15th January 2020: Outskirts of Mendoza, Argentina

The below is the full story of how I rolled my car in the Argentine desert outside of Mendoza and our rescue. My girlfriend of the time, Cati – an engineering student at the University of Buenos Aires, and I were travelling together during ‘summer holidays’ and had been visiting her family’s apple orchard in Patagonia’s Rio Negro region. I was then planning a loop up to Mendoza and through Cordoba back to Buenos Aires. She would come with me as far as Mendoza then fly back to be with her family for a couple more weeks before semester began. The incident occurred on our last night together before her flight back to her family in Rio Negro.

Ruta 13 to Uspallata:

After almost week in Mendoza, we’d come to our last day in the area and, to be honest, we felt like we’d more or less come to the end of a list of things to keep us entertained as tourists. We’d explored the city, seen more than enough wineries (and drank more than enough wine), ridden horses through vineyards, been to many of the city’s recommended restaurants and brewpubs and many day trips to the outskirts of the city including Villavincencio (the origin of the local mineral water), the Cachueta thermal baths (I don’t recommend this) and Lake Potrerillos. With one last day together and a bit tired of following the recommendations, it was time for something different and perhaps a little more adventurous. Be careful what you wish for!

The Ruta 13 route between Mendoza and Uspallata appeared in several of my searches through apps and websites and my reading had me seeking affirmation that this trail was an accessible and a safe choice for the day’s outing. Comments online varied with some saying that a 4WD was recommended but not strictly required. Others had more ominous comments like ‘don’t do this alone’. Eventually when I see that the trail is marked on Google Maps, it is this fact (rightly or wrongly) that is the tie breaker between me being otherwise on the fence about the sensibility of the idea.

After a quick lunch, packing the car and filling up with fuel we set off for the trailhead on the outskirts of town, driving through the dirty ‘afueras’ and what appeared to be either abandoned land or a rubbish tip - in reality a combination of both – and then through a dry riverbed to the foothills. Our GPS position eventually converges on the trail I have marked in Wikiloc (my go to application for sourcing and navigating tracks). It’s early afternoon as we set off.

Thoughts race through my head as we head out and I run through all the mistakes I’m making. My gut tells me this is a bad idea and logically I mentally catalogue the risks. Firstly, I’m heading out off-roading alone (breaking the cardinal rule by not going with another car). Secondly, we’re setting off in the early afternoon when this should have been planned for the morning and not leaving much of a buffer in case anything goes wrong. Third, even if it is a foolish adventure and I acknowledge these risks and potentially to get stuck for a while, I don’t have the luxury of time on my side. Cati is to fly out early the next morning and more generally I have some significant work commitments to attend to; I have simultaneously been involved in the arduous and involved processes of selling two of my businesses, both coincidentally penciled in to close the very next day (although in reality they would both require another one or two weeks to formally complete).

From the moment we set off I’m already considering whether we’ll get home by a reasonable time which is a bad place to start. The one thing I did right that day was a least act on my instinct and test out the Garmin InReach satellite messaging. I hadn’t had to use it for a while so I sent a pre-emptive message to my sister: “Hey Kell, just a test. Haven’t used this for a while. Let me know if you get this”. Her quick response “Loud and clear” at least allayed some of my concerns knowing that if I did get into trouble that I had a link back to assistance should I need it.

The trail starts easily enough and we make steady progress towards the hills. Eventually we come to the caracoles (translation: snails), a set of switchbacks that leads us up the mountain and onto the flatter plateau above. The road is mostly loose rock with a steep drop off and Cati is nervous but for me this terrain resembles a vast many drives I’d done relatively recently through Peru and Bolivia. It’s a little challenging but not enough for low-range and we bounce our way up the mountain.

The first hour was saw us winding up the series of switch backs referred to as the ‘caracoles’

Looking back over our path to Mendoza on the flats below the hills

The Roll:

We estimate that our destination is about four hour’s drive. Since leaving Mendoza, we only encounter one other person, a man on horseback about 20-minutes out of the city. About 45-minutes in we pass a homestead that has many horses but no sign of a modern and functioning vehicle (you tend to pay attention to your nearest sources of aid when you’re out alone). After two hours and figuring we were about midway to our destination and we’d relaxed quite a bit as we weaved our way through the desert hills on the dry, lonely trail. The best I can figure, we were precisely halfway between Mendoza and Uspallata when we meet with grief.

