A "different kind of Catholicism."

There was no question about it. I had the cold. The coughing fits began that night after the summit, while we were still at base camp. Denis was improving, but he too still coughed and blew his nose all night. We were an even match with germs pitted against each other in the close quarters of our tent. I ached from the sickness. I ached from the beating the rock face had dealt me. As we shouldered our packs to leave camp the next morning I looked  at the cold wet stone rising up about us. The rain clouds obscured Carstensz, and a chill rose up my back. With better weather and health this place might be beautiful in a raw manner, but on this morning it offered nothing. "Let's get the F--- outta here," I commented to Ivan, who seemed to find joy in my frank appraisal. 

We arrived at camp 5 at 2 pm. It was our plan to rest briefly, then continue on to the place where we had enjoyed that sunny lunch by the stream. But the Porters were cold and hungry, so we decided to hold there. The Porters could retreat to the warmth of the smoky longhouses still bustling with their families. It had been an uncomfortable 2 days for them and a recoup seemed entirely warranted. It also seemed a significant peace reckoning had occurred and they may wish to celebrate it. Earlier that day we had come upon a burned out fire at the overlook to the lake valley. It was fueled entirely by bows, arrows and spears. Pal noticed it first and cleverly labelled it "a cease fire." Our numbers included members of three different tribes, which in all likelihood have been at war, off and on, for many generations. To lay down their weapons and destroy them together was significant. 

A "cease fire." Photo by Dave Mauro

I prevailed upon Dan to let me use our backup tent for private quarters that night and rested better as a result. The next morning we set out across the high savannah, tromping through the bog-like swampy grasses. I lagged the team all day long, sneezing and blowing my nose constantly. 

We needed to make up time, so our plan was to press on past camp 4 and spend the night halfway between there and camp 3. But a miscommunication resulted in the Porters continuing on to camp 3.    Dan approached me to inquire of my condition as we set up tents. "I needed to stop about two hours ago," I said wearily. "I know. I'm sorry for that," he said, "but if you need a rest day tomorrow we may be able to work it out." We agreed we would see how I was feeling in the morning. As I turned in that night a great dread came over me realizing we would descend back into the jungle soon. 

The next morning I awoke to a chorus singing tunes I knew but words I did not. It was Sunday and the Porters were conducting Mass. I inquired of this with Raymond, the Pastor-in-training, and he confirmed the Catholicism of these indigenous peoples. When I pointed out the problematic nature of their polygamy Raymond simply said "It is a different kind of Catholicism." Indeed. 

Dan and Pal were checking on one of the Porter's wives. She had collapsed, lips blue, on the trail to camp the day before.  Pal  diagnosed pneumonia and the team all pitched in antibiotics from their dwindling med kits. She seemed to be marginally improved the next morning, but Pal insisted she should carry no load this day and the tricky business of negotiating the cultural norms of the Dani people took some discussion before honor could be maintained in compliance with this wish. 

Tatoosh and one of his friends appeared and broke down my tent without comment. "We could have someone carry your pack today if you want," Dan offered. It sounded like a good idea, but my pride would not allow it. "I'd like to at least start off carrying it. Thanks," I said. He gave my shoulder a squeeze then left to check in with the rest of the Team.