Spontaneity In Cochamó

Approachamó

The letters C, O, C, H, A, M, Ó squinted into focus as Vinny and Paddy stepped into the street. They waived apprehensivly, wondering whether it would stop or not, as the driver whipped into the shoulder and came to a stop. A smiling man jumped out frantically to help load overstuffed bags under the 40 passenger bus. Relief breathed out of the boys’ drowsy faces as they realized it was all working out. An aisle of standing people lined up from the back as Paddy and Vinny stood on the entrance steps. Cradling three packages of 60 eggs, Paddy nearly toppled over as the engine made a loud acceleration. Minute by minute people cleared out at different stops to start their day, dropping coins in the bus driver's hand on the way by without a word or question of cost. Nobody seemed to be perplexed by a tall gringo carrying enough eggs to feed the entire bus.

Eventually, Paddy and Vinny were thankful to find two open seats for the two hour bus ride from Puerto Varas to Cochamó. The boys enjoyed the scenery of bright blue lakes, snow capped volcanoes, lush green valleys, and smoking chimneys until their eyelids closed from immense lack of sleep. Waking up to the town of Cochamó, they received a ride to the trailhead whereupon a horse waited to trudge 60 kilograms of food up the trail to La Junta. A calloused Gaucho's hand shook Paddy's and Vinny's and quickly explained what the plan would be. An air of routine bounced off the boys’ contorted faces as they tried to listen to the rapid sequence of Chilean Spanish. Hearing “cinco,'' they knew when to meet the Gaucho at the campground and accepted this as the only information they would get.

The boys hauled their backpacks onto their right knees and reached their right arms through the shoulder strap. With a dynamic thrust they swung their gear onto their backs. This became a ritual for them throughout the trip as they learned to call Cochamó: Approachamó. The trail entered the mouth of Valle Cochamó and paralleled Rio Cochamó at a steady incline through the valley. The jungle was dense with greenery of all shapes and smells that could distract even the most oblivious speed hiker. Trenches filled with hoof and boot prints and intermittent mud puddles marked a continuous state of erosion that made a sustainable trail feel like a nightmare. The boys made steady progress among the maze-like social trails between the diverse flora and sprang across wooden bridges. Occasional strips of multicolored flagging tape helped streamline travelers along the sendero. It was obvious someone was maintaining the thirteen kilometer approach and the boys were thankful for the unsung hero.

A few hours zipped by as Paddy’s and Vinny’s legs began to burn, hips swelled, and backs arched forward. There was not a cloud in the deep blue sky that dotted above the endless canopy of greenery. Skirting around the last few mud pits an opening appeared at the horizon line ahead. Turning the corner, Paddy’s jaw locked open as his eyes widened to take in the panoramic beauty of stones like battleships in the open sea. Immaculate sweeps and peaks of bright white granite loomed around the boys, setting a tone of serious awe.

Open grass meadows seeded with wild yellow, purple and white flowers and knotted tree patches laced the valley floor. Vinny led the way down a dirt alley with barbed wire fencing on either side marking the separation between campgrounds. The trail stopped after a minute and Paddy finally closed his jaw. They were forced right or left as Rio Cochamó blocked them straight ahead. Walking right, Vinny lifted the loop of retired climbing rope off the wooden post and swung the gate open that read “La Junta.” Paddy closed the gate behind them and replaced the climbing rope where it belonged. Taking in a deep breath, the smells were of fresh horse poop, basil and flowers. They spotted a sign that read “registro” and were thankful for the similarity of the word to English’s version. Two men sat at a picnic table drinking yerba mate and offered it to Vinny as he took his pack off. Arturo, a Frenchmen and one of the campground hosts, and Aurel, a Frenchmen visiting for the month, greeted them home with sun tanned faces.