The trail has a left bend with a step-up and was rutted on the right side. We could see where vehicles that had come before had fill the rut with rocks to pave their preferred line up the slope. I took this line like the others before me but not hitting it with enough speed, the weight of the car was against me and the wheels on the rocks spun and spat the rocks back downhill. No issue, I thought. Roll back, reassess the line, drop it into low-range, go again.

As I rolled back for a second attempt, the grade of the trail and weight of the car proved more forceful than I had expected and the brakes struggled to control the roll backwards. Before I knew it, we’d rolled down the slope and up onto the opposite embankment with only the front-left wheel still on the trail. Momentarily the car feels like it will tip and I stomp my foot on the brakes. I catch it and we stop.

Getting out or the car to read the situation, visually it doesn’t look precarious at all. From outside of the car, I find it hard to believe that the feeling I had of tilting over signified that we were so close to tipping point - the physics just didn’t seem to make sense from a visual inspection. But herein lies another of my mistakes - the car is heavy and stuffed with equipment and much of it sits on the roof raising the centre of gravity. Foolishly, I don’t see why I can’t just ignore the warning and take our second attempt.

Unfortunately, in doing so, I broke another cardinal rule of off-roading – don’t point your front wheels across a steep slope, always down. As I set off for the second attempt and pointed it up the trail, almost in slow-motion, the truck with its high centre of gravity slowly began to tip over. We were damn near stopped as it happened and my stomach knotted up as the car slowly tipped over and came to rest on its side.

Cati wasn’t wearing her seatbelt and being high side, she came crashing down on top of me. There was a confusion of bodies and limbs and suddenly we found ourselves in a pile against the driver-side window. As the car came to rest. She was already crying and the situation immediately hit that we were in trouble. But we weren’t hurt.

It’s funny how alien your car feels when it’s on its side – the intimate familiarity you have with it after tens of thousands of kilometres are instantly lost the second it’s newly oriented. The side is now the floor. Materials you never had to consider whether they were load-bearing quickly come into question. You don’t know what you can stand on, what will bend and what will crack under your weight.

Recognising immediately that the engine won’t like running rotated 90 degrees, I turn it off and turned my mind to freeing ourselves. Standing upright in the car on the side pillars and fumbling at the door handle, initially it feels like we can’t get out of the car. The door doesn’t want to open and the windows are closed and there’s brief moment of panic that we’re stuck. But it’s just the finicky door handle and the weight of the door and a few seconds later I’m up and out helping Cati climbing out the passenger side (now top) of the car.

Immediately before we tipped: I had enough time to inspect the situation but foolishly, despite this, disregarded the signs that we were close to tipping. From looking at the photo above, many people would probably find it hard to believe the car wa… — Immediately before we tipped: I had enough time to inspect the situation but foolishly, despite this, disregarded the signs that we were close to tipping. From looking at the photo above, many people would probably find it hard to believe the car was near to it’s tipping point but whn the back when the back left wheel dropped off the ledge, the centre of gravity would be too far over the wheels

This photo show’s the best view of the situation. With three wheels off the trail and the front-left on it, the plan was to follow the tire marks that lead up the slope taking a line slightly to the left of them to avoid the ruts on the right. I onl… — This photo show’s the best view of the situation. With three wheels off the trail and the front-left on it, the plan was to follow the tire marks that lead up the slope taking a line slightly to the left of them to avoid the ruts on the right. I only made it a metre or two forward of this shot before the car rolled

And there it was. We were on our side. Hours from anywhere on a trail that had no other traffic and not a single usable feature around - no trees, rocks or useful structures of any kind

Taking Stock:

Once out of the car and the adrenalin still pumping, we make sure that neither of us are hurt – the most important thing above all else. While shaken up, we’re completely fine - not even a bruise.

There are several things that we will need from the car and I climb in and out multiple times bringing out items that we’ll need for our the situation – water, phones, Garmin and a few essential items to keep us warm and comfortable for the inevitable waiting. Each time I forget something and have to go back in and each time, I get a little better at carefully lowering myself into the car and getting out again but it’s not an easy manoeuvre and it’s disorienting inside the tipped over car. Finding our possessions is an interesting challenge as gravity has sent all the loose items to the ground, basically lying on the driver side windows. The inside of the car is a complete mess.

