The Call of the Wild: How Camping Solo in Patagonia for 23 Days Saved Me
Until now, my friends had known me to be the human that carried a badge of honor announcing, “I don’t own a TV” but on a wintry New York City night in late February 2018, after being dazed by a dramatic hospitalization, and wrongful termination from my job as a Marketing Director, I logged into my sister’s Netflix account and gave into watching Chef’s Table — Season 1 Episode 3 Francis Mallmann.
While watching, I listened to Mallmann’s poetic depiction of solitude in the wilderness; he spoke about how Patagonia became the companion that understood his stubborn need for freedom at a profound level; I too yearned to connect to a place where I would feel seen and accepted in this way.
Mallmann’s words were a prophetic narrative that articulated the most intimate desires of my soul; they were the divine compass that guided me towards the most transformative 23 Days of my life trekking and camping in Patagonia.
The wild was calling, and I obliged.
10 Days after that evening I was en route to Patagonia (which was by far the most remote part of earth I’d ever traveled to), and even though I hiked in Upstate New York on weekends, outdoor camping was not one of my life skills.
For the next 23 Days, I’d learn to befriend me and to rely on every element in nature.
Here, I only had my 50-liter gamma red Osprey backpack with food and basic shelter, some maps, and my journal. No phone, internet, warm running water, no fancy gym with Kiehl’s lotion. Dried fruit bars replaced the $25 dollar cocktails and Michelin Star dining.
Things that would offer pseudo comfort during this challenging time in my life wouldn’t be there. I had a sense that life had orchestrated this trip on my behalf as this journey would allow me to take an honest look within; the experience would serve as the stepping stone that catapulted me to my next level of personal growth — and so it did.
As I approached the third hour of my first trek, I was looking for a stream of water to refill my water bottles, but a track of fresh blood led me to an injured man. I provided him with first aid by sterilizing and stitching the open wound on his forearm; he insisted on making his way back to town solo so we carried on in different directions.
I walked for another 3 hours after this incident without the sight of another human on the trail. I realized that life brought me to experience solitude in the vastness of the Patagonian Andes mountains so I could search for fragments of my soul I had lost while living in New York City for the past 10 Years. The throbbing pain from open sores on my shoulders and lower back (caused by my 50-liter backpack) interrupted my moment of insight.
I reached a camping area at the foothill of Cerro Torre 30 minutes before sunset. 4 days prior to my trip, my dear friends, Jeanine, and Hervey had graciously facilitated a camping crash course for me in their living room and backyard; so, this was the moment of truth as I’d put my new tent pitching skills to the test while solo 10,006.9 km away from home.
The susurrating sound of falling leaves would provide my imagination with enough tragic “Murdered in Patagonia” scenarios to make me break into a cold sweat while lying in my tent on my first night out in the wild. I don’t recall a point in my life where I thought about death in such a detailed fashion.
Why hadn’t I expressed my preference of cremation over a burial to family and friends? and why hadn’t I told them I hoped for someone to take my ashes to an ecological sanctuary located off the northeast coast of Brazil called Fernando de Noronha? This was the longest night of my life, and after several hours I figured that agonizing over this would not grant me a Wi-Fi signal for what could be my last call. I slept for 2 hours that evening.
Surviving my first night in Patagonia felt like a greater accomplishment than getting through my tertiary studies in New York City.
Being out in the wilderness seemed far more courageous than moving to New York City on my own at age 17 with $200 to my name, no place to live, and no support from my family. Perhaps the only differentiating factor between what seemed like two opposing experiences was my perception; yet knowing that this would be the first time in my life I acknowledged trauma and allowed myself to feel its pain felt heroic.
The speed of the wind, the sound of the water streams, the birds, and my intuition all became my guides. Out in the isolated Patagonian Andes mountains, my livelihood depended on my ability to stay intensely present. The mere act of engaging a distracting thought for half a second would send me spiraling 3405m downhill. My most debilitating enemies were not the harsh conditions nor the 80-pound mountain lions looking for their prey, but ruminating on past failures and pain of lost love.
My time in Patagonia allowed me to become my fiercest protector as I faced my greatest fears. By the 23rd night, I had conquered many fears, with the exception I never stopped being terrified of the Patagonian darkness.
Patagonia’s beauty is enigmatic, and it reveals itself to your eye as time goes by. As you explore the multi-dimensional aspects of her personality (based on her moody winds), you become devoted to her, and can’t help but be love-struck by her might.
The savage strength of her winds mirrored the ineffable qualities of my beauty and personal essence. And for the first time, I loved and understood me at a profound level.
I learned to live on the edge, and moment to moment.
The wild called me, and I obliged.
Originally published at www.transformativesimplicity.com.
The Call of the Wild: How Camping Solo in Patagonia for 23 Days Saved Me
Research & References of The Call of the Wild: How Camping Solo in Patagonia for 23 Days Saved Me|A&C Accounting And Tax Services
Source