Piscooooo

Two other gringos rode in on horses arriving alongside Vinny and Paddy. One of them made a comment and Paddy perked his ears at the familiar voice. “Joey?” he questioned in a raising tone and Joey tilted his head in a half remembrance of Paddy. “Porcelain Paddy?” he smiled, a name given to Paddy in Joshua Tree after he proceeded to endure a wicked pisser that flowed in the time it took three others to consecutively pee in a hot spring bathroom. Disbelief folded in Paddy’s eyebrows as he processed the possibility of arriving in La Junta at the exact moment as one of his friends. Brushing off the absurdity of the thought, he hugged Joey and and was introduced to his older brother Josh. Joey and Josh would stay in Cochamó for a few weeks, materializing the boys’ first crew, and later the band PJVJ.

The afternoon floated by as the boys set up base camp for the month. Nestled in the woods and ten meters from the river, they climbed a couple trees to tie off a large blue tarp that would protect them from the downpours to come. Later, the horse named Rocky arrived with their 60 kilograms of food. Paddy and Vinny made their first dinner: quinoa and lentils.

The next day was New Years Eve and the boys held out from hiking up to their bivouac in Anfiteatro to enjoy the festivities in La Junta. They went to climb a two pitch route called Apnea at La Zebra only fifteen minutes from the campground. It proved to be a perfect introduction and a solid indicator that the grades would be similar to North Carolina, Joshua Tree and the Northeast. Joey joined Paddy and Vinny for the day and Vinny won in a three way rock-paper-scissors (a ritual to determine who leads the first pitch) to christen their Cochamó climbing. A low crux through some rattly finger locks forced some early grunts out of Vinny as he sunk flared toe jams and fled to the sinker hand jams above. Joey led the second pitch after winning round two of rock-paper-scissors. He sailed off for 50 meters of splitter crack climbing as Paddy and Vinny enjoyed their first elevated view of the valley. Psych was high and Paddy found an easier crack to lead so he could get in on the fun. He was worried about his ankle since he had been on the couch for November and December healing a sprain from trail running. It was merely sore and he merrily danced on it thankful he could toe jam now.

They hiked down to the campground and began drinking tequila with new friends and eventually ran into Caleb, a friend of Paddy’s from Maine that he knew would be there. Caleb would later donate many items as he seemed to have a knack for socializing and collecting booty. Most importantly, he gifted toilet paper and salt to the boys because they somehow forgot both. A welcoming fire and countless swigs of pisco and tequila evaporated the night away and the countdown to 2020 soon echoed through the valley. Estrellitas filled the midnight blue sky and reminded the boys of how far out they were; of how small they really were. The granite walls were darker shadows against the dark sky keeping secrets of knowledge that only the unknown could possess.

Anfi'

Paddy and Vinny were munching on a grapefruit surrounded by Alerces, huge Sequoya-esque old growth trees that would take at least ten people to hug. They slowly regained their awareness of how beautiful their surroundings were. It was challenging for them to truly appreciate it all as they were struggling on the steep approach. Their heart rates lowered and the aura of the forest began to harmonize. They had just entered the gates of the Anfiteatro, a colosseum of massive granite walls with a snowmelt stream that melted through the heart of the jungle. A silence spoke out of quietness and leaked from the dense trees that were noted with character traits. The ground was entirely roots of varying sizes with layers of soil filling the crevices between their entwined fingers. The boys sat with the beauty of it all and felt the dense awareness of a living ecosystem that has thrived for time immemorial. Three thousand year old Alerces stood as stones with a grace that was beyond comprehension for the humans that sat listening.

Deep exhales from Paddy’s and Vinny’s lungs blew up sleeping pads, and their bamboo splintered hands released the straps compressing summer sleeping bags. The first bivouac nested under a boulder and could fit six adventurers snuggly. Wooden benches with bamboo backrests encircled a fire pit, and weather stained climbing ropes stretched between trees. Quinoa and lentils led the boys into dreams of climbing the next day while the sun painted pink hues on a lone cloud at the mouth of the Anfiteatro.