Taking stock, I quickly realise that water is an issue. I normally keep a small bottle handy to me while driving, a gallon in the back and usually a few small cold bottles in the fridge. On the roof rack there are 40 litres in two jerry cans. In our haste to leave this morning, my gallon in the back isn’t filled. Add to that, the rear tailgate is bent and won’t open and so there’s no access to the fridge. And worst of all, the car is leaning on the jerry cans holding the water on the roof. So much for carrying a couple weeks supply of water when none of it was accessible and we are left with one small bottle to share between us. It’s an interesting realisation that the accident, despite my preparedness, has rendered all of our water sources inaccessible.

In terms of a rescue, thankfully I’d developed somewhat of a routine. It’s a funny thing to say but I’ve been rescued so many times now that I’ve become quite complacent and simply follow my usual routine. The Land Rover community of South America has been there to help me before and they will be there again today. I guess it’s selfish of me to take risks and know that people will always rescue me. But I guess I justify it by knowing that the Land Rover community seems to take a great pride in these moments and their ability to pull together and orchestrate a rescue operation, the rescuers become my friends and we joke about it into the future. Because of this, I’m completely calm and see the lighter side of this instantly – it’s the beginning of another good story from my adventures.

Cati isn’t as calm and I have to explain to her that I’ve dealt with situations like this before and that we’ll be fine. While I don’t have friends in the Mendoza region, I know how to get in touch locals that can assist. They can help and that we’ll be out before the end of the day. I’m joking and playful to put her at ease but I don’t get the sense that it’s working entirely. In part, I blame my Spanish skills but I get the feeling that saying the same thing more eloquently in English would have had the same result.

Before I do anything else, I know it’s time for some pictures. There’s nothing worse than surviving an ordeal to realise that you didn’t document it and you were completely consumed by the situation, only to come out wishing you’d taken photos of the event.

And then, even before making the decision to call for help, my mind immediately turns to work and that there are two deals in progress that are expecting my input. Sending messages to lawyers and co-directors I work with, I tell them my situation – and that we’re fine - and delegate my duties for the next 24-hours.

In less than 10-minutes from the roll, I’m already enjoying myself

All loose items including the contents of the centre console follow gravity the the drivers side

A lot of people later joked whether I took the opportunity to inspect the undercarriage. I did. I also took a lot of photos of the rear undercarriage because at the time I was in discussions with several equipment manufacturers about installing a lo… — A lot of people later joked whether I took the opportunity to inspect the undercarriage. I did. I also took a lot of photos of the rear undercarriage because at the time I was in discussions with several equipment manufacturers about installing a long-range fuel tank and they were asking me for photos underneath for the install. So what better situation than this with the sun illuminating all of the normally dark undercarriage

With time to kill, there were plenty of photo opportunities

An Extraction Plan:

A survey of the area around us is grim. There’s nothing of use in the area. No trees, no large rocks, no structures of any description. It doesn’t take long to conclude that the winch is worthless because there’s nothing to winch to. And equally, the travel on the hi-lift jack doesn’t come close to lifting the car anywhere near to its tipping point back onto its side.

What’s more, we were more than an hour’s drive from the nearest homestead and even then, I hadn’t noticed a tractor or truck when we’d passed it, so I quickly eliminated the plan to walk out for help. Add to this the fact we hadn’t passed a car on the whole trail, I wasn’t holding out any hope for a passer-by to help us. The map reveals we’re equally far from both the city of Mendoza or the town of Uspallata that we were driving towards. So even if someone left straight away, it’s two hours of off-road trails before they arrive to us.

No amount of time or effort between myself and Cati was going to get us out. My friends from the Land Rover group would have to rescue me again. So perhaps for the fifth or sixth time I’d reach out to the group and ask for help (the previous times were mostly unexpected mechanical failures and the time I was stuck in the Bolivian Salt flats). Even months later as I think about it, I agree with my assessment at the time that there was nothing I could have done - even with many days - to get the car over by myself with the equipment I had.

The method of calling for help was simple and tested. I send a text via the Garmin to my sister Kelly in Canada. She reaches out to my friend Santiago (San) in Ecuador. San puts out the distress call on the Land Rover de las Americas group WhatsApp channel. Locals are identified who may be able to help. Usually someone at a local level takes over coordinating any vehicles coming to help and progress is relayed back to me via the same communication chain. And as crazy as it seems, by this time, this is now a very normal procedure for me and it’s just a matter of following the steps.

