Karson
He didn’t look like an angel. He looked like a big, formidable young man with a ponytail and enormous calves whom I would have nothing in common with; but being fellow pilgrims I said “Buen Camino” as I walked by on the mountain trail that late August morning. He replied with the same customary greeting and a smile and as we were walking up the mountain at the same pace we organically became walking companions. Within two minutes of meeting he gave me cake, literally. He had stayed overnight at Refuge Orisson and I had stayed further up at Refuge Borda. I did stop at Orisson, to eat the egg sandwich the host at Refuge Bellari in St Jean Pied de Port had sent me off with early that morning, bought a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and sat admiring the expansive view on the large Orisson deck. Karson asked if I had tried Orisson’s famous lemon cake (I did not; didn’t even know about it). He stopped right there, opened his pack and handed me a foil wrapped wedge. “You must have this.” At first I refused but he insisted. I was floored by the immediate kindness and generosity. I tucked the cake in my backpack for later. We continued chatting as we climbed the Pyrenees with thick fog rolling in and out punctuated by bursts of sun and drizzle and the most incredible mountain views with meandering cattle and horses and sheep (imagine Heidi or The Sound of Music). Karson was from Germany and, luckily, spoke English well. He was about 40 and worked three days per week at a port in the shipping department. This schedule allowed him to save his vacation time and take a month off to walk the Camino. This was his second attempt as he had tried the previous year but fell and hurt himself badly enough that he had to abandon his attempt and go home. He was back again this year after losing some weight and ready for the challenge. Since he had walked this difficult passage over the mountains the previous year, he became my pathfinder. We stopped at a rise in the mountains after about an hour of walking at a farmer’s food truck. I bought a cup of coffee and Karson was excited that the farmer had Aquarius drinks, which are hard to find apparently. He also bought a wedge of cheese that the farmer made himself with the sheep’s milk from his flock. We shared the cheese. It was glorious sitting on the mountain and eating delicious homemade cheese. I learned that Karson lived with his mom and played a lot of video games when he wasn’t working but seemed to be restless and searching for more. He was very intelligent and intuitive and was, I think, hoping to be more social. I offered to pay for snacks at our next stop but Karson reflected that I should learn to accept generosity without reciprocity. As we continued our journey the weather in the mountains, as I was warned, turned hazardous. It went from fog to drizzle to sleet and hail to heavy rain with thunder and lightning. I’m not sure how I would have persevered without Karson. He was sure footed and confident. We stopped off in a mountain hut for a small reprieve and found it crowded with drenched pilgrims. After a few minutes we decided to continue hiking in the downpour as we had many miles to go before we sleep. After a few miles we bumped into Carlos and Jack whom I’d met the night before at Refuge Borda. They joined us and we became a small family of travelers. I think Karson was a bit shy around them but they were so complimentary of his leadership that it increased his confidence and made him comfortable. Karson jokingly commented to me, “you know what they say about us Germans, we can lead … but you may not want to follow.” 😂
We crossed into Spain, only denoted by large stone pillars, labeled Navarro, and a cattle grid to stop the animals emigrating, no walls or immigration officers to stop humans; just a muddy, accessible trail through the mountains. Shortly after we crossed into Spain Carlos asked me to reach up into his backpack and take out a salt shaker tucked into a pocket. He confided that the shaker contained his brother’s ashes. His brother was supposed to make the pilgrimage with him but died suddenly before the trip; this was his way of paying tribute to his brother and having him accompany him. He asked me several times that morning to retrieve and replace the shaker as he spread the ashes along our trail.
There were no cafes or small towns along the mountains so we took breaks when the weather permitted and ate our snacks. After several hours of hiking, as we descended the mountains the sun came out and Karson led us to the monastery at Roncesvalles where I, Jack and Carlos had made a reservation to stay that night. When we arrived in the courtyard I saw many of the new friends from the previous night at Borda that would become my Camino family. We were all drenched and laid out our jackets, shoes and socks to dry in the sun. I was soaked through to my underwear. Karson planned to continue on to the next town and when I left him to check in, the process took so long that he was gone by the time I came back to the courtyard. We never said goodbye or saw each other again.
I thought about him as I lay in bed that night, in the dormitory bed with paper sheets, eating the extraordinary Orisson lemon cake. I had read that there are Camino angels that you encounter periodically on your pilgrimage. I was skeptical but I’m convinced that Karson was one of them. He led me sure footedly through the oftentimes perilous Pyrenees mountains from France into Spain with good humor, generosity and kindness. I hope he completed the journey to Santiago safely and is back home having a party with a table laden with so much food that it is buckling with the strain (he confided that was how he imagined/planned entertaining friends). Thank you Karson my Camino angel. Buen Camino!
unbecomingjane 