Abstracts from Argentina, chapter 3

There we were, the three of us: Lewis, Joel, and I, having a bit of lunch. We had walked about 30 feet off the trail, down onto a large outcropping of rock - which jutted out into a moderate size lake. We had been walking for about six or seven hours on a cold and rainy day, and lunch sounded like a great idea. We were in Torres Del Paine - a national park of Chili - and in our 3rd day on the trail. Having come off a great week of social adventure in Calafate we were ready to get back in the woods. So, sitting on our packs, we brewed up some, what we would call, kick-ass sandwiches. We ate in the rain. It felt good. Usually, at a point like this on a trek, we would fall into a lazy conversation or some stone skipping, but, because of the rain, we decided to keep hauling. We stood up and strapped up. Joel pointed himself back toward the small hill we had come down and noticed something was different. He saw, what he thought was possibly a fox.... I stared silently, knowing exactly what I was looking at. There, on crest of the hill, about 25 or 30 feet away, sat a perfectly poised mountain lion. We stared intensely at one another, eye-to-eye for what seemed like an eternity. I knew what I was thinking, but I wasn´t exactly sure what he was thinking. At this point it was just his shoulders and head I saw. Now, if you have ever come across a mountain lion on the trails in golden or what have you, you know it is a rare and mixed occasion. You are amazed that you could see such a thing in the wild, but you are also a little uneasy, knowing without too much trouble, if it so chooses, it could quickly pin you, snap your neck from the back, and have its lunch for the day. And as I stared, saying nothing, Lewis said, with a certain quickness in his words, "that´s a mountain lion!". I do not think any of us were really too scared then, just amazed. About five seconds past. Joel, in a staunch voice, then blurted out, "thier´s two!". My head was on a swivel. Scanning the hill I found it. Double the size of the first, and closer too. It, just to the left of the first, was a third of the way down the hill, and pacing. I could see its body moving closer, now, at best, 20 feet off. Two words came to mind: power, silence. Before this moment I had never really comprehended the intrepid confidence of a mountain lion. As these two beasts stood above us I could tell just by looking they knew they had no natural predators (and it should be stated here that because of the conservation efforts in the national park these mountain lions had not even human predators). It is also interesting to note that mountain lions do not travel in packs, they are extremely territorial animals, usually distancing themselves by 10 or 15 square miles, and up to 300 square miles. So seeing two in the same place is kinda like lightening hitting the same place twice. It was then, my head still on its swivel, that I, with a confused sincerity, noted the third mountain lion. There were three! To the far right, this mountain lion, still even closer than the other two, dwarfed the other two by at least 40%. It sauntered closer. I think it hit us all at the same time: we were being hunted. So there we were: trapped on an outcropping of rock, three mountain lions with the high ground and closing in. According to South Dakota´s "The stages of mountain lion attacks", of the seven stages, we were in stage six - the last stage before the actual attack. The department´s description of the situation is noted as: grave, and the direction of action is: Fight. At this point three things flashed through my head all in the course of a few seconds: the first was a quick daydream of being eaten alive, the second an inductive reasoning that chances were good I would survive because in 24 years I was still alive, and the third was every damn thing I knew about mountain lions. We kept our packs on. We yelled and grunted. We threw rocks. We waved our arms. I had the knife used to cut our sandwich bread open and in-hand. We spoke loud to each other, congealing into a unit with a common purpose: to survive. We decided we would be as big and fearsome as possible - these were of course the things we were not. And then we began to move toward them. If you know anything about mountain lions, you know that you do not act scared, you do not back down, and under no circumstances do you turn your back. We knew this, and capatalized on our knowlege. Inside I was unbelievably scared, and surprisingly ready to fight. I was happy to be with two guys I trusted, and now trusted with my life. I knew that if logic followed... every sign of this situation pointed to an immanent fight. I also knew that we stood absolutely no chance were this to go to fist-to-cuffs. We