Towards the southern end of the goat track you suddenly round a corner and the view opens up to reveal Mt. Fitz-Roy. It is a pointless thing to say that one landscape, view or experience means more than any other; life is simply not like that. It's just, well, complex.
What I can say is that if the whole of our 3 months travelling in South America, across the Bolivian alti-plano, over mountains, across north west Argentina and its wind ravished deserts, over the washboard that turned our bikes into circus acts, across the worlds larget salt plain, through border crossings, across lakes (Editor; all the bottles of Malbec, the champagne, all the steaks, all the beer, all the parillas) - if ALL of that was merely to reach that first sight of Mt. Fitz-Roy it would have been worth it.
I have placed that moment firmly into my file marked 'DBM'. (Editor; Death Bed Memories).
And it just got better and better.....
It's only the hairs on a gooseberry, that stops it from being a grape.
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