In May, I travelled to the Peruvian Andes to photograph the festival of Qoyllur Rit’i that takes place near the holy Sinakara Glacier. This was to be another chapter in my long-term project, Devotion, which explores different faith traditions around the world.
Having done my research, I knew there was one scene I particularly wanted to photograph: the descent of the Ukukus from the glacier at an altitude of over 5000 metres. This would take place at dawn on the final day.
The Ukukus are a special band of pilgrims who wear distinct costumes and carry coiled whips, policing the festival and performing initiation ceremonies up on the glaciers overnight. It was apparently forbidden for foreigners to join them, although there was some ambiguity about this. To increase my odds of capturing the photograph I wanted, I made contact with a group of Ukukus before the event, and for a contribution to their group, I was told I would be given a costume and allowed up. However, as is often the way with these things, my contact never turned up at base camp, leaving me with a costume but no guide.
Luckily, I met a shaman who agreed to take me up the mountain at about 3am. On reaching the glacier, a small band of Ukukus started running towards us from another ridge. The Shaman urged me to hurry after him back down the mountain, but I resisted - this is what I had come here for after all.
The Ukukus corralled us both and brought us back to their main group, who were high up at an altitude of about 5600m. Speaking in Quechua but translated for my benefit, their Chief gave a great speech about how this was a holy mountain and that I should not be up here. I felt like Tintin in Prisoners of the Sun. I then delivered (what I thought was) a great speech back to him about how I had travelled from a small country called Ireland to witness their great tradition, and that I meant them no disrespect.
The Chief nodded appreciatively, before swiftly ordering for the Shaman and I to be whipped. It was largely a symbolic whipping, although the last whack was definitely intended as one to remember. After then kissing the whip – as was expected of me – I asked the Chief if I could take a few photographs. Remarkably, he grunted a yes.
As the first light of day appeared in the sky, the Ukukus started their descent. The standard-bearer in front of me momentarily glanced back over his shoulder with a look that was timeless. In fact, the whole scene felt timeless. I released the shutter of my camera, capturing the moment forever, and then followed the Ukukus back down the mountain. I think the shaman was relieved to be rid of me.
This photograph will always be special to me, in part because of the challenge involved in capturing it – the journey to the valley in the Andes far from home, the hike up the mountain by moonlight, the effects of the altitude, my speech to the Chief and, of course, the whipping. Seeing tens of thousands of pilgrims congregating in such a dramatic landscape is truly a spectacle. But it’s also special because all of these random elements came together to create this magical moment, just as I pressed the shutter release button on my camera.
See more of Chris Roche’s work on his website.
