On the Trail - Facing Challenges From Within

The following morning we set out beneath leaden skies in a half hearted rain. I enjoy the mist and the wind, as it heightens my sense of adventure. 

It’s not that the Patagonian wilderness is unnerving. It’s passiveness allows a great unfolding of spirit, a kind of blossoming of the soul. On these trails your challenges come from within. What you do with them determines who you will become at the end of your journey. Patagonia only allows the process to take place. 

Eduardo leads our group up into the hills in a slow, steady lope. His arms crossed, elbows resting in his palms, he resembles a Shaman displaying secret signals to ward off evil spirits. His spare, slight frame is ideally suited to covering rough ground and I am continually amazed at his ability to glide over the terrain.

Eduardo’s second in command, Lucho, brings up the rear. Among the younger members of our crew, his knowledge of the region is impressive. On his calf he sports a tattoo of scythe-like shapes that he claims generate energy during the rigors of mountain climbing. 

We pass through forests not unlike those found in North America. Harry and Lissa provide me with the names of local flora, which include wild foxglove, tiny red-budded flowers called Nostra and the fragile blue petals of Estravita. The trail is wide and easy. Rains have been heavy in the past few days and where the waters have gathered deeply, hikers are confronted with pond-like puddles. 

As we pad along the clouds withdraw for a moment and Cuernos, or “The Horns,” emerge from the gloom. The mountain’s sheer presence speaks to something in my soul. I get a giddy sense that in such a place magic prevails over physics. The feeling leaves me somewhat uneasy, as if I am trespassing in the realm of spirits that will find me wanting and cast me to my doom. I am glad I resisted the temptation to bring a copy of Tolkien on this trip. 

Passing through the mist, Cuernos is many mountains, now incandescent and towering and then veiled and mysterious. Rising like the shoulders of the Earth, it seems to bestow a silent benediction on all who approach. I yearn to reach its summit and embrace the Heavens beyond.  It won’t happen. Not today anyway.  But I sense the experience has awakened something in me that was dormant before - an awareness of an expansive universe and a grander scale of existence. 

I had a similar experience in the Himalaya three years before. Arriving at Lukla Airport I was so taken with the stark beauty of the surrounding mountains I missed a step departing the airplane and fell flat in front of two hundred assembled trekkers. 

Eduardo passes the lead to Lucho and drops back to shepherd the rear. As we pass through gently sloping terrain, the mist is both irritating and gently cooling, a moist and clammy companion. 

Ahead a small lake has gathered on the trail. Islands of shrubbery protrude and Lucho attempts to navigate the high and dry route. We wait and watch at the edge. In an elaborate series of leaps and lunges, he gets halfway across the ankle-deep pond and looks back to see who’s following. No one moves. Unimpressed by the gymnastics, I step into the water and slosh past him. Some of the others follow and some seek an alternate route. As I pass he looks disappointed, as if his leadership is being challenged. It isn’t. My philosophy stems from a passage I once read in The Way of the Samurai - if your fate is to be wet, bear it with dignity. Wet socks can be changed.