One of the featured shore excursions that Viking offered as an option was a trip to the Parque Nacional Tierra del Fuego (National Park of Tierra del Fuego). We have learned that the ship arranged outings can often be duplicated through the local vendors at a fraction of the cost. Most passengers prefer the ease of just “letting Viking do it”, but for us there is an added element of adventure in striking out on our own.

The Viking arranged tour of Parque Nacional cost $100 US per person. We were able to take a local bus to the Park, pay our admission, and be free to explore without adhering to a group schedule for $25 US each.

In one sense this park is not to be compared with “Yellowstone”. There is a humble visitors center and cafeteria. But with the exception of the one gravel road into the park and one trailer with bathroom facilities, there are no visitor conveniences.

In another sense this National Park compares quite favorably with Yellowstone. The scenery is spectacular!

Christine and I spent a couple of hours hiking together. She then returned to the visitors center to relax with her book which gave me license to pursue a hike at my chosen speed. 10 miles and I had covered enough of the trails to give me a deep sense of accomplishment.

The Park was established in 1960 and contains 243 square miles of pristine Patagonian and subarctic forest. This is the region of the southern terminus of the Andes Mountains. The scenery is breathtaking!

There are 20 species of land mammals and 90 species of birds that call the Park home. There are no animals that might be considered a threat to humans, however a number of “exotic” (non-native) species have been introduced to the Park and become invasive threats to the native flora and fauna. These include the Muskrat, European Rabbit, and North American Beaver.

Due to the extreme southern latitude, tree line is only 2,000 feet above sea level. The demarcation between forest and tundra is striking.

The southern Park boundary is the shoreline of the Beagle Channel. At lower elevations nearing the Channel the climate is moderated by the water. Average winter temperature is 32 degrees Fahrenheit. The Summer average is 50 degrees. Average annual rainfall is a very wet 28 inches. There is no dry season.

Our good fortune provided us with a day that was sunny and mild. My hike took me to the terminus of National Route 3 that connects the southernmost part of a Patagonia to Buenos Aires which is 3,094 km to the north. Antarctica is a little less than 1,000 km to the south.

I continued on to the southwestern park boundary which is (literally) a stones throw from Chile and is marked by a navigational beacon.

The Beagle Channel extends east to west for approximately 240 km. The Channel is named after the HMS Beagle which in 1833 explored these waters with its equally famous passenger, Charles Darwin.

For the 10,000 years preceding Darwin’s visit the region had been home to the indigenous Yaghan people. Their adaptation to the environment is nothing short of amazing. It is believed that their base metabolisms were significantly higher than those of most northern humans. They fueled themselves with a calorie dense diet that was high in fats from the sea lions that they hunted. They smeared their bodies with animal fat for further protection and constantly maintained open hearth fires which at night gave the shores of the Channel the eerie appearance of being a land on fire. Thus the name, Tierra del Fuego.

The Yaghan had also learned that clothing was both impractical and dangerous. The constant rains meant that clothing would remain wet and contribute to hypothermia. Naked skin dried quickly and therefore to the amazement and consternation of the European settlers and missionaries the Yaghan spent most of their time naked.

It is estimated that there were over 3,000 Yaghan at the time that missionaries arrived in the 1880’s. The virtual extinction of the tribe soon followed due to European borne diseases, the overhunting of traditional Yaghan food sources, and the intolerance of Yaghan customs and traditions.

Hindsight allows us the luxury of an “enlightened” perspective. We may be critical of the intolerance of the settlers and missionaries. However, to have suggested at that time the error of European ways would have invited expulsion from the community, or worse. Such has always been the way of the embedded social, economic, and cultural traditions of those who are power.

I find myself wondering what traditions and values that we hold sacred today might become the subject of ridicule by future generations. Could they include…

The huge factory fishing vessels that deplete ocean stocks?…

Our stubborn dependence on fossil fuels?…

The establishment of global supply chains that have the unintended consequences of eliminating varietal diversity and of being a vector for the transmission of blight and disease?…

Or…

The suggestion of any of these things invites reproach as an attack upon the social, economic, and cultural traditions of those who are in power. Perhaps therein lies the answer to my question.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. Many of you live outside of the United States. Today in the States is our holiday of Thanksgiving… Christine and I wish each and every one of you, regardless of your country of origin, our best wishes. We hope that you and those who you hold dear in your heart may find a moment today to give thanks for the blessings of your life. You are among the blessings that we celebrate in our life.

