-less bike in Chacas. Probably used by some old dude to roll back home after a day in town. No need to lock things up in any of the small villages round here – crime is extremely rare.

After sampling the brew and deciding it was fine, Pablo decided to erect an upside-down advertising sign. The multi-coloured maize drying on a balcony is much more of a common sight in Conchucos than in the Callejon de Huaylas.

We finally leave the charms of Chacas and head off on the 2 day trek to Huari. It turns out to be by far our most boring walk in the Blanca. No snowy peaks on show, just the one lake. Some nice rock strata and plenty of ichu grass, but not the usual visual treat we’ve become accustomed to in this area.

After a night in a hostal on Huari’s main square (which unfortunately coincided with a fiesta (not that unfortunate in reality, seeing as most days seem to be celebrated round here) and concert which continued till 04:00 at decibel levels rivalling The Who at The Valley) we fail to find transport to Mallas. This turns out to be a blessing in disguise: the bucolic walk there is as charming a few hours as we’ve had in Ancash. Until we foolishly follow a short cut shown on our map and lose half a day. This shot is taken in the lovely village of Yacya, where all and sundry were supporting local Nazi-esque Condor Alberto.

Hours after we should’ve turned round, we give up battling the overgrown trail and take the long way back round to Mallas. Dervla was constantly getting into pickles with shortcuts (‘reduras’). Her stubbornness meant she rarely turned round – preferring to send Rachel ahead to scout a way out of any mess they found themselves in. On our path she probably would’ve just pulled out a machete and opened up the overgrown path again. In this shot, Nevado Chinchey (one of the highest in the Blanca) puts in a rare appearance.

Looking down to the Rio Mosna. The triangular rock slabs in the picture are incredible, particularly when viewed from the road at their base. Hundreds of metres high and almost totally smooth, Dervla describes it as ‘one of the most spectacular geological formations I’ve ever seen.’

After a few hours of seeing no-one, we are passed by a blood splattered donkey with a cow’s head strapped to its back. Then another appears with some limbs tied on, then a third with some body parts. Behind them all was this friendly guy. ‘I shot it from 20m’ he tells us.

Quebrada Rurichinchey is well off the usual trekking trail. Up at the top of the valley, we meet no-one for a couple of days.

Like many in the Blanca, the river running through the valley is stained orange by iron.

A route is shown on our maps to Lagunas Rurichinchey, but we’ve long learned not to trust the small paths marked. At first we think there’s no way up to the lakes, until we find a tiny path that snakes up through a forest, rounding some cliffs. Parts were far too narrow for cattle, but when we emerge at the top pampa by the lakes there’s a herd of cows up there nonetheless. Incredible mountaineers these beasts!

A few days later and we’ve walked round into neighbouring Quebrada Rurec. Fiery clouds glow above Tullparaju’s southern summit.

We climb up to Laguna Yuraccocha (about the 3rd lake of that name we’ve visited in the Blanca – with over 250 lakes in the range it’s not that surprising that some names get repeated) and gaze at Nevado Cayesh. In a photobook in Huaraz we’ve seen pictures of this mountain from another angle – it is so unbelievably steep when viewed from the other side that not even a child would dare draw a peak with such outrageously inclined sides.

Lake seen, we descend down Quebrada Rurec to Huantar – a lovely little town dubbed the ‘Balcony of Conchucos’ which perches high above the main road. To our delight, there’s regular enough traffic to enable us to reach Huaraz that evening and gorge ourselves at El Horno – the finest pizza in town. Dervla would not have approved. She wasn’t such a fan of the Huaraz – Chavin road which had such a drastic impact on the character of tranquil old Conchucos.