Out by dawn, and another spectacular view of the moon setting over the mountains.

It is common for peregrinos to fall behind or move ahead. Some leave notes for those that follow. On rocks. On paper. No scissors, that I know of.

The path today was lined almost the entire way by wild lavender. Instant aromatherapy just by reaching down and rubbing the blossoms.

I was feeling really strong and proud of myself for my intention to do another 30k day today. Then this guy passed me. Running. Up the mountain.
Ass.
Humility restored.

Uberlinda Cortes. She was 63 years old when she died. Apparently, right here, on her second Camino. Ultreia et sus eia, Uberlinda.

Gaining a little altitude again. This begins the crossing of two mountain ranges that separate Castilla y León from Galicia.

One of the more renowned spots along the Camino Frances. This is the Cruz de Ferro. Here, each pilgrim traditionally leaves a stone s/he has brought along on the pilgrimage. The stone may mean little or everything. I saw one older couple sitting in the grass to one side, holding each other and sobbing. What meaning did this moment have for them? What had they just left on this cairn built up over millennia, or at the foot of this cross?
The spot was “Christianized” a few centuries ago, but the cairn has been here much longer. First Celtic settlers, then Roman soldiers, memorialized this spot by placing more stones on the pile. Building cairns is a means of marking significance found throughout the world and as far back in time as humans have been making meaning.

When my time came to add to the cairn, I left two items. The first was a shell, collected in the Carribean and given to me in Bigfork, Minnesota. The second, and most dear, was a stone my wife and I picked up together in the garden beside Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. We have been in this together from the start.

Views like this are in every direction.

I’ve spent most of the last several days walking alone. It has been a true gift. To be in this near-wilderness with no one else near. I love solitude. There is fullness in it.

A helpful reference point? For me, the important datum here is “222 Km.” That means about 8 – 10 days left to Santiago. Mas o menos.

This is a real place.

Close to my stop for the day at Acebo. Off in the distance, about 12 miles away, is Ponferrada.

This is the spot where I found my father again.
One reason I am walking this Camino is to remember and honor my father. I am age 55, the age he was when he died of pancreatic cancer in 1984.
When I was about 14, Dad went with my Scout troop on a camping trip to Mt. Mitchell, North Carolina. Mitchell is the highest peak east of the Mississippi. He accompanied a small group of us on a backpacking side trip to a shelter several miles from where the troop was camping. The terrain was rugged and the weather was deteriorating, with sleet beginning to hit us head-on. About halfway out my father, a “former” Marine but a heavy smoker, told us he couldn’t go on. We made our way back to a covered shelter and settled in as best we could. A few hours later, park rangers took us down to the parking area to sleep in the cars until morning. It was an adventure I shared with my Dad. It was also the first time I remember seeing him physically vulnerable. Ten years later, I saw him that way again as he lay dying in a hospital bed. His hands still looked strong, and it is those hands I often see when I think of him.
Today, at this spot on the mountain, my father joined me on this Camino. The terrain is almost identical to where we were on Mt. Mitchell. But today, in what felt like a vision, my father suddenly strode along beside me. Strong. Silent. Smiling.