This is our third day in Buenos Aires, and our last night at the Recoleta Grand Hotel. Tomorrow we board the Viking Sea where we will make our home for the next 3 weeks. However, we are not through with Buenos Aires as the ship will remain in port for two more nights.

We now know that there is much of this city that we will not see. A few days is hardly enough time to explore the varied neighborhoods of this modern capitol city. We will continue our explorations, but it is doubtful that we will spend much time in any museums or galleries. The weather is fine and the streets are alive!

Shortly after leaving the hotel this morning we stopped to look at a map. Our quest was Cementerio de Recoleta and to seek the grave of Evita Peron. Seeing us, a nice lady and her 11 year old daughter stopped to offer their help. Miai speaks a little English, and relied upon her daughter to lend a hand with translation. Their kindness lead to a 15 minute visit and recommendations for places to buy custom made leather goods. Christine and Miai exchanged contact information. Miai is leaving soon for the States where I hope that she is afforded the same level of hospitality that she extended to us.

A short stroll brought us to the Recoleta park grounds and Cemetery. Today is Sunday so booths featuring local artists and their wares lined the sidewalks for hundreds of yards.

We took in an outdoor cafe for a leisurely lunch in the cool shade of an enormous rubber tree. This one’s limbs extended dozens of yards from the center and required the assistance of iron crutches to keep them elevated above the ground. One such support was supplied by a sculpture of Atlas the Titan. I took a moment to briefly relieve him of some of his burden.

Nearby were street performers giving impromptu Tango lessons. We could not let the opportunity pass. Taking turns we each enjoyed moments of imagined celebrity in the arms of a young Latin dancer. Fortunately, still images are much kinder than any video would have been. Ah, to be young again!

I have always been drawn to cemeteries. I have often wandered among the graves and imagined the life stories that must have been, but are now compressed into little more than a “Born on… Died on…”

The famous Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris France is home to such notables as Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, and of course Jim Morrison of the Doors. It is a small city with tree lined boulevards and family tombs that are like small mansions. Cementerio de Recoleta is its equal on a slightly smaller scale.

Here is a place where The “Who’s Who” of Argentine society is now the “Who Was”. The tombs are among the most elaborate that I have every seen. Many are adorned with beautiful entries, stained glass windows, and doors with artistic brass engravings. One even featured electric coach lights above the door. Much as I looked, I saw no door-knockers.

Some of the tombs extended two or even three stories below the ground. Just inside the doors and “reception” were narrow stairs that gave access the the lower levels.

The grounds were the final resting places of Presidents…

Generals…

Liberators…

Giants of business and finance…

…and of course,

Evita Peron.

All of their celebrity is eclipsed by the tombs of two teenage girls. 19 year old Liliana de Szaszak (1944-1970) died tragically in an avalanche in Austria. It is reputed that her dog, Sabu, was so attached to her that he died in Buenos Aires at the moment of her passing.

Ruffian Cambaceres (1883-1903) was found dead in her bedroom of a suspected heart attack. On the night of her internment a watchman overheard sounds within the family mausoleum. Investigation the next day revealed that the coffin had moved. When the lid was opened scratches were found on the inside surface and all over Rufina’s face and neck. She had been buried alive.

Christine and I once visited an ossuary in Rome Italy. At the entry was a skeleton constructed from the bones of one or more of the departed. It was clothed as a monk and held a sign that declared, “What you are I once was. What I am you will become”.

The cemetery at Pere Lachaise and the one we visited today are final resting places, but they are also monuments to our arrogance. They are displays of wealth, status, and notoriety. They are fictions to a belief that we as legends live on forever.

Many of the tombs have become metaphors of the death and decay of those who are within. Fallen plaster, rotting caskets, dust, rust, and tarnish. Death is the great equalizer, and on that happy note…

Peace Everyone. Pete

The Beartooth Highway spans a little over 70 miles from Red Lodge Montana in the east to just beyond Cooke City Montana in the west. It is there that it enters the northeastern portal to Yellowstone National Park. Its journey is split between the States of Montana and Wyoming as it serpentines across the boarder 3 times.

