Framed by golden foliage reminiscent of my life in Vermont, this photo was taken from the Sendero Tradicional outside San Carlos de Bariloche, a small mountain town nestled in the Patagonian region of Argentina. It captures the snow-capped Cerro Challhuaco across Lago Gutiérrez. While trekking here in Bariloche, I journaled: “I can’t help but appreciate the existence, the story offered right into my hands.” Arriving at this vista, I was struck by the duality of the familiar at my side and the unfamiliar in the distance, as if calling me to venture further and experience the landscape’s story of harmony in nature. I was compelled to share this story.
Invested in my journey to uncover the landscape’s story, my friends and I set out into Torres del Paine National Park in the Magallanes Region of the Chilean Patagonia. This photo shows my five friends emerging from the grassland, hillside trek into a breathtaking contrast in scenery from riverside and rainforest, to jagged mountains and glaciers, encapsulating the experience of the Dickson campsite in the bottom-right. From the banks of the Río Paine pictured here, I journaled: “As I sit atop the warm stones, misted with the teal waters of glacial melt, I look beyond and have the sense that I finally understand what it means to be in awe.” It was here that the meaning of listening to a place was finally revealed to me. I had a responsibility to appreciate and share this place.
In a day wrought with challenging terrain, reaching the top of the John Garner Pass while trekking Torres del Paine, a glimmer of hope and positivity was all I could ask for. Right as our group of six crested the pass, I knew the landscape was listening. The photo reveals a dark scene of part of the 270 square kilometer Glacier Grey in a moment of intense wind and gloomy skies. Yet my attention centered on the small, but brilliant, strip of rainbow. I felt as though the wind’s power, the sky’s darkness, and the glacier’s daunting appearance all worked together—in harmony—to offer me this moment of gratitude and awe.
In the Atacama Desert, at over 10,000 feet in elevation, llamas roam freely. Their adornments, Chumpi (the tassels) and T’ika (the pom-poms), represent the cultural significance of the llamas to the Atacameños. My group and I had just passed the Tropic of Capricorn heading north when over a dozen grazing llamas appeared beside our truck. It was the first time I had seen the Chumpi and T’ika, but it was clear that while these llamas may roam freely, someone was caring for them. Someone was giving back to nature even here, where the 19,000 ft Licancabur Volcano in the background lies 24 miles away on the Bolivia-Chile border. Distance and access, evidently, don’t stop Atacameños from engaging in a reciprocal relationship with nature.
This photo captures the pristine dunes and rocky terrain of Valle de la Luna in the Atacama Desert. A long drive followed by a long walk brought us to this juxtaposition of simplicity and complexity. The nuance of nature is evident here, as geologic time is put on display: the Andes mountains in the background, with eroded and windswept dunes preceded by rocky formations in the foreground. This picture may visually depict simple rock and sand, but what came to allow this was a complex series of geologic, natural processes. Nevertheless, from llama adornments to Flamingo disruption, the Atacama is not free of human presence. Honoring nature takes different forms in different contexts. In this one, sharing it without intervention may honor its story best.
In the high plateau of the Peruvian Andes, the Altiplano, potatoes are a fundamental component of the diet. The native Quechua people possess Indigenous wisdom passed down through the generations that enables them to make Chuño, a form of naturally freeze-dried potatoes, in their unique climatic conditions. The picture shows one Quechua woman in the Altiplano outside the former Incan capital city of Cusco, Peru. She works alongside other women in this work, wearing signature clothing signifying her Andean heritage, situated in front of a terraced agricultural site and steep grassy mountain. Indigenous wisdom can take many forms, and may be as literal as teaching the methods of making Chuño. This wisdom characterizes the art of storytelling. The Quechua have a responsibility to take care of themselves through the passing of this knowledge and using the land to make their potatoes. The land, accordingly, reaps benefit from the Quechua’s investment in the land such that they and their children can live.
This scene may appear ambiguous. Taken outside San Pedro de Atacama in the Atacama Desert, where the road goes is unknown. The desert vegetation is low and seemingly dry, giving it the yellow appearance, with Andes mountains and volcanoes lining the horizon. Blue skies stretch beyond the lens. As I gazed upon the end of the visible road, the converging yellow around this point represented an optimistic future to me; not necessarily for the beauty captured in this photo, but for the places we will each go to and the stories we will tell of these places. Nature’s story is one of harmony and awe, as I experienced in the Atacama, Patagonia, and the Andes. It’s up to you how you will share your awe.
My connection to the Patagonian landscape seemed to transcend the dichotomy between myself and the planet. Yet, I struggle to put into words what was so powerful about this interaction. A renewed reverence? A profound appreciation for those in my life? Awe. As I experienced awe in its rawest form throughout many of South America’s most breathtaking landscapes, I was imbued with a sense of responsibility to share this feeling. Awe compels me not only to share these places with others, but to do so in reciprocity—to give back to Patagonia, the glacier, the teal-dusted air, and the fierce wind that have gifted us their presence. If we can spread this awe, we can give thanks to surreal places. Robin Wall Kimmerer, a member of the Potawatomi nation, embraces the Indigenous art of storytelling as a means of respecting the land by offering thanks to the place that provides us with sustenance, water, medicine, sanctuary, and of course, awe. As Kimmerer explains in her book, Braiding Sweetgrass, “language is our gift and our responsibility.” Her philosophy reminds us of the unique ability we have to serve nature by giving her a voice, taking a small step toward justice—a nod to the places that have allowed us to experience awe. Nevertheless, every person has their own unique relationship with a place. Amidst another day gazing upon the stunning Patagonian landscapes, I wrote: “I feel as though my words here about storytelling for Patagonia might otherwise be lost were it not for the photos I’ve taken.” Each day took us through what felt like an entirely new biome from glacierside to rainforest, to prairie and riverside. I don’t think my words alone would have captured the contrast in the sweeping glacier, gleaming lake, and unbounded sky all painted into the landscape with their distinctive blue hues. Nor would my writing have done justice to the pointed peaks and rainbows caught between the glaciers and storm clouds. To embrace this premise, I pursued photography during my time in South America, and hence developed this photo essay. Engaging in this medium allowed me to slow down to appreciate my experiences within these landscapes. I had to understand the land’s story before I captured it. Now that I’ve listened to and captured them, I want to embody Kimmerer’s philosophy and share these places and the awe it gifts us.