About Patagonia

hello, stranger -

so i was disappointed, at first, when my friend in San Diego called to tell me that my plan to head out that way for a visit would have to be delayed.  unexpected issues concerning time and money had popped up, and we'd have to push it back a bit.  i felt an initial surge of resistance rise in me a little at the news, but those were two issues i was all-too familiar with, and i could certainly sympathize.  and if this upcoming season of travel was going to be as good as i hoped, i knew i’d have to practice my patience, and get into the mindset of being better about going with the flow of things.

besides, i figured i could use the time as an opportunity to sort out my camping gear.  i had a closet full of stuff that i hadn't touched in well over a year, and that had started accumulating before i even moved out here.  a couple of things in there were nicely weathered and worn, but the vast majority of it’s only been used a handful of times - at best - and had simply been stuffed away waiting for that day when i’d make enough room in my life to finally start using it.  Lanterns, guidebooks, mess kits, an assortment of pocket knives - all collected over time and testimony to a day that still had yet to come.

so the plan was to head out relatively early on a Friday, and head south to my buddy’s property down near the little town of Patagonia.  it's a hidden little patch of land, far off and distant from the rest of the world, about five miles from the Mexican border.  to get there requires first getting down the the town itself, then about another hour of finding the way through a spider web of dirt roads until you basically have to off-road it into his property.  i’d camped there a couple times before, and each time i was struck by the remoteness of it all, and the dazzling clarity of the stars above when they came out for the night.

i was also eager – my reasoning went – to get out of the air conditioned trappings of the desert and find a cooler climate, if even for a day.  an unwelcome resurgence of summertime temperatures had settled over the region for the last couple weeks, and it was beginning to wear me down.  it was nearly October, and the temperatures were still soaring well past the triple digit mark.  no one was happy about it, least of all me.  and the mountainous area around Patagonia is generally slightly cooler than the rest of the region due to it’s higher elevation, and so it seemed like a worthwhile gamble to see if i couldn’t head down there and find some relief.

but if we were unhappy with the weather, then the weather was obviously pretty damned pissed off at us.  and seeing as that's a conflict we're not likely to win, the best any reasonable person can do is take care, and find comfort in the modern conveniences we've developed to make life bearable in these conditions, at least until this maddeningly angry sun had passed.  but it had been a couple of weeks since my last trip and i could already feel myself slipping back into a rut with things, so i decided to take things in a different direction, and head out for a camping trip into the wilderness.

not that i didn’t have i had a serious debate with myself as to whether i really wanted to do this or not before i left.  even with the change in elevation it still promised to be pretty hot day at the campsite.  i wasn't well rested, i woke up feeling irritable, and there were about a half dozen projects that i felt like were tailing me from behind, and that i could take care of – if only i let this one little promise to myself slide a bit.  plus, I’d literally just made an agreement with myself to be better about going with the flow, and trying to buck the odds with the weather didn’t seem quite in keeping with the spirit of that.

which were all good arguments, to be sure.  but i also know that’s all they were.  and i also knew what what happened most of the time i lost an argument to myself.  nothing.  the cool trip i should have taken, the pretty girl i should have talked to, the fun adventure i should have had, all fallen by the wayside because i talked myself out of it in favor of couch camping and binging out on some Netflix show.  and i needed something to happen, not nothing.  so i packed up every bit of camping gear i had, even the things i knew I'd never need.  i filled up a cooler with enough assorted provisions – regular food, canned goods, meals ready to eat – to last me a week if necessary.  and i shoved it all in the back of my truck just in time to make it to camp in the middle of the day, on the hottest day of this godforsaken heat wave.

********

on the way down i watched as the rolling hills of Sonoita gave a comforting reprieve from the jagged harshness of the surrounding desert landscape.  it reminded me of a drive i had through  Nebraska years ago, when a friend and i had been caught in bad weather.  we’d been chased out of our campsite in Wyoming by tornado storms, and forced to drive all night through the mercilessly flat and hard land heading east.  and just as weariness had set in to it’s worst and i was struggling to keep my eyes open the sun began to rise over the lush, rolling green hills of Iowa.

it felt so safe and peaceful, like a slice of heaven almost compared to where we’d just come from.  i don't know if i've ever breathed easier or been more at peace going into a place.  i love those lands in that moment - and still do, in a way - and even though there was just the faintest of similarities between those hills of corn and the ones I was driving past now, I still felt a gratitude for the change in landscape, and the friendliness of it, almost as if the they were distant cousins somehow.

