Thread

-The Way It Is-

There's a thread you follow.
It goes among things that change. But it doesn't change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can't get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time´s unfolding.
You don't ever let go of the thread.

-William Stafford


Sometimes it is hard for me to see my own thread, and I wonder how other people can ever see their own. If, as alluded to in an earlier posting, I am a tamale; have the leaves I am to be wrapped in already fallen from heaven? Am I already being wrapped in them? Maybe they are so comfortable I can't even feel them all.

Over a year ago, my friend gave me a hand made journal with the William Stafford quote written on the first page. She said, "hang on to your thread; pursue your dreams." Since then many days have passed when I thought I may have lost my thread, when I could not feel it in my hands, when I could not see it, or smell it, or taste it, or even hear it near me, lying by my side.

But here, on the road, on the long brown path, on the bus, in the stream, I am finding my thread. I think I was holding on to it all the while, only the feel of it had become so comfortable to me, so familiar, I could hardly notice it anymore.

As I have left Oakridge, left my friends so many miles away, my goals and dreams awaiting for my return; I have been able to gain a new perspective. I see thread running through my life.

I can feel it in my hands as I grip my pencil and write in that handmade journal my friend gave me on a cold winter day in Eugene, Oregon. I can hear my thread when I hear a guitar being played, when I hear an old Beatles song, when I think of my friends voices, or hear the rush of a creek. I can smell my thread in the dirt of the Earth, in the tire of a bike, in the loamy smell near a moist creek, in the scent humity. I see my thread as I imagine the metal creations I want to make when I'm back home, when I look at the pictures I have taken on this trip and look forward to the slide show I plan to have, when I imagine the upcoming summer, and the opportunity it holds.

I find my thread, when Lindsay and I have walked for miles in Los Alerces National Park, to find ourselves in paradise. Nothing around but white sand, green forests of lenga trees and bamboo, hawks, and clear water. Yes, this place is a part of my thread, but this place is also where I needed to go to regain the clarity and peace of mind I have needed to see my thread, in my everyday life.

Sometimes I've tried to find my thread. "Don't let go of it Eug!" I've thought to myself as I remembered my friend's urging, all the while wondering if I'm still holding on to it at all. I've often wondered what "it" is. What is this thread I am supposed to keep hold of? Is it my biking? Living in Oakridge? Working at the Merc? Is it in finding true love? What is my thread supposed to be comprised of anyhow?

However, although I haven't always known it, I think I have been holding on to it, maybe almost letting go at times, but I still have it.

My thread is not a monofilament, that is not what thread is. A thread is a strong, flexible, material of many fibers spun together. Mine is a thread made of many elements, all comprised to create a single form, made of diverse yet compatible materials from which I can weave the fabric of my life.

My thread is one of art, of creating with the hands semipermanent form of what is only transitory in these lives. It is also art that is transitory; music, performance art, personal perfomance art-traveling, unicycling, biking, being in love.

When I find a quiet place of reflection I see: the rivers of Oregon, my tribe, a little home in Oakridge, the Merc, the trips I take, the art I have made, and hope to make, and the dreams I have for the future.

When I find the space to reflect upon my life, I find my thread.

So what about Chile? And where am I anyhow?

Tonight my energy went to writing about what has happened for me inside, as a beautiful world of mountains, lakes, trails, new friends, and borders has passed by outside.

Lindsay are in El Bolson, Argentina, a beautiful little town of 8,000 people, nestled deep in a valley between a really tall bare cliff face to the East, and a huge more gradual mountain to the West (Cerro Hielo Azul- Mountain of Blue Ice).

Here we have recovered from our fantastic travels in Los Alerces Park, where we hiked 20 miles or so. We have enjoyed the slower pace at which Argentenians speak, eaten really well at there is lots of trout here and the food is cheaper than Chile, and found a really awesome handmade ice cream joint, which we have visited 3 times in 2 days.

Tomorrow we head out of this little paradise and to Cerro Hielo Azul for 3 or 4 days of backpacking in the cordilliera. Should be good.

The trip is going quickly now. We have hit a good stride, however our days here are short now, less than 2 weeks to go!