January 2 - Coriolis Effect

Will I ever be the true rock climber that I desire to be? Vinny and I made it to pitch six out of seventeen on Coriolis Effect when we decided to bail. Vinny tried the seventh pitch but fell at the crux and ripped a piece. I took an unexpected fall earlier in the day as my high foot crumbled some kitty litter off. Whoa. I began feeling really tired, dehydrated and hungry. Maybe my expectations were too high but damn if it doesn't feel like the old me: weak, muscles spazzing, negative self talk. I tried to lead a wide crack but bailed and Vinny had to do it. I don’t know why I can't just be intuitive with the rock all the time and climb confidently. The rest of the climbers here are absolute crushers, climbing the classics and making them sound easy. While I know it’s silly to compare to others out here the ego has a funny way of forcing the issue. I’m a bit bummed is all. Bummed that I’ve made backward progress, wishing I had the same strength and confidence as I did my first year on the road. Will I ever get back to that? Will I ever be the rock climber I desire? Someone who can fire a pitch, someone who can climb a hard big wall, someone who craves the adventure and challenge it takes to want it bad, someone who can push through the negativity and thrive, someone who can be passionate and go for it! Is my brain just so anxious and unsure that I will never be able to commit? I’ve climbed some epic routes and had many glory moments, but here I am struggling to onsight, struggling to be strong, to be confident, to be a damn rock climber. A granite crusader who salivates over this shit. Why is it so easy to give up? Why are my muscles cramping? Why am I not who I want to be? Why does it seem so easy for other people? I’m happy to have Vinny here, I hope he can help me find the light. I am so grateful to be here but want to be better. Maybe my fall in August had more of an effect on me than I realize. Maybe my ankle sprain in November screwed my fitness. Or are these just excuses? I will try and keep trying though. I believe it can happen. I believe I will be the rock climber I desire out here. I am humbled and have lots to learn in Cochamó.

January 3 - El Filo La Aleta de Tiburón

The Shark’s Fin!!! We climbed the first six pitches of El Filo La Aleta de Tiburón today. This would have been the better first climb, but I wouldn't trade our humbling experience on Coriolis for anything. Vinny put up a sweet slabby pitch on super polished granite that felt like the Watauga River boulders back home. I rode the first arête pitch up - WOW - so exposed and bolts the whole way. I had a moment at the crux and eventually made the move. Vinny fired the next arête pitch that led to an exposed traverse and mantle move, so cool. I led the next one and had a slight breakthrough moment. A couple bolt traverse led me to an awesome corner with a tricky move to enter. I plugged as much gear as I could, procrastinated fifteen minutes, and then climbed!

After tying my clove hitch I turned around to see lots of clouds building in the horizon due west. I immediately felt the urge to bail and not risk being caught in a rainstorm. Vinny got to the belay ready to charge for the summit for it felt very doable with half the climb to go. But I was adamant that we bail. So we did. Vinny was upset at first, frustrated and couldn't believe what I was saying. This was our first point of contention on the trip and really brought out our motives for being here. For me, the summit would be ideal but only when we have an ideal day: moving efficiently, weather window, feeling good for the push… On Shark's Fin this was the last easy rappel, the rest would be complicated if we didn’t summit. Sitting in the desecnt gully Vinny totally understood and was thankful for my intuitive feeling. Maybe I was just a little scared but I have to trust my feelings. Unsure of what storm clouds really look like out here, I’m much happier sitting on this polished boulder with my ankles icing in the clear-blue stream than pushing for the summit unsure if I should be there or not. It’s not worth it to me.

We saw our first condor today, wow! So big and majestic. Its wings were massive! So impressed by this temple of life. The clear snow melt rivers, bright white stone: we are in a true amphitheatre of granite big walls.