but i was still struggling to keep my energy and spirits up, and when i got into the town of Patagonia it was quiet, hot and empty.  when i told myself to go with the flow for some reason i imagined the winds of the universe were going to sweep me along to the shade of some local little place where i could have a peaceful lunch, brought out by some kindly waitress.  but now that i was here in the reality of it i just wanted to get some last provisions, and head on my way to the campsite.  the highway was behind me but there was still a confusing world of unpaved and primitive roads to navigate ahead in order to get to the property.

the road there crosses through national forrest, with campsites and the occasional warning signs for mountain bikers.  there’s a mine about 20 minutes on the way, and then a few entries along the way to ranches after that.  there’s a ghost town that has been trying to fall into the Earth, but been thwarted by the efforts of unseen property owners to reclaim what’s theirs.  but the further in you go the more the remoteness of the land and sets in, and after a while cell phone service came to a stop and my music cut out.  a little while after that came a text from my mobile provider, erroneously welcoming me to Mexico.

i’d been down this way before, so this was no surprise.  but after i’d at last found the turnoff for the property and slowly lumbered the truck through the washed out road of sand and rocks, i finally pulled into the campsite to an unexpected and highly unwelcome realization.  as i began to unpack my mountain of shit i quickly noticed the empty spot where my main water supply was supposed to be.  of all the things that could've been left behind - sitting there, simply forgotten in the refrigerator as the rest of the truck got packed – this was by far the stupidest.  my heart sank as the reality of it set in.  luckily i’d decided to buy a spare gallon at the convenience store along the way, otherwise i would have had to turn around and go back.  as it stood though i figured it would do well enough for the night - but my spirits had taken another hit.

what i had managed to not forget, though, was a twelve pack of cold beer.  it hadn't been a priority in my mind, but at the gas stop i saw the sign for the beer cooler and knew i’d regret it if i drove off without some.  when I’d stepped in to the walk-in i didn't see any six packs for sale, so i bought a box of 12. i could've searched harder, of course, but i didn't really want to, and as i stood there cracking into the first one as i unloaded the truck i was glad i didn't.

i pulled all my stuff from the truck and sat down in my camp chair in an exhausted huff to finish my beer.  i was feeling lethargic and despondent.  it was midday and hot, and there were an aggravating amount of flies about.  the flies in the southwest are relentless and evil things, that seem singularly designed to provoke the maximum amount of irritation in their targets.  after a few minutes of cursing them loudly i began to question whether they actually existed in nature alone, or if they somehow just magically popped into existence the moment anyone foolish enough to do so stepped foot into these woods.

i had to face it - i was tired, and being lazy, and was beginning to question what i was even doing there.  i’d brought my laptop, but didn't feel like looking at it.  i’d brought two tents that i didn't even need on the pretext that i would at least use the time to set them up and make sure they weren't missing any parts.  but as i sat there now i realized i wasn't going to.  it was far more effort than i was willing to expend at the time, and obviously could be done much easier and much cleaner back in the comfort of my own home.  same with the various cooking supplies, for which there wasn't even enough water to properly wash afterwards anyways.  i’d told myself a story about all the things i would do with my day off, out alone in the woods.  but now that i was here i didn't want to do any of it.

i fought off the creeping temptation to pack up my stuff and head back though.  it was hot and things weren’t exactly ideal, but i was there now and at least there was time to relax.  on occasion a few clouds would block out the sun, and a breeze would sweep in offering relief from the still air and actually making it quite pleasant for a few minutes.  but those moments were few and far between, and always gave way once again to the quiet heat of the day, and the growing confirmation that if i was going to make anything out of that afternoon it was going to be through a certain level of discomfort, and the sooner that i was okay with that the better.

my friend had built an A-frame shelter on one side of the campsite, going out onto stilts on the side of the hill and with a good view of the woods beyond.  when i went to set up my bedroll and sleeping bag i pulled away some storage tubs from inside and a small tarantula scrambled out from behind, hid in the corner for a second, and then disappeared through the floorboards.  at least that’s what I think it was.  i grabbed a nearby broom and went out around the side and found it clinging to the outside of one of the posts.  i am generally pro-nature, and have a pretty strong do-no-harm policy, but at the same time it had just proven how quick and evasive it could be, and i had zero desire to have another encounter with this thing later on in the night. so i took a decent swing with the broom and sent it as far down the hill and into the woods as i could, along with my best wishes that it endure the flight alright and find a new home.