After we leave Cerro Hielo we will head North to Bariloche, then on to Santiago. We haven't chosen a route yet, but I hope to visit some of the lakes north of Bariloche as Steve and Denise of Coconino Cycles say they are great.

Gotta sleep, more miles to go tomorrow.

Oh, about those pictures I've been taking.. Never have been able to find a computer where I can easily upload them. I'm looking forward to some slideshows back home.

A Note from the Road

65 km or more under the soles of my feet, feeling strong, the wind in my face, the road and trail underfoot.

Lindsay and I walked through spectacular Cerro Castilo, a huge glaciated mountain comprised of beaututiful spires of old volcanic rock eroded away from so many years of glacial activity.

Life threw us a curveball after we left the park.. We were tired, 4 days, 2 passes, and 40 miles of trail, plus a super wind at the end left us a little ragged. We went to Puerto Ibanez to catch a ferry to Argentina, where we were going to arrange transport south to Torres del Paine Natl Park. When we arrived in Puerto Ibanez it was a twilight zone. Kind of reminded me of the Rez near Flag. Empty streets, aside from wandering dogs, lots of wind, sun, and rocks all around.

The people acted like we didn't exsist. We tried to get a ferry and were told it was booked for the next 4 days. Desperate not to be stuck in this weird little town, we caught a bus to Coyhaique to reformulate our plans.

Looking back I know I have learned a lot about the value of perseverence from this moment of weakness. I wish we were still headed south.

However, Torres del Paine is out at this point. We are headed North to Bariloche, back up to the beautiful lakes and mountains of the Lake Region of Chile and Argentina. Just over 2 weeks more for me during this trip, before I head to NY to meet up with Natty for a few days.

Sorry for the short post, I'm out of time at this little internet Cafe.

From here on I will be pointing back towards the north, beginning my long journey back home.

Tamales in Space

"If you are meant to be a tamale, the leaves that you are to be wrapped in will fall from Heaven"

This was how my friend Lauren closed her last e-mail to me, a quote she picked up somewhere in Latin America I believe. And I thank her for this wisdom. My energy was going too much into thinking of what I should do with my life, rather than just living.

However her quote is not to contradict the thoughts of Charles Baudouin, "An idea upon which attention is peculiarly concentrated is an idea which tends to realize itself."

Nor is it contradictory to Professor Thomas Davidson, "Associate with the noblest people you can find; read the best books; live with the mighty. But learn to be happy alone. Rely upon you own energies and so not wait for or depend on other people."

A noble life is what I seek. No one, nor any thing, can either give this to me nor take it away.

Dressed in rags or surrounded by riches, life brings on wave after wave of change. It is how we posture ourselves, how we interact with that change, how we carry ourselves and treat the world around us that defines our character, who we are.

The culture and physical surroundings change constantly for me as I travel, challenging me to maintain my posture, maintain my mental faculty. It is a test and a lesson at once.

The sun shining brightly between low puffy cumulous couds, a towering granite mountain to the south, we spotted each other from far off in the park like plaza, our faces breaking into smiles as we ran to meet each other. 12 noon, February 15, I began my travels with Lindsay.

We quickly postulated our plans for the coming days and weeks; we will prepare today, and travel 75km south tomorrow to the remote Cerro Castillo, a craggy mountainscape of waterfalls and glaciers, where we will walk 62 kilometers through Cerro Castillo Park. As we exit the park we will rejoin the Austral Highway, our road to the park, and continue south via the myriad of roadways through southern Argentina and Chile onwards to our destination of Puerto Natales, and Torres del Paine National Park. There we will once agian stock up on food, enter the park, and embark on a 10 day hike through the wilderness of the far southern region of Patagonian Chile.

It is sure to be a trip of many challenges, smiles, and adventures unforseen. We are prepared with wit, physical ability, quite a lot of food, cameras, and technical outdoor clothing available for this type of adventure. We will test our friendship, our bodies, or minds, and surely learn a lot along the way.

Keep an eye out for a post in a week or so, as it will be at least 5 days from now before we are back to electricity and may be able to post again. I'll be posting again some time between Cerro Castillo and Torres del Paine.

Thanks for all the e-mail, it lifts my spirits.