Camp Farm

Ropes hung above the crackling fire and were draped with drenched clothing. A reminder that everyone endured the rains to be here, to be in this dim lit stone and wood room crowded with strangers. The rains lasted for six days uninterrupted. Paddy and Vinny agreed that they had never been this wet in their lives. They slowly evolved from waiting out the rains to enjoying them as the contrast of weather highlighted a hidden beauty of Cochamó. Their days blinked by with chess games, reading, and bonding with the few people that held on in La Junta. With no rush or need to be anywhere else the boys found peace in the consistent feeling of their bones soaking. Countless smokey fires later, the sun began to smile through the grey blanket of moving overcast. Paddy began to sing, “Sun is shining, the weather is sweet. Make you want to move your dancing feet. To the rescue, here I am. Want you to know, y’all, where I stand.”

As gear dried in the overcasted valley the sun continued to poke its rays through occasionally to say hello. To remind them of a simple gratitude in life: El Sol. Everyone frolicked in the meadow and took their shirts off to soak up any rays that bled through. Arturo was hammering something on one of the three compost toilets, filling the breeze with a consistent beat. Brit and Stefan, Moab friends that Paddy met in Joshua Tree, were slacklining between two trees and occasionally pointing at the different walls that surrounded them. They arrived during the rains and were buzzing with anticipation to get climbing. The valley began to feel like home for the boys as they bathed in the intermittent sun playing chess and drinking yerba mate.

Ailen, from Argentina and one of the campground hosts, was clearing out the compost buckets to help feed the greenhouse garden before she walked to the table listening to Bob Marley. “Is this love, Is this love, Is this love that I’m feeling” reminded the boys of music’s luxury since their phones died in Anfi’. She questioned the meaning of the lyrics and Vinny explained some nonsense about committing to love. Coincidentally, Aurel was trying to convince Vinny to travel to France and pick grapes, meet a farmer's daughter, inherit the farm, and never look back. Vinny was drooling at this point and dreaming about sport climbing in France. Life was good for the boys and everyone else in La Junta while the sun crept back into their lives.

January 13 - No Hay Hoyes

Valle De Trinidad… A sacred place. My pack felt heavier on the hike but my legs felt stronger. Meandering through the jungle we eventually reached the base of Trinidad Norte… Awe struck. A pristine granite mountain beckoned with its open slabs and steep faces that fractured into cracks, melded into corners, blocked into roofs, and exploded into different shades of white, silver, brown and orange. The Alerces at the base crafted an elven world with a warm blanket of green and red-brown contrast. Pattering waterfalls cascaded from the horizon above leaving wet streaks and pools on ledges. The water was pure in clarity and vitalized my soul before my lips drank. I am finding peace in this epic landscape.

Vinny and I climbed No Hay Hoyes yesterday... Route of the trip so far. An undeniable fear of vulnerability in this remote valley swept beneath our approach shoes as we traversed wet slabs and switchbacked up the vertical jungle. Bright green and black lizards jetted in and out of our path as we meandered under and over the remaining ice flows. I won the rock-paper-scissors and blasted off the first pitch. There turned out to be lots of wetness on this left facing corner but I didn’t let the negative thoughts surface beacause it was early in our day and my resilience was high. Vinny proceeded to lead the next pitch: splitter thin hands crack with a very wet offwidth entrance. A cold breeze breathed out of the dank crack as Vinny wrestled the liebeck with wet feet sailing high above gear. Arriving at a hand jam, he clinged with relief as a swimmer caught in a current snatches something solid. While looking down at me, pumping his left arm in excitement, his left foot slipped, forcing his right hand jam to tighten. Clenching his teeth, Vinny stomped his dripping left toes on the polished granite and slammed protection into the crack. Clipping, he looked up at a leaking crack that traversed a slab for ten meters. Mr. Biceps almost said something about it being wet but caught his negative self talk before it fully escaped him. He kept climbing. Super proud of him for engaging fully and entering into warrior mode. The next pitch was a section of overhanging wide hands. The opening undercling was wet but I was used to the insecurity of that by this point on route. I plugged gear and fired, singing “just as free, free as I’ll ever be'' as strange memories of a high school concert surfaced. I made it to a sharp jug invigorated to be in the middle of this far out space. I threw a high heel hook and bumped to a hand crack. I found what I was searching for: freedom from my thoughts and doubts - weightless.

