Nexus - 0221 - New Times Magazine-pages

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TRAIL OF THREE CROSSES just because the Andes were there, remote, By Patricia A. Davey beautiful and very dangerous to travel in My grandfather used to tell many stories those days. I was young and restless, ready when I was young of his travels around the to go anywhere, see anything, so long as it world. He was quite an artist, too. His pen was far away from home and school. and ink sketches of faraway places, full of So I set out along the trails with Archer, intrigue and mystery, graced the walls of my old black mule. We wandered here and his large, sunlit studio. there, and I got some good material for The tale I most loved to hear was about a later paintings. One day, as we travelled joumey he took in his youth, accompanied slowly along the trail by a river, we met up only by his faithful mule, to sketch the with a very old man hobbling along. "You Andes Range of South America: must take that branch," he quavered as we passed him by, pointing to a barely-used “I don’t remember the exact reason! trail angling off away from the main undertook this first joumey. Perhaps it was stream. “It is your destiny!" At first I thought it was a joke, but he stepped in front of me and continued to point, jabbing a gnarled finger at the air. So we tumed off, on a whim, to follow the dim markings. I could tell the trail was very old and hardly used any more. Perhaps, I thought, it would lead me to an unusual place with magnificent scenery to sketch. We had followed the trail for sev- eral hours, climbing steadily up a deep canyon with a small stream bubbling cheer- fully and the song of a distant hawk wing- ing lazily above to keep us company, when I noticed the first sign of three crosses carved deeply in a large boulder almost blocking the trail. They were ancient, their outlines dimmed by the passage of time. They seemed to speak of ancient secrets long forgotten by everyone. I was intrigued and urged old Archer to a faster pace. From there on I would come across more crosses, always carved in threes, and they were a very good guide as the trail was growing dimmer and harder to follow as we went. Obviously, we were the first to travel that way for many an age. That night we camped in a litle box canyon off to the side of the main canyon. There was grass for Archer to crop to his heart's con- tent, and a small sweet spring. I sat by the fire and ate my rations, feel- “I don’t remember the exact reason I undertook this first journey. Perhaps it was NEXUS¢59 AUGUST - SEPTEMBER 1994