Eugene

Leaving Chiloé

The wind blows a gale outside this little red computer hut. It is as if to say, "Change is here, may the wind be with you." And so I leave Ancud, and Chiloé, and head back to the mainland, to Puerto Montt. A Navimag ferry awaits me there, with a berth reserved, and a journey to Puerto Chacabuco ahead.

Lindsay finished her NOLS mountaineering class, and is happy to have a couple of days to recuperate on her own before I arrive. While I am looking forward to a couple of days of travel, 24 hours on the ferry, and will be glad to have some company when I finally make it to the plaza in Coyhaique to meet her at high noon on Friday.

Chiloé has been enjoyable for me, with a fortutious turn of events helping me along as I rolled into Parque Nacional de Chiloé on the bus. As I was deboarding the bus a friendly Chilean asked me what I was doing, and was I alone. When I said I really didn't have a plan, and that yes I was alone, he suggested that I join him and his girlfriend on a little boat across the lake we had arrived at to a little camping area next to the park.

Having no plans can have it's advantages, and I was glad to take him up on the suggestion. He and his girlfriend turned out to be angels along my passage, as the camping area was beautiful and relaxing, and they were helpful and friendly all along the way.

Camping was primitive. There was running water, provided by a pipe that came from a mysterious source up a hill, and ended in a rusty porcealin sink. We set out our tents in haphazard patterns near the lake, sheltered by trees, tucked up against a hill which backed the park.

The camping area was full of happy Chileans on holiday from Conception, and Santiago, who were all most welcoming and in the best of moods. However, being an extranjero, a foreigner, I never have felt most at home here, even when all around me are welcoming and warm. There is something disconcerting about never knowing what is being said around a person, and never being able to join in the ongoing conversation.

My helpful friends took me on a great walk along the lake, to a neat nature trail through old forests, with root systems so intertwined that the trail had been built of wood, many feet above the ground. We saw many native birds, plants, and trees. Soon we had finished our nature walk, and walked on to an "artesania", a little tiny shop, in a shed, in a field, where an old couple was sitting around a wood stove with their handmade wares hanging from the cool, dark ceiling, bonking me in the head.

They had many beautiful handmade baskets, made of the local plant fiber, and handmade hats of their sheep's wool. The couple live with no electricity, no incoming food supply, no aid from the government. They are happy and content, but tough, and the conditions of their existence were worn into their faces; many wrinkles and grooves carved into their skin from the passage of many a cold rain storm and exposed sunny day.

I slept long that night, awakening to a sunny day, and a walk to the beach. The surf was not to big, but there were clearly dangerous currents, and I dared not swim. I loved being along the coastline of a body of water that touches Hawaii, Alaska, Oregon, all of South America and New Zealand. What a huge ocean it is.

My time has arrived to leave for the bus! I go to Puerto Montt, and on to the South. Look for another post from Coyhaique.

I'm traveling alone here, and can never see who has visited my blog, so leave me a note on the comments page if you like, or send an e-mail, as I miss you all

Chiloé

I bailed out of Pucon this morning, catching the 6:40 bus to Puerto Montt.

Pucon actually grew on me as I spent a few days there, but in the end it was the Americans in my dorm room at the hostel that made me feel like I had to get away imminently. Going all the way to the other end of the world to have a couple of nice Americans speaking English and talking about all the sweet powder we are missing in Utah, while partying every day and making my trip feel more like a weekend in a dorm room at Any College USA, eventually cracked me. Or maybe it was Steve´s chainsaw like snoring 6 feet away from 2 am on every night.

Anyhow as soon as I walked next door to the hostel to the JAC bus depot I was back in Chile, and on my way. I was on the bus for a bit longer than I wished, and by the time we arrived in Puerto Montt I was looking at "ESCAPE" printed on the window, and wondering under what circumstances it was to be used.

Arriving in Puerto Montt was a relief from the bus, like the LA airport is a relief from the seat of a plane; it was nice to be off the bus, but I wanted to get the ¿*^¡ out of there as quickly as possible. People everywhere, lots of beggars, and me with my huge ass backpack. All around the depot there was just a kind of wasteland of metal roofs, and tin buildings, and a shady looking waterfront, so instead of wandering away as I wished to do I found a bus to Chiloe, the 10th region of Chile (as the government labels them from North to South).

