Sunday, 20 March 2011
Reverence and Homage for a Mountain: Aconcagua.
Each day, as we slowly pass by, we have a repeat of near identical weather patterns. The rising sun hits the high glacial slopes, casting in soft peach and pale pink, whilst we, down in the valley, are pottering around in head torches. It’s a clear, warm morning as we set off, the prospects look good for another hot day. A thin blanket of cloud forms up, and slowly approaches our mountain, offering a respite from the sun, stealing our shadows but not our heat. It’s a slow, tentative convergence, a supplicant’s advance to the altar of the high gods. A penitent’s plea for absolution and exoneration from the paramounts. The request for advancement or preferment is rejected, onward passage is refused. Rebutted, the clouds melt back, dissolving, reduced to wisps and tatters, and our purloined shadows are reinstated.
The day advances, the sun climbs, a haze builds, dislocating Aconcagua from it’s earthly tethers, smothering out the brock of low grade tops. Now elevating the glacial and snow covered ridges to an ascendancy, to a dominium and a superiority far above a mortal’s world of nodding donkeys and grape vines, rushing trucks and fanciful cyclists. Hovering over, floating up, drifting off, wandering away.