Built in early post-depression America it was a marvel of engineering that sought to flex the muscle of America’s emerging optimism, the despair of the late 20’s and early 30’s becoming more a scare than an open wound. It has been declared “America’s Highway”, a pre-Interstate Highway conquest of terrain and climate.

The Beartooth retains much of its rugged individualism. It is closed in the winter, is subject to late Spring and early Fall snowstorms, and in mid-season frost heaves occasionally pock and fold the pavement.

It is not a road of commerce as vehicles longer than 30 feet are discouraged by the daunting switchbacks that demand white-knuckled attention to steering and brakes.

Interspersed along its path are US Forest Service campgrounds. These are primitive affairs offering only pit-toilets, picnic tables and fire grates (no water, no electricity, and no cell service) yet they fill quickly in mid—season. They attract a certain type of camper who wishes to flirt with the edginess of the wild, yet have the security of a shared encampment. Cautions of bear activity abound and are not mere words. Many campers, and the camp hosts walk about with cylinders of bear repellent holstered like a six-shooter. I count myself among them.

What a rare bear encounter may do in one paw-swipe, swarms of mosquitoes (the little blood sucking bastards from hell!) invariably do a drop at a time. These mosquitoes are a hardy lot as they seem just as active at 40 degrees as at 80. Oh well, another predator, another spray.

Most folks don’t linger on the Beartooth. It is a passage experience with occasional stops at overlooks that flood the senses with Nature’s proudest sights, and smells.

The day visitor tends to embrace “the other Beartooth”, to be found in Red Lodge on the east and to a lesser extent at Cooke City to the west. For those desperate for a tourist fix mid-route there is the Top of the World Store which features a single gas pump, a concentrated assortment of souvenirs, and a few shelves of snacks and booze.

Cooke City is a city in name only that is narrowly spread for a few blocks on both sides of the Beartooth.

Eateries/bars, souvenir shops, sporting goods, lodgings, fuel, and a couple of minuscule casinos are its main offerings. It attracts visitors from beyond America’s borders.

At mid-day many of the restaurants present waits of up to an hour for a table. I found an exception at the east entry to town.

The Antler Lodge features a newly opened restaurant and bar, yet to be discovered. 15 craft beers on tap and gourmet burgers… I saw an “appetizer” of onion rings, enough to feed two lumberjacks. They were at about 50% capacity when I lunched there. That should change as the word gets out. While the restaurant is new, The Antler Lodge itself is one of the oldest traveler rests in the region.

Log construction, lots of trophies adorning the walls, and a welcoming hearth room make this an original Beartooth experience.

The “town” of Red Lodge is a much larger and more vibrant big brother to Cooke City.

It is more accessible and features stores and shops that serve the needs of a general population as well as the tourist trade. It’s a fun visit, but for me only as a punctuation mark to the experience of 4 days camped at 9,000 feet on the Beartooth.

At camp last night I engaged a couple of my generation in some fireside chat. The conversation took a turn to “the young people of today”. The couple launched into an opinionated slog that the youth of today are lazy, lack ambition, lack morals, and in spite of those deficiencies, generally worthless. The wife offered as proof, “I worked retail.. I know”. Rather than engage into controversies I held my tongue and shortly thereafter excused myself.

I have heard it said that “youth is wasted on the young”. Perhaps youth may reply that “retirement is wasted on the old”. In either case is seems that some of my generation are jealous of the world that waits to be explored by the young…perhaps regretting opportunities missed in their own youth.

Many who read my “Thoughts” have expressed that they are traveling with me vicariously, taking in as a virtual experience what they can not in everyday life. Similarly, I take vicarious pleasure in visiting with young people… tasting the thrill of a seemingly limitless horizon of possibilities.

The camping couple have apparently missed the joy of knowing my children and youth like them. Hard working, moral, bright with optimism for their future and the future of the children that they bring into this world.

In that same vein I wish that the couple could have met my server at the Antler Lodge Restaurant.

Sarah is a recent college graduate who bubbles with excitement as she shares that she will soon be off for a year in Austria. She has hired on for the year as an au pair to a family with two small children. She will assume the role of nanny and English teacher to the children for 18 hours each week, living with the family and taking intensive German language classes throughout her tenure. Beyond that graduate school awaits Sarah.

