Prologue

March 19

Day 2 of hiking

The morning chill awoke me. Even though we were inside the tent, a small droplet found its way on my face.

"Great, it must be a leak," I said as I awoke right on daybreak.

The embers of the fire from last night were almost out, unsurprisingly from the dampness the morning dew brought along, and so before anything else I put some dried out grass to bring it back to life, and once hot enough, I put some twigs, branches and more logs to resuscitate the fire.

The dew was everywhere, and my feet soaked from every step I took on the pasture.

Fox stayed close to me, and Harry stayed inside the tent, he didn't like water.

The mountain fog covered the forest, and the mist covered all things here, freshening the vegetation and every soul out and about, like us.

It wasn't long before the logs burned and created red hot embers. In my pack a carried an old tin mug, I filled it with water and put it above the embers carefully.

As the water warmed, I focused my eyes and ears to the forest that had awoken with this mist. When the leaves get kissed with fresh, pure water from above, it becomes alive.

I prepared a tea from the lemongrass we grew at home and brought along for the trip. I remained close to the fire as I sipped, enjoying the sound of crackling wood and the freshness of the dew. It was warm.

I sipped while I took out old books that my father had given me before his death. The same books he had inherited from his father back when he was about my age.

Henry Elliot was my grandfathers name. An Englishman of religious study and scientific curiosity. Before the age of 20, he had studied under some man in London and became entangled with biology, chemistry, astronomy, geography, philosophy and of course literature.

His mentor was commissioned a ship by the royal crown when Henry was in his late 20's and sailed to the farthest side of the world to a relatively young and new port city in the Pacific, Corales. The port city of the island of Lagunas.

Here they were to create an encyclopedia of all living things on the island, fauna and flora alike, study them and report back to the college they worked for back in London. I can't remember the name of it, but according to my father, it was a prestigious school.

They did report back, they made journals, read, explored and captured all kinds of things in their writings. But in time, my grandfather settled here, married a local woman, and his mentor and colleague sailed back to England to share their findings.

After living life here, spending his days working fields and writing about the culture and paradise the island itself was, he died of old age. Happily and knowledgable about a place unlike any other on earth.

I read carefully a book on the stars, the sky and the universe. I drank my tea, and looked up at the morning sky.

I spoke to Harry,

"What do you think, are we the center of it all or are we part of a bigger system?"

The confused dog kept resting his head on the ground, uninterested at my words.

It wasn't long before I packed my things, extinguished the fire and embers and proceeded to walk with my dogs. Alone in the woods, and nothing but the footsteps and the creaking bodies of the trees as sound.

Hiking, you can never rush. It doesn't matter if you're on a schedule. The destination is often on people's mind and only objective. If that is so, you end up missing the wonder of the trail, and the scenic treasures.

It's like happiness. You see, people mistake happiness for a destination, that's why people say things like, " I will be happy when.." or maybe they say, "I will do this and then I'll be happy." It is a false idea. Happiness isn't a place you reach, it isn't a destination. That is postponing your own happiness. In reality, it is a trail, a path you take that winds in between this chaotic world. Happiness is a state that exists between the lines of life, despite our troubles.

After hiking for about three hours, it was time to rest. We came across the river that ran down the mountain side all the way down to the village. Although by the time it was near the village it was more of a creek, about 10 feet wide, in some areas it could get up to 15. Up here was where its glory was apparent. We looked for a bank in which to rest. There was a collection of rocks that rested upon the bank.

We rested and laid on the cool sand, and I freshened my face with the water that flows ever so constant. After closing my eyes from the refreshing water on my face, I looked around and noticed a small crustacean on the edge of the water. It seemed to flow with the current, so calm, letting the almost invisible-like force, which was water, drive it in a way he couldn't do anything about, nor worry about the things he would find. The small creature just rode the current.

"Fox, Harry, thank you for being here with me."

I petted them and gave them the chance to drink water.

We continued to hike along the river because this time the trail in between the brush had disappeared. There was no road, no path. This is the place people get lost and don't return home if they're inexperienced.

For the past year, we've had a pest problem in the jungle. This pest was killing for fun, and without hesitation slaughtered many living souls in this mountain. It was sickening.

Since the largest city on the island drew in countless visitors looking for a holiday, these hunters strip the land of its glory for a few cents from those who come for a time which can only be counted as a blink of an eye. They hunt for trophies, for rare hides and animals to sell alive or dead. It is without a doubt a plague.

The relationship with the vast world inside this jungle and the people of Arenas was almost completely severed because of these hunters. Animals fled deeper and deeper into the forest, and higher and higher up the mountains. There was a time where we welcomed amazing neighbors on the edge of town. Now all of that is ruined.

We were blessed to walk on these untamed lands, and not long after furthering our distance from the path we left behind, we came across bananas, and an abundance of mangoes. The trees up on higher land provide an even sweeter product. While farmers down below waste their sweat and blood to cultivate, they cannot replicate natural perfection. Untouched fruit. Paradise kept unraveling its secrets to us. Naturally, I took a few of them, for the road ahead. We were almost atop the mountain.

Along the brush, machete in hand using it to clear a path whenever needed, not cutting plants but only moving them aside with the blunt end, we discovered a small nest within the bushes. It wasn't large, it was about a hand wide, and about shoulder hight within the bush.

There were eggs inside. Three tiny ovals, tainted beige with brown specks. I journaled it down and sketched a quick image next to the observation. The three of us continued to walk.

It was around four that we reached a point up the mountain that the island unraveled a whole new perspective of the sacred ground we were used to walk upon day after day.

The forest gave itself to us that evening. Without us knowing how exactly we got to the clearing, except by following the distant summit you see as you go up, we reached a point in which the ocean glistened, and the waves were but only white ripples. It was a view I had never seen. We weren't at the summit, but the clearing was a treasure, the view spectacular and the experience a gift.

The clear blue sky, the green, dense jungle all around us and below covered the land, and the ocean surrounding the giant mass in which we stood. From here we could see almost the entirety of the island. The golden and white sands from the beaches. Thin strips of sands is what they looked from the view we had, but once on them down below were meters and meters of sand that covered the shores.

You could see the distinct coloring of the waters, shallower being a greenish shade and the deeper it went the bluer and darker. The reefs were also apparent from here. The small dots on the water that were fishing boats and canoes. And not to mention the giant lagoon that stretched along the east side of the island.

Beyond the trees below and cliffs you could see the tiny town of Arenas. It had been two days since our departure and we could not imagine the activities going on in that very moment. But it was unimportant for we had found a window into the very vast world we call an island.

People concern themselves with the work, with money, with profits. People do evil things and the love from the major part of humanity is gone. But it is an encounter with the perfect system known as nature that can really turn a person over.

Immediately after our arrival, Fox and Harry were ecstatic to be on flat earth, and so they plopped on the ground and rested. I set up camp, build a fire and began my work. A painting unlike any other. The view of the island.

That day I could not believe my eyes. The beautiful scenery around the three of us. A painting by the greatest artist, and I was the fortunate observer. I tried my best to imitate it through my brush and canvas, but the painting in my eyes was too well made. After all, a painting is often times an imitation of what the eyes see.

We stayed for a few more days, in the morning we hunted small animals for eating, fish and collected water from the river that came through the mountainside. Throughout the day I journaled and read and explored more things I could find. In the evening I had to capture the same image on the canvas, the same vibrations and colors so I needed to wait until sunset every day to paint. By the time I had finished, three days had elapsed. We ended our trip with two days hiking back down to town.