Patagonia: A Photo Essay
At the beginning of my journey of signing up for my NOLS Semester in Patagonia, dreaming of the landscape in the Andes fueled my excitement. I thought about the incredible mountain vistas and sleeping under the stars every night. I thought about the miles I’d travel on foot, carrying everything I needed on my back. I thought about how simple life would be and the clearness of mind this experience would bring. But I didn’t take into consideration the people that I’d experience this journey with, and how much they would make the experience.
I arrived in Coyhaique, the city where our group would meet before the course began, a few days before the trip started. A few of us had contacted each other ahead of time to book a hostel together. Our greetings were filled with giddy excitement for the trip ahead. The group was from wildly different backgrounds and different parts of the United States: there were some folks from the suburbs of New Jersey, some headed to college, others in the middle of college, some fresh out of high school. A good portion of the group knew how to speak Spanish from either living in Costa Rica or from being Chilean. Some of the group had already experienced the backcountry through skiing or climbing mountains in Colorado, and some of us had only slept in a tent for one night. Despite our differences in backgrounds, experience, and native language, we were to live and thrive together and work as a team for the trip to come.
The morning we finally headed to the NOLS campo, or ranch, my stomach churned with anxiety. As the bus pulled into the campo early in the morning, our sleep-heavy eyes brightened in excitement. Just off the main road lay a small crop of buildings. We could see people walking around who looked like they’d either just left a long outdoor adventure or were ready to go on another. There was snow on the surrounding hills, a slight chill in the air. Smoke coming from the kitchen.
In order to make good use of our excitement for the journey ahead the staff at campo were ready to fill our schedules for the next few days as we prepared for our expedition. We took a Wilderness First Aid class, met our instructors, prepared our “bullet bags,” which are cylindrical bags stuffed with rationed food for later in the course, bound tightly, and waterproofed with a trash bag liner. We were briefed on our course ahead, prepared our gear, and gained new gear, such as crampons for glacier travel, ice axes for snowy peak summits, insulating hot socks for those who had cold feet during the night, and left behind what we didn’t need. We slept in our sleeping bags in tents and started to become acquainted with our tentmates.
We started out sea kayaking. Our first few days in the field set the tone for the rest of the month of sea kayaking: Lots of rain with unpredictable weather. We named the first camp “mud camp,” for all the rain and the small area trampled into mud. These first few days, none of us had figured out our systems for living in these conditions.
I was pretty miserable, cold, and wet, but I hadn’t heard anyone else voice these concerns. I felt like the only one struggling to stay warm—I wondered what I was doing wrong and what everyone else was doing right.
One evening, as we knelt under a tarp wearing all of our rain gear to meet with our instructors, I felt compelled to share how miserable I was. The group began to share the same sort of feelings I was having, and some were thankful that the topic came up. Even the smallest amount of information can make a difference. Having open communication allows everyone to understand where people are, how they feel, and leaves no room for assumptions. It’s good to know what ground people are standing on.
I learned in that moment. Living in the backcountry requires a lot of teamwork. You can’t do it alone. Part of being a healthy team is to have open communication. We have to be willing to listen as much as we want to talk. Opening up about how I was feeling helped others to open up as well. We created a dialogue that helped us to talk about ways to protect ourselves from the cold and rain. Now, we had a plan of action which turned into better results and better living in that environment.
At the same time, communication doesn’t always work out. Mistakes happen that delay forward progress. During the mountaineering section, the instructors put more leadership on us students. We were to plan the route, communicate the plan, and put the plan into action.
On one rainy morning, our lack of communication kept us at standstill. Four students were our leaders for the day, and they were debating whether we should move camp or not because of the weather. Half of us were reluctant to move, not wanting to become soaked in the rain (not the way to embrace the Patagonia factor—that is, carrying on your goals or duties as a group despite unfavorable weather.) The other half, including me, wanted to move, unconcerned about the rain and tired of sitting in camp, as we had done so many times on this trip. We didn’t want the weather to stop us.
After multiple delays in the call to move, we discussed the group’s concerns for moving. Some were indifferent to the rain. Some questioned the importance of moving at all due to getting their gear soaked in the rain that day and waiting till the next day. All the discussion points were valid to talk through; in the end, moving became the final plan. We took down our tents, threw on our backpacks, and began marching through the rain.
We only made it a mile or so down the trail when we disagreed about which trail to take. With the rain pouring down on us while we discussed various plans of action, I dropped my pack, pulled out my group’s tarp, and made a shelter for those of us who were starting to get cold. It felt like we needed a hard reset for the day. Something in our journey still needed to be learned. We had all the ability to walk through the rain, but our communication was off, making us unable to work as a team.
In the end, we decided to make camp in the forest after moving at most a mile from our last camp. Our instructors sat us down for a group debrief. Everyone was given a chance to share why they wanted to either stay at camp or move that morning, and share what they thought went wrong with the day’s plan of action.
After a long group activity on group dynamics, the use of open communication, and setting expectations for leaders with our instructors, it felt like we had conquered a mountain. We revisited the leadership styles taught at NOLS. The idea that leadership is always needed from each individual through the four key leadership styles, designated leader, active follower, peer leader, and self leader. A problem we had in our day was due to the lack of active followership. A few of us voiced our lack of effort in being active followers, and the designated leaders shared their ineffectiveness in working towards a unified goal. All of these parts work together to form a functioning team. We all laughed at our mistakes. It happens. It’s the only way to move forward.
At the start of the mountaineering section, I had trouble carrying the weight of the backpack. During the first week and a half, the terrain was steep and we had a lot of ground to cover, and I was usually in the back of the crowd. On one particularly long day, I was dealing with the mental battle of being one of the slowest, the weight of the pack, the slow energy-draining steps through the snow—and I hit a wall. I trudged up to the group sitting in a circle taking a break. We were almost to our destination, but I had convinced myself that I was done. As I reached the edge of the circle, I turned around and fell back on my backpack. Defeated and depleted. I broke down. I had come to experience these mountains. And here I was defeated by them, reluctant to take in their grandeur.
Then, a quote ran through my head, “The only way to fail is to quit.” And quitting wasn’t much of an option being on the side of a remote mountain. It was time to move again. I pulled my pack on and continued to follow the group. Within a short distance, we crested a hill. As we did, Valle Leones opened up before us. It’s a tremendous valley, with snow capped mountains, glacial lakes, and in the distance the northern ice fields. A heavenly landscape. Everyone celebrated at the breathtaking view. Morale hit a high. We stopped for photos.
This was where everything changed for me. In camp that night, I expressed my feeling of defeat. My tentmates were receptive. They shared how hard it was for them, too. This allowed me to see that we’re all sharing in this experience together. That it’s not just about me but all of us as a group. We all carry something. We all have our own weight to pull, no weight greater or smaller than another. I share all of this to say, share with your team what is bothering you. What is keeping you from enjoying these incredible places you travel. You’ll find that everyone is dealing with pains along the way. People cry. Break down on the mountain side.
When I came to the mountains, it was for their beauty, but I was defeated by them first. I learned that the further I climbed up in the mountains, the deeper I went into understanding myself. I wanted this trip for the experience in nature, but my biggest takeaway was the relationship with the people I experienced it with. None of this could have happened without my team.