It was 2 hours including a 20 minute ferry ride to the island region, and I got off at the first town, Ancud. The bus actually started to take off with my backpack still in the luggage compartment, which really freaked me out, thankfully the driver heard my yelling and stopped.

The town seemed like a really sketchy run down waterfront hole in the wall at first, but once I had put my muchilla (backpack) down at the San Jose hostel, and took a walk around town I had a change of heart.

Antun is a colorful town of what I would guess to be 5000 people. When I say colorful, picture a rainbow of color splashed every where-boats, houses, fences, and usually faded a good 20 years. The people are a hard up, but generally friendly, and it is great to see a real working fishing fleet of small colorful boats. It makes me think of Hemingway´s "Old Man and the Sea."

Tomorrow I´m off to the south central part of the island to Castro, and on to a national park on the west coast of the island. I bet is will be wild ocean and green green vegitation.

Unfortunately I was operation on some bad information regarding the ferry to meet Lindsay in Coyhaique, and I was very disheartened to learn that the boat I was to take no longer runs. I will return to Puerto Montt on Wednesday after visiting the park here to catch the Navimag Ferry to Puerto Chacabuco, a 24 hour trip. That will put me in Coyhaique about 58 hours later than I was supposed to be, hopefully not too much of an inconvenience for my traveling companion.

That´s it for now. I´ve been taking lots of pictures, but once again can not find a computer where I can download them to again upload them to the net.

I´ll be back online in a couple of days, look to see another post sometime Wednesday.

Arucarìa trees, alpine lakes high in the Andes, hot days, and cold, cold, streams have been my surroundings for the past few days. It was with some hesitation that I boarded the JAC tour bus leaving Parque Nacional Huerquehue yesterday afternoon, knowing that I would soon be surrounded by people, cars, computers, and things to attend to. All of which I had been able to leave behind for a few sweet days.

My trek began in the afternoon 5 days ago, as I boarded the little bus bound for Huerquehue. The bus wound it's way up a lazy river, flowing from a distant glacial source, before heading away from the river high into the Andes. The road quickly became dusty and full of washboard as we climbed higher, away from the city, and into the "campo" or country. The switchbacks were tight and steep, once we even had to back up and try again to make it around one.

After nearly an hour of bumping along, a beautiful glacial lake came into view in the valley below. Lago Tinquilco, our stopping point for the bus trip. We descended to the lake, crossing a wooden bridge fit for a fitness trail in our lumbering bus, and stopped at the entry gate to the park. As I went to the guardhouse to buy my entry ticket into the park, I said I wanted to "hacer camping," thinking I was saying that I wanted to go camping in the park. Soon I was very confused as I the ranger replied, "Todo occupado."

It took about a half an hour for me to realize our problem; they thought I wanted to camp right there next to the lake in the high traffic area, and I wanted to hike into the interior of the park, to camp at a primitive refugìo.

Once our difference was understood, I was on the way to the refugio, about 13km from Lago Tinquilco.

My maps are not topographic, and from the way they are printed I thought I would be walking up a glacial valley to further lakes and camping. It was a great surprise to find a steep acsent awaiting me at the head of Lago Tinquilco. The ascent was cut into the mountainside, green arucarìa trees, some plants very similar to bamboo, and many other varieties of green life surrounded me on all sides. I could not tell how far this ascent continued on for, which caused me to take is somewhat slowly, but not too slowly, as it was already growing late in the afternoon and I had a long way to go before making camp for the night.

I ascended for an hour or more, covering about 1500 ft of vertical, with sweet vistas of Lago Tinquilco below and Volcan Villarica in the distance. At the top of my climb I found alpine lakes with crystal blue water, lots of chirping birds (which I could never see), and a more gradual trail leading onwards into the park.

I walked onwards for hours, taking pictures of mountain peaks that would appear through the forest as the underbrush upened up at higher elevation. I spotted two huge birds about the size of golden eagles, with long curved beaks, as they took flight from my presence. As I neared treeline, the trail turned downwards, towards another hidden valley, and the sun set behind a high up treeless summit. I had a couple of hours to make it to the refugio, the only legal camp spot in the park, and although I was feeling the weight of my pack on my shoulders and feet, I was feeling good about making it to camp before dark.