As my sister starts to relay messages back from San, we learn that the local Land Rover group has received the message and is mobilising. Not only is help on the way, one guy had set off from Uspallata almost immediately after getting the message and was already on the way. I verbally translate these messages into Spanish for Cati in hopes to calm her and it does somewhat.

At this point, we’re midway from Mendoza to Uspallata

Whether a Garmin or a similar device, I don’t know how I could have got through this trip and this situation without this piece of equipment. It’s saved me many times before. It even lets me tend to some of my basic work obligations when I’m off gri… — Whether a Garmin or a similar device, I don’t know how I could have got through this trip and this situation without this piece of equipment. It’s saved me many times before. It even lets me tend to some of my basic work obligations when I’m off grid without a phone signal

The satellite view of our position shows that there’s really nothing of note for a long way in any direction

As far as terrain in which to find yourself turned over like a turtle, there can’t be much worse than a desert without a single useful tree or rock being offered up by the surrounds

The Waiting Game:

With messages confirming help is on the way, I turn to things within my control at the scene and preparing for the recovery. Unnecessary weight is removed from the roof, tow straps pulled out and the biggest rocks I can find gathered to stop the car sliding as a lateral force tries to pull it over.

One concern is that there was a significant amount of oil coming from the snorkel and leaking onto the ground. My guess is that the upturned engine is leaking oil through to the air box, passed the air filter and out the snorkel. I dig through my spares to find my spare oil and a new air filter ready to refill and swap them respectively once the car is righted. I trade message with a friend in England, Andy, and talk through the risks of engine damage but he seems to think that so long as I switched it off quickly (which I did) then likelihood of damage is minimal and I’ll be able to drive out.

Otherwise, we shelter in the shade of the back of the car escaping the fierce afternoon sun and wait.

A telling photo of Cati’s disposition as we wait for help to arrive

The facial expression here perhaps says she’s not overly impressed at the situation in which we find ourselves

Help Arrives:

About two and a half hours after the incident, we see a dust cloud in the north and we make out a car headed down the trail from Uspallata towards us. It’s Emilio, a local from the small town at the end of the trail and a member of the local Land Rover community. What’s amazing is that he had two hours of driving to get to us which means that he must have received the message, accepted the mission, packed his car and gotten on the road in around thirty minutes.

When he pulls up, we see that he’s driving a Land Rover Discovery I, an earlier version of my car. But we’re dismayed to observe that he doesn’t have a winch. So while we now have a good anchor point in his car, he’s unable to winch us and there’s no way to use my winch to his car in the right direction. In other circumstances, we may have been able to use a pulley block between my winch and his car but the terrain offered nothing to anchor it. And evidently it appeared my car has a handy ‘emergency feature’ disabling the battery in its while on its side so there was no way to power the winch without the engine.

Without this vital piece of equipment, there’s no option but for him to snatch the car over - which is to say attach the vehicles via a recovery rope and he drives as fast as he can to jerk it over. Emilio and I connect the vehicles – on his side to his car’s frame (he didn’t have a rear tow point) and me to the side steps (which I knew I’d probably bend but offered the greatest purchase and the best shot of turning it over).

At first he tries an oblique angle but when we see clearly that it isn’t going to work. His only option is to drive up the hill perpendicular to my car and build as much momentum up the hill as he can to pull it over. It’s tough going and after many attempts, all we manage to do is to drag the car a few feet across the ground on its doors. We can tell Emilio is reluctant to push his vehicle harder than he already is.

An earlier, and very fruitless, attempt to try to pull the car over at an angle

Emilio manoeuvring into a better position

Eventually Emilio’s vehicle is lined up perpendicular to my car and offers the best chance of righting it. The challenge is that he had to build momentum from a short run up while point up a hill in the sand

Despair:

A few more attempts and we don’t get a whole lot further. Emilio pauses and it feels like something is wrong. That feeling is confirmed when Emilio jumps out of his truck to inspect the underside of his car. As I walk up towards it to see what’s going on, I see the silhouette of his drive shaft hanging down below the car. Disaster. Not only does this mean he’s done with attempts to right my car, our ability to get down off the hill is in jeopardy. We’ve exacerbated the problem with two cars and three people in trouble.

