Wind: 1 Mike: 0

Rainbow in Los Glaciares

I threw out the white flag this morning.  There was nothing to see of the Cerro Torre peaks, though the rain clouds surrounding the peaks made some impressive rainbows in the early light.  The wind has chilled me to the bone and slowed my joints 'till I can feel them creak like an old wooden door that doesn't quite shut.  My hands, numbed by the constant blowing, have become feeble and clumsy.  Lighting my stove is a process that involves warming both the lighter and fingers so they will function.  The cold seems to have awakened nerves that I'd thought dormant while numbing others.  Scrapes, for example, are anesthetized by the cold, but harder pressures -- such as sparking a lighter -- hurt.  My fingers have been dried, chapped and cracked by the arid wind.  The side of both index fingers that faces the thumb -- a pressure point when pulling zippers, turning knobs or tightening lines -- have calloused and split leaving a tender spot surrounded by dirt and grime.

The wind has covered everything in my tent vestibule with dirt and sand.  It is able to sneak through the mesh panels in my tent leaving everything in here covered with a thin layer of dust.  My tent has become my sanctuary, saving me from the sandblasting and incessant blowing with its thin walls.  I am reminded of the tale of the Sun and the Wind and the traveler's coat they both try to remove.  The Wind blew gales, but the traveler only held his coat closer.  Then Sun shone down and the traveler removed his coat and lay down for a nap.

Seems the Wind hasn't learned its lesson.  In my sanctuary, I have my sleeping bag for warmth, my cup of hot coffee, my journal, book and CD player.  However, I can only write for so long, my book is nearly finished and the batteries for my CD player are nearly dead.  Eventually, the coffee will make me venture outside and face the wind again.  Such is my sanctuary.