Text and Art by Kamelo Onate (from Spain)

I see how the wind sweeps the line of the hill, and where she appears - my partner.

She comes crouched, whipped by the wind, wind that unbalances her, slaps her with drops of crystallized snow all over her face. She staggers. I don't hear what she says, she doesn't hear me either. I can only wait for her to approach.

​I make a rectangle with the fingers of my gloved hands and I frame that image of her approaching, with zombie step, staggering, and... I want to draw it! I want to draw that wind, the sound of blowing gusts that lift chunks of ice that stick like tiny projectiles, that unnatural posture enduring the thrust of nature that tries to reject her from his domains.

I take a picture. As my friend Tontxu says: “Wow shit photos! All out of focus, bad composition...”

But mine are not photos, they are sketches. Sketches to keep me with details that give me something to paint!

I've spent the whole summer drawing different lines. Drawing water, water like a beast! All summer practicing canyoneering, another of my great weaknesses. I like to draw the chaos that is the water moving in a great waterfall, the water draining through the helmet and the face of the people, dripping from the material hung from the harness, the postures fighting against the white foam currents, the brutal noise of the water, the spray of the waterfall. I want to immortalize it all in drawings - all those moments lived. 

Those places are there for us to see, but if you don't explore them, if you don't go looking for them, they go unnoticed by most mortals.

Autumn is coming and my mind and body feel a change in the face of the impending winter. It is a change that, without realizing, becomes a metamorphosis that adjusts my goals, places, environment, materials...more training is needed.
 

I hang the neoprene and take out the ice axes, skis, warm clothes...different drawings. Other lights, other lines, water, but in a solid state, other sensations, because what I like is to suffer, to feel, and to draw.  I draw the breath of suffering, the cold, the whisper of the wind, the sound of the axe sticking in the ice, all that gives life to the drawing - and to me.

 Without realizing it, with a natural routine, we are already traveling in the van again.

She, as always, comes with me - my companion, the one who lets herself be dragged (and sometimes she drags me) to unexpected projects. She understands suffering in the mountains and the one that slows me down when things get ugly. She is the one that gives meaning to my life. 

Without realizing it, we are fighting again against ourselves, trying not to succumb to the temptation to turn around back to the warmth and comfort of the small town.

We arrive at the base of the small corridor with the skis shod, the last stiff stretch.
 
We prepare ourselves, we remove the skis and we tie them to the backpack. We look at each other and, all in order, we go up. I go forward opening a mark, she on my footsteps. The snow is very good, allowing part of the boot to enter each kick, and giving good security at each step and...I want to draw it. It's cold, very cold, and...I want to draw it. I want to draw the cold exhaled breath when, the clink of the material.

I keep an eye on her and in every safe place I stop I see images. I take a photo, bad, out of focus, with bad composition, but it suits me, I know it's a sketch, then I will draw it as I please!

We reach the top. I see it coming - the wind punishes us again with another gust, which attacks us directly in the face. The sun shines from behind, making each particle of raised ice shine like tiny stars.

We clash our hands when we reach the top - a relaxed moment, finished, yes finished.  It remains to descend. In the background are soft, white lines, the exit of the corridor through which we have to descend. They are 45º that start from the same top.

The reward comes for our skis. The first turns out are shy, measuring the snow, the grip of the songs and...I want to draw it, that tension, those wakes left by the skis when cutting the snow, the sound of the skis. Everything goes perfect. We are already below. We have to ski those soft, easy, white and beautiful lines... very beautiful in the vastness of whiteness, subjugating lines, relaxing, and...I want to draw them too.

We hug when we get to the van. Already in the heat of our shelter, we comment on the sensations, excited - I more than she, I am sure. She looks me in the face and without saying anything else, realizes I have another enbarcada happening! But if not, life does not make sense. I have to feel that I am alive, that we are something on this immense planet.

We arrived home tired and satisfied. While we think of another goal, a few days go by then it begins, I start drawing, hot drawing, before the special moments fade. ​​

Follow Karmelo at:
​Instagram: @karmeloonate
​Facebook: @basobaltz