I’m grateful to learn that he has a centre diff lock which means that he can effectively pull out the rear drive shaft and we can limp home in his car on two-wheel-drive. But then what is to become of my car?

As he positions his vehicle back onto the track and points it back down the hill towards Mendoza where we’d started that morning, he tells us that it’s the only viable way out and that he wouldn’t make the drive the other way – apparently we had the hard section ahead of us towards Uspallata.

While I’m carrying a spare drive shaft that fits his car, it’s not an operation that we can do in the desert and I doubt he’d risk it again even if we could install it. There was nothing left to do. I would pack my things back into the car and we would ride with him down to Mendoza and I would have to leave my car there overnight.

To add insult to injury, with the safety switch cutting battery power I couldn’t even close my window to the car. And the only way to lock it was the lock on the driver side pressed hard against the ground. So I had to come to terms not only leaving my upturned car in the middle of this trail for the night but to accept that if it rained, it would go straight into the cabin; and if someone came across the car, they would be free to pilfer any of the valuables they cared to from inside.

Nevertheless, at this point we were without an alternative plan and we packed up to head down the hill as the sun began to set. At least I would be able to get Cati to the airport in the morning and I could start again with a new plan to rescue my vehicle the next day. For a second time in less than two months, I considered the reality that this could be the end of my car and that her journey would end here. This was the low point.

The efforts to snatch my car out had taken its toll on Emilio’s rear driveshaft. There was nothing to do but remove it and put the car into two-wheel-drive

The sad view of my car as we prepared to jump into Emilio’s car, abandon mine and head to Mendoza for the night

A Saviour Arrives:

Literally moments before we set off down the hill in Emilio’s Disco, a car appears from below. Unlike the last time when Emilio appeared, I didn’t think much of it - in fact I was half annoyed and half embarrassed thinking that it was just another car driving the trail that day and that we’d have to apologise for blocking the way and sheepishly explain the situation.

Then as it nears, I recognise that it’s a Defender and therefore must be one of the guys from the community. It’s confirmed when I hear Emilio tell me it’s the ‘grua’ (tow truck) and was the other car dispatched to come to our aid. As it pulls up, a middle-aged Argentinian and his son hop out and immediately give everyone hugs.

First offering us water and food assuming we’d be starving and hungry, Jorge otherwise wastes no time in driving up the slope and positioning his truck to winch me over. We place rocks in front of the front wheels to stop it pulling down the hill and attach his winch cable to my chassis. Hope has returned.

Emilio and Jorge confer on the plan of attack

Emilio’s disabled car can be seen down the trail. The distance from the oil patch to the snorkel show the collective progress of the day - literally just dragging my car two feet closer to the bank. Meanwhile I prepare to take a piece of the load wi… — Emilio’s disabled car can be seen down the trail. The distance from the oil patch to the snorkel show the collective progress of the day - literally just dragging my car two feet closer to the bank. Meanwhile I prepare to take a piece of the load with the hi-lift while Jorge begins to winch from the left

Preparing to winch as Jorge’s son watches on

The moment right before the car falls gently to a rest on all four wheels

The Operation:

The initial pull isn’t a success – my car pulls towards his and then his slides a little way down the hill towards mine. Bolstering his front wheels again with some larger rocks anchors the car enough for more success the second time. And as a stroke of luck my car, dragging my car as we did across the trail would mean that when it eventually tipped back over, the high wheels would come to rest on the bank and thus spare my suspension the full trauma of falling all the way to a flat position.

The second attempt brings success. Taking some of the weight with the hi-lift jack to lift from the other side and the winch working its magic – the car slowly turned about the wheels, passed the tipping point and gently dropped onto its four wheels, leaned up against the bank. A few minutes later, we’d rolled it back in to the middle of the trail. We all exchanged huge hugs at the success. I was glad to eventually learn that Emilio had captured that moment on video. The toughest battle was over.

While Emilio and Cati shared in the water and food Jorge and his son had brought with them, I set about getting the engine to run again. I’d lost at least two litres of oil and the air box and air filter were saturated with it. But with a top up and new filter, the engine was running and with no perceptible issues; we seemed to be in the clear and just in time as dark had set in.