besides that the A-frame was perfect sleeping quarters – or would be eventually, anyways, once the stagnant heat went away.  as it was though I tried testing it out with a quick nap, and it felt like trying to sleep in the inside of a tomb. so i was forced to retreat even from this plan.

and so that was pretty much the sum of it – it was too hot to do anything, let alone go hiking up the mountain to find the the old abandoned mine i’d been told about.  i was too low energy to even crack my laptop or tablet, never mind pitch the two tents or test the various gear.  my bluetooth speaker was working, but i was too far out of range for any music other than the ones downloaded into the playlist on the library on my phone, which consisted of about a dozen of the same songs I've heard 1000 times over.  i had plenty of beer and food, but the unfortunate lack of water had cast of shadow over all that. i hadn't even thought well enough ahead to pack a t-shirt that would have been light enough to be wearable in this type of oven-like environment.  for all the extra gear and gizmos that i’d stuffed into the truck, i had to admit myself that if a shirtless man had suddenly emerged from the bushes with nothing but a walkman and a bottle of water he would be pretty much as prepared as i was for the day.

this - i would come to see - was the bigger reality of things, and part of the deeper realization that I'd come to find.  i'd packed the entire contents of a closet full of camping gear collected through the years – from headlamps to tents to sleeping pads and dinner plates – not so much to sort out and organize as much as to spill its guts.  how had I accumulated all this shit?  sure a lot of it looked useful, but i didn’t even know if some of it worked.   how had it actually been serving me?  it was an assortment of stuff that was better earmarked for an REI advertisement than the life i’d actually been living.  and i guess something deep down just wasn’t willing to tolerate a monument to bullshit sitting in the closet of my own home anymore.

a few days before my heading down there i decided to find an audiobook about traveling.  the one i’d selected was about a cycling adventure all the way down through Mexico and South America to the tip of the continent, in Patagonia.  i enjoyed what i’d heard so far, and appreciated the author’s boldness and honesty, and the humility that came across in such an undertaking. but in that admiration i realized there came - in subtle but ugly ways, and through the background noise of my own mind – a message that i was getting that was more deflating than inspiring.  here i was, having packed up all my shit to just go down the road for a couple hours for a night under the stars - in the hopes to turn it into the next leg of my bucket list year of travels - and nothing was turning out like i’d imagined.  this was no great adventure.  who was i set next to this modern-day Magellan? what story would there be worth to tell about this hot, unproductive misadventure into some nameless patch of the Arizona woods?

i didn’t have an answer for that, nor was i interested in one at the time.  what i did have was boredom, beer – and as it so happened – a couple pieces of mushroom chocolates i bought in Venice Beach a few months prior.  and once i’d settled into the reality of the situation for the day, i figured I’d unwrap them from their tinfoil and see what would happen if I went down that rabbit hole for a while.  i knew that i wasn't in a particularly great headspace to begin with, and that the effect of the chocolates might only worsen that situation - but there was a really good chance it might boost it too, and it was a much better bet to have them take hold in the light of day - I further reasoned - rather than wait until night, when the mysteries of the dark and unknown wilderness had a chance to play games with my head.

i wish i could say i was getting into it with the idea of coming to some sort of life changing, mystical conclusion out there, alone in the wilderness with nothing but my thoughts.  but even though i give credence to all that, any honest report would have to make note that this was pretty much just par for the course for the type of circles i grew up in, and not exactly my first rodeo.  i sat back and let my mind drift back to a road trip just after college, when i camped out in Big Sure with another aspiring-writer friend of mine, and when i went off to the campground’s bathroom later on in the evening i opened the door to find some dude with a headlamp on sitting to the side of one of the toilets, obviously dealing with some things.  when i entered he looked at me, shining that bright light in my face and flashing a wide grin of reassurance.  “it's all good bro,” he slurred, and gave me a knowing thumbs up. and when i got back to the tent site i told my friend about the moment, and we laughed and he took a drag off his cigarette and leaned back in his chair by the campfire and said “well that's just our demographic, isn't it?”