Vinny scurried up the following pitch with no problems. Next was a finger crack traverse pitch on small gear into varying cracks. I was tired, loopy, and far from wanting to lead this pitch. It proved to be the most difficult lead for me yet. Thin crimps off the belay led me to a jug flake and set me up for a finger crack leading to a traverse on small holds, feet and gear. I was scared but thankful for a dry headwall. I stepped out onto the first smear. Fuck. Where are the feet? Jamming small gear farther out, I clipped and returned to a depleting stance while I lowered my heart rate. The weightless freedom was gone, vanished out of my reality. The only thought was fear. I stepped out again a bit farther this time to gain the next smear. Fuck. So insecure. Thinking in impossibilities: Why am I here? Retreated back to the stance. Vinny whispered up, “just climbing on the Barn boulders” and it eased my mind a wee bit. Went again and made it to another smear, jammed an offset cam, fuck wrong size, feet slipping, retreated back to the stance. Went again, took gear out, replaced with a bigger offset: bomber. I committed to small crimps, built my breaths to grunts, to chants, to screams by the end until I reached my jug. I made it. Phew… a hand crack glowed above and I climbed well as it traversed to a small ledge. I yelled to Vinny “how much rope?” and he responded “keep going!” I let out a “shitfire” and groveled my way up a flaring wide crack with hand jams awkwardly in the back. My hands began to cramp as I made it through the wider section and fired a finger crack to a small, small stance. I decided to build an anchor here as I was running out of gear. Turns out I was supposed to stop when I asked Vinny how much rope I had…

Next was the crux pitch and I was happy to know I only had to toprope it. Vinny was looking confident as he started to chant some hip hop music and harness the energy of our homie Kreston. He made it through the first crux and arrived at a great stance on a huge wobbly flake, plugged some small but good gear, and sent the true crux of the route: the absolute last move. An insecure lieback for three meters led him to a fingerlock and a lurching jump to a jug. SO proud of him for firing up his meat pistons and committing to the movement. “Lets Gooooooo'' reverberated off the valley walls for the few people within earshot to hear. We watched the sun begin to set from a lower summit of La Gorila and absorbed the view of snow capped mountains and granite in all directions. This is why I’m here. To feel small and embrace the reality that I can persevere through my fear of exposure and vulnerability. To build deep relationships. To learn from and embrace self doubt and fear. To be a part of the landscape around me. I am capable. I am powerful. I can be that which feels momentarily impossible. Quinoa and lentils motivated us to rappel and hike back to camp.

¿Donde Esta Mi Amigo?

Mud splashed as Vinny’s legs pumped through the damp jungle. His empty pack allowed him to hover over roots and boulders as if gravity's pull was lessened. Paddy trailed behind speed walking, tired from their run down from Valle De Trinidad. Cochamó was upon the boys as they dreamed of chocolates, cheeses and cervezas. Sitting down beneath an Arrayán, a tree with blood orange trunks weaved together, Vinny caught his breath and waited for Paddy as his endorphins sizzled down to a trickle. Minutes turned to an hour and it became clear to Vinny that Paddy either rolled an ankle or tunneled through one of the many variations in the dense jungle. He backtracked with the same intensity that separated the boys to begin with, doing his best to communicate with the fellow hikers that braved the mud pits that morning. Finally, he confirmed with someone that Paddy had passed nearly an hour before. Raging down the trail without skirting the mud, Vinny’s knees marked the brown slime’s depth as his hands continued to pull trees to keep pace.

Meanwhile, the muddy labyrinth relinquished Paddy at the trailhead and Vinny was nowhere to be found. Knowing that Vinny was far ahead, Paddy convinced himself that Mr. Biceps must have caught a ride to the market because he couldn’t restrain himself from the impending sugar rush. “Perdón, puede ayudarme a Cochamó” asked Paddy to a red truck about to scurry away. Paddy made his way to the market, resupplied enough food for the remaining two weeks, and found a bus ride back to the trailhead.

