The Tale of Two Attitudes, a Living Lesson of Narrative

By Grady Jakobsberg of University of Vermont

Patagonia Student Program – Spring 2020

Editor’s Note: RRCS – Patagonia students begin their Humans and the Environment class by reading William Cronon’s influential article “A Place for Stories: Nature, History, and Narrative”. Cronon explores the way subjectivity impacts our efforts to recount historical events. This week’s blog author, Grady Jakobsberg (UVM ’21), was particularly inspired by Cronon’s work. Below, he plays with some of Cronon’s themes.

After much anticipation and planning, the drive into Tomango, the southernmost region of Patagonia National Park and the site of our introductory backpacking trip, was uncharacteristically short and comfortable. We signed into the park one at a time, the rest of us sharing laughs during an unofficial stretching circle.

My hiking experience with Round River began with the ascension of 2.4 kilometers over the first 26 steps. Disappointingly, by the end my calves didn’t look like the tree trunks I had anticipated, instead displaying an impressive collection of pimpinella burs: tiny medieval mace seeds that disperse clinging to your skin while inflicting pain reminiscent of a childhood flu shot.

At the top of the first climb, the rooftops of Cochrane could be seen sprawling in a valley surrounded by blanketing pine forests, granite peaks painted with perennial snow drifts, and wrinkled mountains mosaicked with the different habitats. Our fears of being jaded by the beauty of our first few days in Patagonia would be firmly assuaged over the course of this backpacking adventure. During the next hour, a wind picked up at our backs and the sky threatened a storm with the occasional droplet on our necks. Having had nothing but clear skies and bright sun for the first five days of our Cochrane stay, the hardship promised by Patagonia’s inclement weather was sure to bring some interesting depth to our hiking.

In Patagonia, wet and cold ride hand and hand from a backdrop of grey desolation that obscures any views that could begin to redeem the cool breath of glacial gods down your spine. Hiking, or rather trudging, through it really taught me the appeal of a ‘stay the f*ck in your comfort zone’ type of attitude.

After trekking through the drizzle, we reached a grassy field at the intersection of El Sendero de los Pumas and El Sendero de los Huemules, where a small ranch house had once stood. A short walk away a rocky outcrop provided a gorgeous view south; Lake Cochrane looking deceptively tropical with a radiant aqua clarity. Everyone warmed up in the tents and did some readings for our classes, reveling in the satisfaction from our first legitimate work-out.

Dinner was mediocre at best, followed by a round of forced storytelling that highlighted our complete lack of any mildly entertaining conversation subjects. Settling down to sleep in pairs, my small tent became smaller next to the stinking bulk of my tent mate.

Waking up next to my close friend Will gave the tent some added warmth and company that made getting out of our cozy sleeping bags much easier. Our day started with build-your-own oatmeal, as our instructors described the day hike up El Sendero de los Pumas. With clear skies and warm sun, we set off at a leisurely pace, frequently stopping to get plant I.D.s and eat cotton-candy flavored chaura berries. Getting our first tastes of Patagonian flora invigorated our sense of knowledge and comfort in our new environment, as well as illuminating the great endeavor of learning all the living aspects of the land. After 15 minutes of enjoying the stunning expanse around us, we read Aldo Leopold’s essay entitled “The Round River” that describes humanity’s uneven relationship with nature and our misguided attempts at conservation. Despite our best efforts to study and value the environment’s complexity, we underestimate the small cogs at every turn, instead choosing to preserve the show pieces. Looking out over the Patagonian wilderness it was impossible not to question our own contributions, or if they were simply petty assuagements of a guilt that wouldn’t come close to comprehending the breadth of the damage. It was with heavy hearts that we understood the root of our program’s name.

The downward trek brought on the dread of the vast memorization exertion to come as I attempted to recall the species from the periodic lessons on the way up. Back at the campsite, we dined before an orienteering lesson with mirrored compasses that reminded me that I had not showered in a few days.

An hour-long hike brought us to our second campsite, Playa Paleta, a clearing under the coigue canopy shouldered by the pebbly shore of Lake Cochrane. One stir-fry dinner later, we shared more stories of adventure, embarrassment, and failure, laughs flowing freely. The sunset over the water was nothing short of profound.

After a slow morning and class, we set out to finish the last few kilometers of the hike along El Sendero de los Coigues. Our instructor, Gabe, seemed to struggle with concepts like “half an hour” and “flat” as we shot up and down rock walls on what was advertised as a shore-line trail. Settling at a pretty river-side clearing for lunch (somewhat redeeming Gabe’s faux pas) we took a dip in the Cochrane River, introducing me to a cold capable of reverting my testicles to a prepubescent stage of being. Thankfully, it was only a short prance from there to parking lot for the long-awaited finish of our trip.

I sat on the shore of Lake Cochrane, witnessing the entirety of a sunset that captured every hue of ‘whoaa…’ possible. I was reading our introduction piece to our Humans in the Environment class: “A Place for Stories: Nature, History, and Narrative” by William Cronon. Cronon contrasts the different narratives surrounding the Dust Bowl of the 1930’s, some authors describing it as a triumph of human resilience and ingenuity in the face of nature’s wrath, others storying a deliberate exploitation of the land until it was drained of all natural fertility. This demonstrative dichotomy shows the subjectivity of narrative, especially in regards to nature: a voiceless setting that has spanned the gambit from protagonist to antagonist in stories.

Though my two contradictory ‘attitudes’ differ from the historically accurate narratives Cronon discusses, I hope I accomplished my goal of weaving a continuous story through the light of two distinctly subjective narrators. My experience on this trip was most certainly closer to that of the positive voice, but I cannot deny that my perspective would sometimes become cynical and damaging. Patagonia is a harsh landscape and this program is truly no-frills. Though we only scratched the tip of that iceberg, there will be plenty of other opportunities for my attitude, perspective, and narrative voice to dictate my experience through hardships. As of now, my outlook is optimistic as I continue to be truly baffled by this landscape and life experience.