Bright, personable, hard working, and ambitious. She is “the youth of today” who hold America’s future in their hands. It is the duty of the older generations to give them an America worthy of their talents and ambitions.

Peace Everyone. Pete

PS. In Red Lodge I came upon an unusual fossil shop. I was fascinated by the mounted trilobites and crinoids. Is it possible that I may be bringing a souvenir back home?

I awoke at sunrise to a 32 degree morning brushed with heavy frost. Fortunately, my trailer has an adequate heater that kept things above 50 overnight and when turned up it gave a toasty 68 degrees that made for a comfortable breakfast.

Still in my bedtime “scrubs” I wandered toward the outhouse but was stopped dead in my tracks by the explosion of light and color radiating from Beartooth Lake and 10,000 foot high Beartooth Butte in the background.

Reversing course I grabbed my camera and headed through the woods down to the shore. Glorious!! The snowcapped Butte was a beacon of light. Its mirrored reflection on the lake doubling the effect and elevating beautiful to breathtaking.

On the distant shore two elk played in the water, while the herd sunned and grazed on the slopes above.

They were only discernible to the naked eye through focused attention and were barely captured by my camera, the lens and zoom pushed to the limits.

I stood to take the scene in for nearly an hour. While my legs were idle, my mind was not.

What I am about to share is not meant to proselytize. This is merely an expression of my own beliefs which are neither superior or inferior to anyone else’s. I was raised a Catholic in a Catholic family and provided a Catholic education. While I self identify as “raised Catholic”, that provides no more insight into who I am or what I believe than does my identification as a Caucasian, second generation of immigrants. Who I am and what I believe continue to be a work in progress.

At two significant moments in my life, separated by 41 years, Catholic clergyman have admonished me to unconcern my self with dogma and “the rules” and instead listen to my conscience. They each tasked me to honestly follow the guidance of my conscience. I try and mostly succeed.

I find it impossible to listen to my conscience without also exploring some of the larger questions that have been pondered for millennia. Among those questions is whether there is a Creator, and if so does that Creator (“God By Any Name”) intervene in our daily lives.

We are (perhaps) unique in the animal kingdom as having a “free will”. We are burdened by innate physical urges to satisfy hunger, procreate, protect, survive… just as other animals, but we have the capacity to intentionally override those compulsions. Humans can starve themselves to death just to make a point. They can choose to be celibate. They can choose passive resistance. They can choose to end their own life. We can make choices in ways that no other creature can. We can make good choices and we can make really bad choices too.

If the Creator intervened to rescue us from our bad choices then our free will would be a fiction. I have made my share of mistakes (as the song goes, “Mistakes, I’ve made a few, but then again too few to mention…”) and I have usually had the good sense to discern and make other choices that resolved matters. Some folks avoid the mistakes in the first place, while others never abandon their bad choices. I don’t see an active hand of the Creator in these matters, except perhaps in the voice of conscience.

Life by its very definition is a lottery that sooner or later ends in death. In a river a salmon spawns thousands of eggs from which a few will survive a gauntlet to the sea, returning later to repeat the circle of life. My daughter gave birth to very tiny naturally occurring quads, one passed at 7 weeks and the remaining 3 thrive on their way to adolescence. In the last year we have lost good friends to accident, disease, and intention. All were good people in the truest sense of the world. I don’t believe the Creator actively chooses the fate of salmon, children, friends, or World Series victors. Nevertheless, I find that my senses are inadequate to fully explain all that occurs with me and around me.

My parents gave me an excellent start in life. I was well fed, well clothed, and well educated. They provided me with a model of parenting from which I could choose how I would later parent. Christine and I have strived to do the same for our children. My parents are not entitled to credit for my successes, or blame for my failings. They are entitled to my gratitude for the start in life that they gave to me. The same goes for the Hand that gave me breath and free will.

I am grateful for my life, for my humanity, and for this day. But the life that was breathed into me did not include a parachute to rescue me from my free will.

Peace Everyone. Pete

Comment:

Nice Post Peter Michael. Who do you think has been posting the suggestions to your conscience all of these years?

Sincerely, God