San Martin de los Andes to Chos Malal

 I’m sitting in the tent with my screen door  open. I can barely see the words I’m writing in the pre-dawn light. It’s cold and I have layer over layer on under my sleeping bag. I’ve never woken up this early since we’ve been on this trip, but this morning the stillness of the night nudged me from my dreams. I lay there listening hard for even the slightest sound but there’s nothing. The smell of home, that early morning untouched red dirt, gently made its way into the tent. That and the stillness of the air made it impossible to stay in bed. 

Bare feet on the soft dusty earth, southern cross in the sky, long horizons lit up by the full moon and pre-dawn light, oh, and the silence of a sleeping desert. Bliss. 

Here the horizons spike with mountains framing a space so wide it feels endless. Sure it has a hint of home, but the space definitely has its own way of reminding you you’re somewhere different. Somewhere alien. Somewhere special. The jagged cliffs follow the weakness in uniformed blocks, like the perfect abstract painting of stacked boxes. The monkey tail trees stand true, ancient and wise, reminding you how little time we really have here. I think I’m watching the sun rise for the first time on this trip, on my last wild camp (*second to last) in Patagonia.

It’s been a wild ride, like really wild. I think I could never have understood in the moment the value of her lessons. Not lessons in the sense that she may have planned them for me or that there was some kind of curriculum, but lessons in the sense that her very being, as she is and always has been, challenged you to confront your fears and weaknesses. 

It’s her indifference that stands out the most and I’ve been broken, body, mind and spirit. To the point where I was sure I’d never come back, we’d never come back. But I did, we have, I know because I’m sitting next to Kelsey watching the sun come up. She is writing too and we are still on this journey, making plans, talking about what’s going to be hard and why we appreciate each other and ourselves. 

I’ve mentioned this before, but perhaps the biggest gift Patagonia has given me is the gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, reminder to never take anything for granted. Anything! Not the day you’re living, the people you’re loving and even the ones you’re not. The birds have started singing and the cars can be heard off in he distance. The day is starting and I am thankful to be here. Be xx