we laughed about it a long time, and i laughed about it now, with that memory and countless thoughts like it, swirling through my head as i sat there in the shade, swallowing in the discomfort of the day, and staring blankly at the shifting sand beneath my feet.  i tried a few times to capture a little something of the moment, but during that kind of experience it's like trying to capture a picture of the wind.  the closest i think i came was when i wrote “i’m just a guy looking to hitch a ride off the sidelines, and for a fucking breeze.”  and then i erupted into the deepest, most soulful belly-laugh i’d had for a long time, as i imagined myself on the cover of an REI catalog, posing like a true wilderness man out in his element, but wearing a harness and gable where a box fan was attached about four feet out in front, blowing on me full speed, with the electric cord running to a car battery that sat atop the helmet on my head, ensuring there would be enough voltage so that the fan would never go out, and that the true ridiculousness of this situation was not lost on anyone.

and then a little later came the tree.  holy shit did i get into this one particular tree for a while.  it's aura and majesty filled me with the upmost reverence.  all the time it took to grow, it's indisputable will from having pushed itself up from out of the earth, the stoic quietude it held as the years and elements swept by as it sat in patience and non-judgment – it was all right there in front of me.  every leaf was like some kind of miracle from the cosmos, mind-blowing in it’s complexity and interconnectedness to the rest of the universe, and yet seemingly bizarre in its simplicity at the same time.  i found a deep and profound wisdom that ran through those leaves and into the branches, that only grew stronger and deeper and more meaningful as i traced that line through the two forks where it split and down into the sturdy trunk where dove into the ground, and into the hidden roots below.

and there it had been, all that time, sitting beside the camp, towering above all and yet silent and unseen. It was a hidden wisdom that i could find just for a moment, but never really know, and was all too aware of that i could never take with me, except in reminders from notes in my journal to never let the spirit of that moment slip away and out of my mind forever.

************

at a certain point the sun finally began to sink behind the mountains and the day was gratefully coming to a close.  i'd broken out the camera and had my paparazzi-style moment with the tree, and besides that i was all out of ideas so it was nice to be in a moment when i could finally build a campfire.  the shade rolled into evening, and the flies all went away.  i ate the salad i brought and the apple, and made sure to hydrate as much as possible while still leaving enough water for the morning.  the stars started to come out, and the beauty of the night began to reveal itself, in a silky transition that felt like a veil that was slowly being allowed to slip down.  i sat by the fire as the nighttime settled in, and thought about my dog who had been with me on my last trip to the spot.  i remembered the way he would stare into the fire and let his eyes get lost in the flames, the way any of us would.  i missed him in a way that i hadn’t for a while, and vowed to myself to bring a portion of his ashes to this place, to be scattered and acknowledged at a more appropriate time.

there is a certain sense of peace and serenity that comes with being out in a place like that – and with the outdoors in general – the gives one pause when we stop to think about the self-inflicted madness that comes with our modern world when placed against the backdrop of the natural one.  at no point did this feel more evident than when the campfire went low and there was nothing but the clarity of the Milky Way hanging above, as i made my way to the bedroll to slumber underneath the stars.  there's a primordial sense of being reconnected with nature that affords us an opportunity to connect with a deeper part of ourselves, and which is part of why – i think – camping has such the draw that it does.

that being said though, i’m also not a great sleeper in general, so i knew when i settled into that sleeping bag for the night that my odds of getting a good nights rest were not awesome.  sure, i hadn’t done myself any favors in that regard with combination of beer and psychedelics i’d treated myself to - but even without that i have never felt completely at ease just sleeping out in the wild like that.  there's a million things moving around out there in the dark, zero of which i am interested in encountering while i'm unconscious.

to boot, my friend had told me at one point about the property that the area was “thick” with mountain lions.  that did not sound good to me – in terms of self-preservation and things that I never want to have happen – so i went to bed with my mag light, bear spray, and machete all next to me and within easy reach, and with a mental readiness to stab and hack than i am generally not accustomed to at bedtime.  and when i awoke at around three in the morning to the sound of a methodical tap-tap-tapping on the side of the A-frame  - which i could only imagine would be the exact sound that a witch’s fingernail would make  - i knew that any real hope of sleep for the rest of the night was pretty much fucked.