Arriving, Paddy stuck his head out the window and yelled “Vinchenzo!” as he spotted his disheveled friend. With squinted eyebrows, Vinny recognized his compadre and proceeded to buy four deep fried sushi rolls and papas fritas for them to enjoy in the new sunlight that lavished the mouth of Valle De Cochamó. Afterwards, the boys shared a single col' beer and cookies as their stomachs stretched beyond comfort, and they relished in their reprieve from quinoa and lentils. It wasn’t long before the boys marched back up to La Junta for the night and were brought to an appreciation for finally feeling Cochamó strong.

January 19 - EZ Does It

The summit of Trindad Norte was incredible. EZ Does It was the perfect challenge for Vinny and I. The first two pitches were wet, the second being a waterfall. I've never had a climbing shoe full of water before this pitch. I even slipped off the start but only fell a step down to the belay ledge. My armpit was iced with snow melt, sleeves soaked through to my skin, left climbing shoe full of water… We made it through and unlocked the beauty of the route.

Higher up, a dry water groove culminated in a crux two meters above gear. I felt really smooth and collected on this one, climbing above protection and embracing the rock climbing. Vinny fired the grovely offwidth flare and I was happy to be on toprope. Proud of him for that one! The fate of rock-paper-scissors let me have the crux pitch, which did well to balance Vinny’s crux pitch on No Hay Hoyes. An epic pillar / flake that just keeps going with varying crack sizes and a sporty mantel at the finish. This was the highlight pitch of the trip for me. I let out a “Lets goooooo” after a wide section and melted into the remaining crack. The best quality hand jams and finger locks so far, just incredible. Vinny tiptoed up the following lead which ended in an exposed finger crack traverse that elicited some sounds I rarely hear from Mr. Biceps. Out of sight from me, I released a chuckle at his sex noises even though I knew it must be serious up there. A couple pitches later, one of which tunneled through a cave and exited a worm hole into the light, we finished the route and scrambled to the summit. A black feathered shadow with a thick white ring around its neck glided five meters from us while we scampered, wishing and whooshing in the invisible thermals. It was as if the condor hypnotized me, fixing my gaze on its continuous motion.

Rock Pirates

“Yarrrrrrrrr'' echoed down to Paddy and Vinny as their pasty skin bubbled at La Laguna, a beautiful snow melt pool that was the communion point of hikers and climbers. Jeron, the team photographer, hung on a fixed line up on a far away headwall as Nat, the son of the cinco padres, barred down on a splitter finger crack. They were revamping an older climb that hadn’t seen traffic in years. Elliott, a friendly ozzy, fed rope to Nat as he topped out the absolute splitter with another “yarrrrrrr!” Clinton, Drew and Joe, the rest of the motley Canadians, “yarrrrrrrr”ed in response as they looked on through binoculars. Mimicking the pirates, Paddy and Vinny released their first “yarrrrrrr”s and Nat was bombarded with goosebumps as he galloped to the anchor. He lowered down to their portaledge that held bivouac gear and food for three days and quickly convinced Elliott to go for the lead also. The yarrrrrrrs were repeated as Elliott cruised the tips crux and surfed to the anchor.

The pirate flag folded in the dying day’s wind as the boys returned to the pirates’ lair. Later on in the evening, Drew, Clinton, Joe, Vinny and Paddy banged and began concocting a masterpiece of a dinner. “Banging” refers to a role playing card game that Drew, the undesignated leader of the Canadians, insisted on playing. Clinton, the seasoned Cochamó climber, had the brilliant idea to dutch oven a layered casserole over the fire. From bottom to top it included mash potatoes, lentils with a white sauce, grilled onions and peppers, beet stained rice and quinoa, beet slices, red sauce, and cheese. While the monstrous collaboration cooked, Drew proceeded to give Vinny a jabroni haircut, officially knighting Vinny as a celebrated jabroni. Paddy decided to hold out from the scissors and settled as an honorary member. For dessert, Clinton mixed together a hot chocolate milkshake with extra whiskey, and Cochamó food network found a new favorite meal.

