In December 2008, my friend Jay and I traveled to Bariloche, Argentina, a city in the foothills of the Andes Mountains.
We joined my cousin and his fiancée for a camping trip that would take us deep into the surrounding nature reserve, in search of hidden hot springs and waterfalls.
We chose to go to the most remote of the hot springs. All our Rough Guide to Argentina told us was to turn up a dirt road and after a couple kilometers, we’d cross a river and find a trail to a waterfall with a thermal spring. The lack of detail and the thought of having this secret spot all to ourselves were intriguing.
We headed out in our rented front-wheel-drive car. The road was rocky, uneven, often flooded. Several times, my cousin had to check the depth of the puddles ahead to make sure our car didn’t bog down in the middle of nowhere.
As darkness fell, we soon discovered why we’d seen no other cars or people: The bridge crossing the river had been washed away by a storm. We camped for the night on the shores of a secluded lake, in awe at the quiet and how many stars we could see. We were truly alone.
Which made the man with the machete all the more terrifying.
We saw him early the next morning, after wading across the river and hiking up the trail. Whatever storm had come through before our arrival had made sections nearly impassable, with fallen trees and sharp drops. We were so focused on keeping our footing that we didn’t see him until we were a few feet away.
He was a gaucho, an Argentinean cowboy. With him were two oxen, tied to each other and tied to a fallen tree with a long thick rope. In his right hand was a long, sharp machete, which he raised and brought down with such force that the fallen tree was nearly cleaved by one blow. He looked at us and we froze. If this guy was dangerous, there was no way to escape.
The storm had carved a deep gully in the trail ahead. We struggled to get over it, nearly falling down the slippery slope. The gaucho, thankfully, merely nodded at us as we passed.
Our fears were forgotten at the hot spring. We ducked under the warm waterfall, soothing after a cold night sleeping in a tent. We headed back refreshed, relaxed… until we spotted the gaucho again.
This time he carried a leather whip. He held up his hand to stop us. Great–so we wouldn’t be slashed, just whipped.
Instead he turned away and whipped the two oxen into action. As they walked, the rope behind them snapped taut. The fallen tree dragged along the ground. The gaucho cried out, and the oxen stopped.
The tree now perfectly bridged the gap in the trail. With a wave of his hand, the gaucho beckoned us to cross.
After a moment’s hesitation, we did, one at a time. He even held our hands to help us. He spoke no English, but we said muchas gracias and continued hiking to our car.
It’s tempting to believe the worst when all signs point to disaster. At that moment, though, I learned to think differently. Aid comes to us in ways we don’t expect. A stranger in the woods with a machete and a whip offered a helping hand. I never saw it coming.
How about you? What surprising encounters aided you in times of trouble? What transformed a scary moment into a moment of grace? Share your story with us.
