The bog is to Patagonia what cryptobiotic is to Utah, and holthis is some really crazy cool stuff.
A rainbow of raspberry red, forest green, neon yellow, burnt orange, the bog upslope La Pista del Andino is a marvel for my steps, soft, squishy, bouncy, totally foreign.
Out for a sunset hike, Graham and I meander up, up, up to the backside of the neighboring mountain, in for a total treat the likes of a fall day along the Pawnee Pass, mountainsides splashes of brights, reflections in the over-saturated bog’s mini pond.
This might as well be the neatest toy to hit the shelves, for I spend entirely too long pushing my toe into the bog, marveling at its spring, its resilience. Walking this stuff is like walking a 70 shag carpet, thick and dense, yet airy and soft at the same time.
Then, to complete the panorama, I spy Graham enjoying the view atop a clearly-not-from-here white stool, juxtaposition of natural and plastic worth a head shake.