Moving Zen
What these stories all have in common is: moving. Whether it’s backpacking through the mountains, packing up a couple of donkeys, or driving a van across Peru, movement begets obstacles.
After a weary day-one on the trail the cold night began reaching down the canyon, and we were looking forward to a hot meal. Fortunately, the woman from the climbing shop in Huaraz had talked me into taking a so-called cook tent on the Santa Cruz trek in the Cordillera Blanca of Peru.
Something like a yurt, the cook tent has no floor but is heavy enough to shelter you from the wind, rain, and those things that make camping irritating, like when you gotta cram four rotten backpackers into a really light tent. But then again, we had acquired the services of two donkeys and their arriero, or donkey driver, Amador. Without the help of the burros, the cook tent would never have made the trip. It was all part of pre-hiking prep: Be prepared, make fewer mistakes.
It was dark, and we were ready to put our pot of water on my MSR Whisper Lite stove, when the tiny cooking machine sputtered. At first there was no air pressure, and then everything seem to be clogged anyway. The five of us looked on, each with his own reaction: Ken with a face of fatigue; Paddy, consternation; Paddy’s son Liam with a face of indifference; and I’m guessing I looked at this puzzle of metal and gas with ire. Amador looked on, interested, if not simply hungry.
The trusty cook stove, which has the distinction of working with gasoline, had not failed me for at least 5 years. After backpacking and climbing trips in Ethiopia, Oman, Chile, Utah and Colombia, I guess it was time for the stove to give up the struggle. Nothing prepares you for the day your gear fails, when the tent poles snap, when waterproof is more water than proof, and the stove’s flame ceases to flicker. Although you always knew it was coming, you clearly never expected it, otherwise, you might have done something about it.
Are these manmade inventions that make our lives easy created to fail? Can I really complain after five years of use? Is preparation the key to avoiding life’s pitfalls? Can you be prepared for everything? We all make mistakes, and sometimes these mistakes can change everything.
In backpacking as with life, we are always extracting lessons. That time I packed too much or not enough water. When I forgot my gloves and had to wear socks on my hands. When weather is so unpredictable, you and your hiking partners lose your minds. The lesson: expect the unexpected, adapt to the situation, and learn from the experience. The perfect hike is rare, when everything gels, the trail, the weather, the friends, all the molecules of energy.
Just the other day we visited a thermal bath located in a high valley right off the 3S highway running through southern Peru’s Andes. With no warnings, no inclination to think otherwise, we dove in, exited to take a break from driving and kick it in some aguas calientes and do some stargazing. It was time to relax. Later that night, we woke up to Lucia violently vomiting, followed by several hours of dry heaving and painful cries. As most three year olds do, she drank copious amounts of hot water from the bathes; water filled with the bacteria, trace amounts of excrement, and the scum of an entire village. In the comfort of 40 degrees Celsius, the bacteria quietly spreads, multiplies, and thrives. The next five days were painful reminders that just one moment, one decision, one misstep can change the rhythm of your day, your trip, and your life.
The mere act of driving across a country, or in our case several countries, trains you in dealing with the unexpected. A flat tire, a dead battery, broken fuel injectors. We have dealt with a bit of everything: a back door that won’t open and a worn out wheel bearing, both on the same day in the shadows of Cotopaxi! More often than not, our issue is electrical, power issues that cannot be improvised and require patience and resourcefulness. But I’m a lucky man, my wife possesses both of these qualities in surplus and is the family campervan expert.
Back on the trail, after three hours of cleaning, rearranging, and fumbling with the cook stove, we were unable to bring it back to life. What were we going to do with all this freeze dried food that we couldn’t eat without hot water? Amador said not to worry, we could cook our meals over a fire outside. “Big fires are illegal in Husacarán,” I reminded him.
“But we can cook food. We have to eat,” he replied.
‘We have to eat’ was a fresh take on the crisis. We promptly built a fire with what little wood we could find, and for the next four days, our boiled water tasted like smoke. Without Amador, we may not have built fires. Without a herniated disc in my lower back, we probably wouldn’t have hired Amador and his donkeys . Without a campervan, my family never would have made it to Peru. I could go further and dissect every decision; how that error led to triumph, or that fortune resulted in tragedy. I would always come to the same conclusion: we live on a scale of unweighable outcomes.
A few days later, Amador was up at 5:30 a.m. running down the trail after his donkeys which had taken an unexpected pre-dawn walk. Donkey wrangling requires a gift for horsemanship combined with the patience of a dog walker and the sharp-eyedness of a sheepherder, but even an old hand like Amador cannot be prepared for the unexpected, even on a trail that he has walked hundreds of times before.
What these stories all have in common is: moving. Whether it’s backpacking in the mountains, packing up a couple of donkeys, or driving a van across Peru, movement begets obstacles. It seems that with every step forward, and with every kilometer driven, the complexity of life is tested. And if you cannot learn from the experience, if the bacteria do not make you stronger, if you have not acquired new skills, a new position, or a better attitude, then you probably should’ve stayed home.
Originally published at https://nicoparco.com on October 8, 2019.