Once again I was surprised by the topography, as the trail descended sharply, switchbacking Grand Canyon style, into the valley below. The trail became more and more rocky, with large steps down at every third step. This took a toll on me as I was mentally unprepared for the ruggedness of the terrain, and my feet were feeling close to blistering.

I took the descent slowly, and the light faded away to nothing. I turned on my headlamp, to find many large black spiders were coming out at the change from day to night. Walking onwards I stopped periodically to stretch the now aching muscles in my neck, but continued on mostly directly towards the refugio.

I was startled to find a very large creature in the brush ahead of me, but was soon relieved to see a horses tail. There were then lights ahead, and I had made it to the refugio only about half an hour past nightfall.

The following days were filled with the peacefulness of the valley where the refugio sits, filtering water from the extremely cold Andean stream, reading some good bits of the book I have with me, Louis L'amour´s "Education of a Wandering Man," a few delectable conversations with fellow trekkers passing through from distant lands, and time to stretch and reflect on life.

The days passed quickly, and soon it was time for me to pack up again and head back to the civ.
The walk was much easier on the return as I started at a higher elevation, had a good knowledge of the land, and began my walk hours earlier in the day. My body was more prepared for the walk as well, my legs feeling stronger, with less aches and pain from every part.

A wonderful treat awaited me at midday, as I stopped at Lago Toro for a refreshing dip in the clear, cool water. A few Chileans were there too, and we talked about the country and my trip.

The walk resumed, and was quickly completed, back at the dusty little bus stop by the lake.

Our bus filled to capacity. People and bags everywhere. Then as we went we kept picking up more people, Chileans waiting for a ride to the city from their little houses. One couple boarded the now overful buss with a huge box from a bigscreen TV and 5 bags too. Soon our bus was packed to the gills with people standing in the isle, boxes and bags pushing the driver to the side in his seat. But here this is not a problem. People make way for each other. No one complained, and we all got were we were going quite expediently and with good form.

Back at Hospedaje Wohlenberg, the hostel where I am staying, there was steak on the grill, and beer to be drunk, which we did. The family that ownes the Hospedaje is quite welcoming, making me feel right at home.

I'm here for the afternoon, and evening, then off to Puerto Montt and on to Puerto Chacabuco, where I will find land transport to Coyhaique to meet my friend Lindsay to begin the next segment of my trip.

Thanks for all of the comments and e-mail. It makes me really stoked to hear stories from my friends, and know that you are following my trip.

Rock on at the Merc! I never expected Normous to be behind the counter, but I´m glad he is, as he is part of the family for sure.

I´ll update as I can. Probably from Coyhaique. Maybe I can find a newer computer, where I can upload some pictures. We´ll see.

Chow.

Sedona del Sur

I´ve made it to Pucon, a little town I call the Sedona of the South. If you have been to Sedona recently you can picture the beautiful rocks, blue sky, hot summer days, and lots and lots of consumeristic touristas wandering the streets buying everything from jeep tours to wedding gowns. Well similarly here in Pucon, everyone comes for the natural beauty of the place, but immediatly forgets that when they arrive, and spends all of their time in little shops and ice cream parlours.

Anyhow, I'm gearing up for a few days in the mountains around town here, beginning tomorrow morning.

Since my last entry I´ve "hacer dedo" hitch hiked down the Panamerican Highway with a fearless 69 year old lady named Judy, from Philadelphia, bussed along a busy stretch of highway leaving Santiago, taken another bus from Chillan to Pucon, had two long conversations using only Spanish, walked way too far around Pucon with a backpack that is way too big for walking far, tent camped outside the hostel where I am at now (due to the over full rooms last night), eaten cazuala (good Chilean food-rice, chicken, veggie stew), and sushi (Sedona of the South I say), missed a bus, caught a better bus, met a beautiful girl on the better bus, said goodbye to her, marveled at the smoking volcano out my window here, and recieved a few good e-mails from you out there.

Just a short entry for now, as I don´t want to be one of those people spending all my time inside when I came here to be outside. Sorry there are no pictures-the computers here aren´t quite as up to date as in the good 'ol Estados Unidos.

More later. I´ll be out backpacking until Thursday afternoon.