Adam, a fellow Maine-er, and Caleb showed up in the last glimmer of light after an epic day on Homo Santa. One pitch from the top Adam took the whipper everyone fears and twisted his ankle, resulting in an enduring slog back to the bivouac. Maintaining high spirits, Adam chugged some whiskey and allowed his worries to be postponed until morning.

As first light vanquished the sky's black canvass Juan showed up to the bivauc boulder. He volunteers at La Junta and was bubbling with psych as he savored a weather window for his two days off. His dreadlocks swung around his shoulder as he asked if anyone was climbing. Unbeknownst to him there was a plan to help Adam hike down with his gear and find a horse to ride out of the valley. Everyone resounded in a collective “no” and he responded with a smile and began rolling a smoke. The crew drank yerba mate and absorbed the beautiful morning.

An hour later the sun reflected on the western rim’s grey surface as Stefan and Britt announced that they were heading down to La Junta and could carry all of Adam’s gear. Caleb, Juan, Vinny and Paddy realized they wouldn’t be much help to Adam since he could still walk on his ankle and really just needed help carrying gear. They all glanced among one another and blurted out: “climbing?” With that, they packed their gear and headed for Humpty Dumpty as a party of four. For the first time the boys felt like they were vacation climbing. Paddy climbed with Caleb and Vinny climbed with Juan. Crowded belay ledges and ankle pulling led the crew to the final crux pitch of Humpty Dumpty. Paddy and Vinny both got to lead it, which was uncommon since they usually followed each other. Vinny considered it his favorite lead of the trip. A dark rock face fissured with horizontal and diagonal cracks transformed into a flared chimney that forced a full body stem dance at the top. After climbing over the Humpty Dumpty feature, a huge block resting above the chimney, the lads enjoyed a late afternoon siesta on an exposed ledge.

January 23 - Homo Santa

Homo Santa, WOW. The first pitch had me screaming and trying harder than any lead in Cochamó. I plugged a blind piece of gear in the undercling, got a glance at it, adjusted it, and walked my feet out the insecure smears as the undercling turned less and less positive. That piece of gear was my island of safety as I drifted farther out. Unable to place any more gear, I eventually reached a moment of internal battle that forced me into warrior mode. Antoine de Saint-Exupery flew into my thoughts and calmed me with his stoic tone, "Fear, however, was out of the question. I was incapable of thinking. I was emptied of everything except the vision of a very simple act. I must straighten out. Straighten out. Straighten out." "I must straighten out" is all I could chant to maintain focus as I pulled into a left facing corner on slopers, incapable of imagining how far out I was. Nat said I woke him up with my screams and he responded with an epic “yarrrrrrrr” as my toes pressed in the corner. I “yarrrrrr”ed back at him as the sun was just beginning to stretch its morning alpenglow on the western ridgeline. We still had nine pitches to climb as chimneys of all sizes fissured the upper headwall. We morphed and jammed our bodies into their shadowy depths remembring our good friend Radek encouraging us to take naps in chimneys.

It would be rad to start attempting the longer and more difficult routes out here, but there's something holding us back. Fear? Being content? We have sent every route except for Coriolis Effect. By sending are we reaching full potential? Staying in a comfortable enough grade? Do we save the classic longer routes for a potential next time? Homo Santa felt like the perfect amount of rock climbing as we enjoyed most of the route, but there were some hard moments. The belay at pitch nine was my low point of the day. I finally clipped the anchors after a mega chimney / offwidth pitch and sat in the cold corner as Vinny followed and then led the final pitch. Thoughts of escape and comfort seeking began to skip through my once calm pond of consciousness. I kept fighting it, as I have learned to over the years during experiences that have brought me into this fleeting state. To convince myself to do something that feels scary or difficult, to enter into the unknown of outcomes: what if I fall way out here? Should I be here? These are the questions that keep me on my toes, keep me moving and proving my thoughts wrong. Doing what seems so big and far out one breath at a time. This is the lifeway I choose. The companions along the journey of this craft are the most nourishing part. Sharing that which we have: love, laughter, food, fear… and creating an extraordinary experience, a unique encounter with imagination. So no, I don’t feel rushed to jump on the mega routes until I feel a shared deep desire to commit to them.