bluffed and we bluffed huge, it was our only option. And like a marble rolling of the end of a table one of the lions disappeared over the crest of the hill. The biggest one, the one that was easily bigger than some of the lions I saw in Kenya, the one that proved the fact that the closer mountain lions live to the poles the bigger they get (some up to 260pounds), was gone. Then miraculously, the second vanished over the crest. After about three more well placed stones by Joel (whose great throwing arm I liken to Herculean strength) the third ducked down the other side. Now, I am not sure whether I was more scared when they were in sight or after they disappeared over the crest. At least, before I knew when it was coming. Now, without warning (because mountain lions are utterly silent in their movements) they could leap over the crest and be on us with three paces. We quickly developed our game plan. Lewis grabbed a tree branch and held it like a riot shield. We inched (briskly) off the outcropping and to the left, where the trail came down the hill meeting us at our current elevation. From there we had about a 200 yard stretch of path to walk. The 25 foot-high hill to one side, and the lake to the other. We decided not to run but walk fast, facing every direction. I wished I had eyes like a fly. We moved fast, as a unit, yelling, throwing rocks, holding sticks high. This was closer to the essence of ´running the gauntlet´ than anything I can think of. We made it to where the path turns out into the open without any sign of the lions. We then had about 3 hours of hiking until our destination, and despite our readiness (that is as ready as one can be to be eaten by a mountain lion) we saw no more of them on that trek. We had escaped, or more appropriately had been saved.
All this to say, death has been a bit on my mind. In life we face it so much; we face such a large spectrum of events, full of so many things and feelings. None are like death. Only one day after returning from our trek just as Joel, Lewis, and I were calmly processing our past event, Joel received an email. One of his friends from Jackson died, killed in a car accident. I did not know the man, but it is tragic. The pain Joel was feeling was enormous. And the two events weighed on me. As I was trying to process the two events: the lions making me want to live a intentional, carpe diem life; and joel´s friend´s death pushing me to introspective reclusivity, I wrote these words that encouraged me: giving, trust, seasons, freedom, Jesus, promise, love, family, peace, friendship, trees, knowing, guidance, truth. And for some reason dwelling on these words helped me, and made me ask: Is it that we have it when we are younger, and we spend the rest of our time trying to get back there, to that feeling of awe at the world, the feeling of peace, sanctity of life, freedom, and joy? The feeling you have when you are younger and all is possible. when all is okay and freeing, and now, now the world has made you jaded and rigid, skeptical and ready to poke holes in everything for intelligence´s sake, for pride´s sake, for the sake of the world- like it is up to me to see through everybody. I hate this. I want to be me, no matter what, just love people, and be honest, apart from my own pride or thoughts that I ´know´what ít´ is in this world that someone needs to learn. I am learning that changing the world for one person is, in fact, changing the world. Not because that person is part of the world, but because that person is a world. Doing something good for someone changes the entire thing for them. As I look over my moleskin I see questions piled up from the last year, and as I look at it as of recent I see dreams piling up. If it is true that life can be some sort of poetry in motion, then I do not want to be ashamed of my verse. I am now dreaming more complicated dreams and trying to live them. Rilke (the german poet) says that all criticizing is simply misunderstanding in the end. And so I tell myself: "The poem is a feeling, not a measured anything. Fear not your own hand, let the ink drip, splash the page with courage. Do a cannonball. Who could really care? What feeling is final?"

Much, much love.
Phil.



Laurel: Thank you. I am and I will, leaving no good memory to vanity, rather, like you said, channelling it into new beauty I can´t yet imagine.

Kelly: Exciting things I am sure you can relate to. I am glad to know you are reading.

Jamie: I love how simple the deconstructing and reconstructing sits with frames of leaving, returning, processing etc. But like any good remodeling project it is so messy and the timing seems to always be a bit off.

rough n´tumble: I believe it was sugar-glidizzle. ahem, ahem. So sweet to hear from you.

Lewis´s handiwork: