Patagonia Pt. 3

Campamiento Serón to Campamiento Dickson

I woke up to a flooded tent. Well, “woke up” would imply that I slept. The intense wind, pouring rain, cold temps, and constant need to pee resulted in a restless first night. Also, I forgot my tent pegs, so I had to line my tent with rocks. All night I watched the wind thrash my tent around, praying the rocks would hold.

I stayed behind to mop my tent with my only towel and wring out my damp clothes while my new friends hit the trail. They waved goodbye to me apologetically as they left. At 11 am, I figured I had done all I could and decided to start walking.

Within the hour, I was climbing up a steep, consistent incline of switchbacks that faced the campsite. It was frustrating not to see the starting point get farther as I trudged my way up. At the summit, I stopped to eat the last of my Oreos while watching a couple begin the incline far below.

The woman caught up to me quickly, and we snacked together while we watched her husband plop down on the side of the trail about halfway down.

“Pobrecito” Poor thing. She said.

“Animo!” You can do it! I yelled down to him.

We had a pleasant though choppy conversation. My Spanish is conversational, but the Chilean accent was so hard I might as well have been traveling in Italy. I understood almost nothing.

I wished her luck, and I continued walking.

The rest of the hike was flat, peaceful, and quiet. The only sounds came from the occasional babbling brook, rushing wind, woodpeckers, and hawks.

I walked, and walked, and walked. Hours passed without seeing another person, and though the view was beautiful, it was unchanging.

I sang songs to pass the time.

When couldn’t sing anymore, I practiced talking to myself in Spanish.

That didn’t last long.

So, I started trying to make up songs in Spanish. A challenge!

While trying to think of a rhyme for arbol I approached a wooden sign. It had information about the upcoming wetlands and a map with the distances scratched off.

“Pumas and wolves rely on these wetlands you are about to enter. Stay still and see if you can hear them,” it read in Spanish. Perfecto. I thought.

A wooden boardwalk replaced the dirt trail as I walked over the wetlands. It was magical, and it took my mind off my solitude. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long. The magical boardwalk and wetlands ended, and another dirt trail began. I was back to the same unchanging, grassy landscape. I did not know how much longer until the campsite, and there was no signage of how much I completed. I wasn’t tired nor frightened for my safety, but for some reason, I felt anxious.

I was walking through an open plain when the trail dipped deeper than the surrounding grassland, so I felt like I was walking in a trench. Around me were miles of a vast, empty, grassy expanse, and I was alone in it. The anxiety intensified, making my stomach queasy, and then it bubbled to the surface. I started to cry. I knelt and sank lower into the ground, threw off my backpack, and I cried even harder. I miss my mom. I said it out loud.

It was like that part of Wild where Cheryl Strayed saw a fox in the snow, yelled in an attempt to scare it away, and ended up calling out for her also cancer-stricken and deceased mom. I understand how she felt.

Memories of laying beside my mom in her hospital bed holding her hand while she wept. Or cooking meals for my grandpa while organizing my mom’s medication while entertaining visitors. Or removing the IV that kept her alive though in excruciating pain. Or being told, “stop saying you’re young. It’s hard on everybody” when I expressed that I was 26, motherless and tired.

These memories weighed heavy, but they were nothing compared to how painful they were in real-time.

Oddly enough, this last thought made me feel better.

These memories are simply that: memories. Still shitty and still heavy, but there is a growing distance between them and me. The doctors’ appointments, the grocery shopping, the nursing, the cooking, the funeral planning, the cleaning, the lawyer/bank meetings…everything was in the past. Being responsible for managing my mom’s pain while listening to her beg God to take her. It was hell, and now it is over. I am now responsible for my own pain management, for nursing my own mental and spiritual wounds.

I used the sides of the trench to stand up. I hoisted my 30lb backpack back onto my shoulders and walked confidently into the expanse without bothering to wipe the tears from my face.

After two-ish more hours, I looked down into a valley and saw the campsite beside a massive green lake. Mountains with baby blue glaciers set the backdrop to this dreamy, rainy, overcast scene. I hiked down with excitement and set up my tent by the water. I heard two friends call my name, and I smiled as they walked over to greet me. “You made it! Also, we found these on the trail!”

One of them held out his hand and in it were two crooked, rusty, old tent pegs.

“Now maybe you can get some sleep tonight!”

I laughed, used a rock to happily hammer my new pegs into the ground, and then gathered with the rest of my friends for dinner.

Hike Info

Length: 19 km (11.8 miles).
Elevation Gain: 730 m (2395 ft.)
Terrain: Easy dirt trails even during the steep ascent. For about an hour after the initial ascent, you walk on the side of a mountain that is exposed but felt very safe. Winds might change the experience. Loose rocks on the final, steep descent to Campsite Dickson.
Other Notes: Do not attempt if you do not have a reservation at the Dickson campsite! The rangers will send you back!!!