Celebrating: Jorge, me, Emilio (left to right)

Giving Jorge a huge hug in appreciation for saving us

The Exit:

With the car righted and running, we want to use the little remaining light to navigate the trail and the caracoles back to Mendoza. Facing the wrong way, I cautiously pull the car up onto the bank for my three-point-turn; acutely preoccupied with the potential that I may tip again and how shitty and embarrassing that would be. I sense that it will take me a while to shake the nerves about it tipping again and I resolve to sort out my high centre of gravity issue.

Pointed now in the right direction, we set off at pace in the dark, dodging the rocks that littered the way and making great time towards Mendoza. The cars follow each other in the dark and snake down the mountain. The adrenalin takes a while to wear off and I’m jittery as I follow the others. I break the silence of the reflective drive back with the occasional joke and comment about what an adventure the day has been but Cati is shaken by the whole affair and, while fine, isn’t overly talkative until we clear the dirt trails and eventually arrive at the first paved road of Mendoza.

Having reached safety and our convoy coming to a stop to part ways, I recall that I haven’t messaged the group to say that we’re safe and I instantly feel guilty for the extra hour or two of concern that I could have alleviated with a couple short messaged at the scene.

It’s only been nine hours since the car rolled but at this point it feels like days.

A fast-paced convoy back to Mendoza towards the safety of the city

The Aftermath:

The three cars eventually pull over on a main road in Mendoza and we say our goodbyes. I try to be as sincere as possible and thank the guys appropriately for what they’ve done for that day - they both saved my ass. But in English or Spanish, I feel like the words I use to express my gratitude are completely insufficient for what they’ve done and what I’d like to communicate. As we bid each other farewell, I hold onto the hugs with them longer than usual and attempt to better show my appreciation that just my words.

To Emilio, I promise that once the car is fixed, I’ll drive up to Uspallata (on the bitumen) to bring him some money for the repairs on his car. But exchanging texts over the course of the week, he tells me that the spare driveshaft I gave him did the job and apart from a bit of his own time, the repairs didn’t cost him anything.

Arriving home to the hotel is surreal. It’s 11:00pm and we’re filthy, thirsty and tired. We park and go into the hotel. The lobby, with its air conditioning and fancy hotel aromas, serves as a sensory announcement that we are home and safe.

As my phone connects to the internet, there is a flood of messages. I learn that more than 80 messages were exchanged on the Land Rover group’s dedicated emergency WhatsApp channel and a dozen people have contributed in small or large ways. I also learn that the whole of the local Land Rover club were all on standby to head out to help us – they had agreed that if no word of our safety was received by midnight then the squad would head out together to help. Thankfully we communicated the success of the rescue to them a little more than an hour before this deadline.

Emilio and Jorge are the heroes of the day and to them I’m eternally grateful. My sister Kelly, my dear friend Santiago Andrade from Ecuador and the usual suspects from the Land Rover group played their part (special mentions to Augusto – again! – and Pablo Toto of the Mendoza chapter). It’s humbling to know that these people are, and have been, here for me every time I’ve needed them and I owe them my sincere and eternal thanks. Augusto would later joke that the Land Rover group will be putting together an album of all of my rescues.

Cati flew out the next morning and was with her family shortly after. When I asked if she told her family about our adventure she simply replied “quieren matarte” (they want to kill you). But after realising it was far from a life-threatening situation they saw the lighter side and then she then only had to deal with her sister’s and cousins’ lewd (an unfounded) jokes as to what may have caused the rollover in the first place.

As for the car itself, inspecting it the next day revealed that it had pulled through rather well. It’s relatively small scratches and dings didn’t tell the full story and the panel beater was surprised at how little damage there was given the pictures I showed him of the ordeal.

In all, I would be kept a further week in Mendoza waiting for the work to be done on the car which was far from a hardship and I had plenty of work to keep me busy during that time. In all it cost less than US$500 to be functionally returned to its previous state. I chose not to repair the scratches and scuffs – they would serve as a reminder to me to be more careful in the future.

In all likelihood, the next time I have a similar incident, it will be on the African continent. If something does happen again (and let’s be honest, it will), I hope that travelling in convoy with my friends from Expedition Rove (MH and Andy) for the next phase will bring a level of self-sufficiency to rescue ourselves. And if it is beyond us, I hope that the communities of Africa are as generous and selfless as the many rescuers I’ve met in my adventures across South America.