i never did find the source of the tapping, but it didn't matter much.  by the time the sun had pulled itself over the horizon i could already feel it preparing for another beat down, and i had no desire to linger.  i packed up all my stuff and got ready to go.  when i grabbed my journal i noticed one entry i hadn’t before.  “stop giving meaning to bullshit” was all it said.  i pondered this moment, then threw the journal in my bag, said goodbye to the tree and left.

the way out seemed to go a lot quicker than the way in, and i was grateful for that.  it's nice when you're going somewhere new or unfamiliar and time seems to slow down to let you think through the reality of it and really take in the experience.  but when you’re headed home, and looking forward to just getting there, it can be even nicer when time helps speed up the process.

but before i left i stopped in town to get breakfast, and see if i couldn't find that kindly waitress i'd imagined when i’d first set out – oh, that so long 24 hours before.  i walked through the door of a breakfast spot and there she was, holding two plates of food.

“you mind getting the door for me?” she asked, with a twinge of annoyance.  i'd let the door close behind me, and suddenly realized my obliviousness to the situation.

“my apologies,” i said as i held the door open, and she walked through without a word.

i got a menu and a coffee and sat myself outside, wondering hazily if the wait staff really had no other option then to rely on the good timing and manners of strangers to hold the door open for them whenever they came in or went outside with multiple plates of food.  but i stopped thinking about it once i realized i didn't really care, and when the waitress came out to take my order she was neither kindly, nor surly, nor anything worth mentioning other than just busy.

i ordered French toast and bacon, and swatted flies away from my coffee mug.  i was having my meal in the shade, all right – and the waitress was there too.  but none of it was like what i had come to imagine in my head it would be like – it was neither good nor bad, nor anything else than the reality of having a cup of coffee while sitting in the shade of a hot Arizona morning, swatting away more flies and waiting for my breakfast to be brought out by a woman who’s only impression of me was that of an ill-mannered and spaced-out guy in a dirty ball cap and that probably still smelled like campfire and beer.

and i was okay with that.  it was a moment to pause and think about the totality of the trip. on a certain level – in terms of comfort, joy, productivity, companionship, or whatever else these things are typically measured by – it was hard to argue that it was anything other than a flop.  had anyone been watching i hadn’t really done much besides drive to the middle of nowhere, drink beer, lose my mind a bit and give myself a crappy night of sleep.

but i knew a few things that i wouldn't have if i’d just spent the night at home sitting on the couch watching Netflix.  when i got back i would go through all the camping gear and pull out anything i didn’t need or wouldn’t use going forward.  and before i set out again i’d test everything i kept, making sure it was ready to go the next time i was.  i’d be much more deliberate and discerning when it came to what i packed for a trip trip in general - especially when drinking water was involved.  i’d return to the campsite with a handful of Bruce's ashes, and give him the proper moment he deserved.  and i’d make a t-shirt design to give to a family member for the holidays with a tree on it that and that said “f&#k men. celebrate trees.”  because it seemed like it pretty much distilled down a message that they’d been putting out there for decades now, and they’d probably appreciate the gesture.

all these things were building up into a to-do list, as i sat there swatting flies away from my breakfast and thinking about things to come.  i’d had plenty of lists like that in the past, so many of which had fallen by the wayside.  but this felt different.  for a while that morning i’d grown a little despondent, thinking that i hadn’t managed to find whatever it was i'd been looking for on the way down there.  now as i sat there, eating my French toast and looking out over the sunny, hot day to come, the idea was growing on me that i was never really looking for anything at all.  the trip had been an exercise, plain and simple.  and exercises aren’t meant to be fun - they’re meant to build on something.

so in that regard, i felt like i got off relatively easy, all things considered.  it had been a hot day of bullshit and nothingness, but if that tree could do it for decades i could hack it for a day.  i’d needed to bust up the rut I felt myself slipping back into and i did.  i was a little exhausted, but recharged at the same time.  and for all the plotting and thinking and dreaming i’d done in the cocoon of my air conditioned routine, taking a little time to sit with some discomfort out in the real world struck me as a better decision than kicking the can of life down the road for yet another day.

when the waitress returned and offered to refill my coffee i waived her off with a thanks.  the French toast tasted better than i could've expected - a night like that can make you grateful for a lot of things, especially a well cooked meal.  it was a pleasant, quiet place to take a deep breath, but there was a good bit of road ahead of me before i could really rest, and i was eager to get going.