Reflecions

Vinny and Paddy rested the remaining days away enjoying blue skies and sunshine. Laguna chilling and a casual hike up to the Col marked the end of their journey in Cochamó. From the Col they eyed the behemoth feature named El Monstruo. Its mythic palace of granite is guarded by a vertical jungle and swamp lands infested with Tabanos, the flesh eating flies that haunt the land. “Maybe next time” they whispered as thin clouds banked and twirled into the summit.

The boys’ last morning was spent drinking yerba mate with Juan, Ailen and Arturo. As some of the few people that live in the valley long term, they represent the family of La Junta. After many hugs and laughs, Ailen gifted Vinny a dangly earring and he traded one of his in return. Juan wrote down a list of Chilean music for the boys and Arturo finished cooking up some chapatis. Vinny and Paddy lollied through the meadow one last time and approached the gate. Paddy lifted the loop of climbing rope off the post and walked out as Vinny replaced it with a longing stare at La Junta. Thoughts of returning another season brewed in their minds as they hiked onward.

January 24, Laguna

The summit is short lived, the adversity opportunity is over eventually, the struggle is hardening a new mold for who I am. For who I want to be. To be on the last pitch and seriously question why am I here? I’m cold, tired, muscles cramping, hungry, thirsty, losing daylight… Why am I here? Is it even worth climbing the last pitch? I’m surely not climbing for the view at the top am I? Or for the fame within my peer group? The summit is short lived, even the climb itself slowly blends into my bank of memories as another experience I spent in the mountains. So why am I really here? I am here to connect with the exterior world filled with unique people, places, challenges, and ultimately, experiences. I am here to breathe in the moment. There’s no reason I yell at a beautiful sight or feeling, it just comes out. There's no reason I rock climb, it just emanates from an itch. A call to action. A call to climb something inspiring and overcome that which my perception believes to be intimidating. For there is nothing more freeing than to take command of that inner voice telling me I’m incapable… I have enough, I am capable of trying.

January 26, The Col

I am realizing that being in Cochamó has little to do with climbing specific routes and mostly to do with the joy of spontaneity in a magical place. I am in awe of this far out setting and so inspired by its landscape. Moments of clarity, along with the flow of taking it easy, culminate in a life experience that I am fully at peace with. These moments are spontaneously forged from a love for adventure. It all makes sense when it makes sense, but all the other moments, most of the moments, are filled with questions. Cochamó has been sporadically laced with moments that make sense, which lets me know I am in the right place for me. Leaving feels natural at this point. My expectations were unknown thus they filled beyond what I could have imagined.

January 28, Rio Cochamó

My feelings swirl internally as a brief ray of sunshine warms my closed eyelids. To feel the sun on my face is such a treat. It reflects off white waves dancing on the green Rio Cochamó, seemingly shining in my direction. Low, wispy clouds move fast between the valley walls, bouncing off the statues of stone that the jungle cannot guard. A light rain falls, but a hole of bright blue contradicts the mood. Shadow and light, blue and green, white and darkness, jungle ridgelines and naked rock. This place is magic. Infinitely more than a climbing destination. A living realm that breathes life into all of us. Distant waterfalls are highlighted and flaky lichens are darkened. I am elevated here. Cochamó will stand in my mind as a sanctuary for me to return to the primitive. To dive into pure living.

Juan is pulling the cable car to cross, he runs down the beach and jumps on, gripping the cart, feet dangling over the river. He mantels into the wooden box and pulls a white rope through a pully the rest of the way. Ritual of a new day for him, accepting that which is in front of him. Waking to each new sun with the same hope as the day before: to be real, to be alive, to be entwined in other life. I am present. I am alive. I am Cochamó…