From My Soul (Desde mi alma): The Memoir of Alonso A. Abugattas Sr.

By Alonso A. Abugattas

Alonso Abugattas is more than a fanatical hunter, fisherman, shooter, and mountain climber. The author also possesses a deep, compulsive, and infectious love of the natural world. His writing evokes the pleasures of hunting, fishing, and shooting, as well as the perils of mountain climbing in the Andes during the 1960s. The stories in his book range from vivid eyewitness narratives that involve adventure, travel, personal struggle, and disregard for safety, to Peruvian history, customs, and geography, as well as discussions on ancient Inca civilization. The book is a mesmerizing blend of mountaineering adventure and high-altitude archeological exploration that describes active volcanoes, grave robbers, and Inca mummies.

The book recounts the recovery of a mystery woman, presumed dead since 1945, whose body remained undisturbed near the summit of the Misti volcano until the author, with a team of civilians and Peruvian police, discovered her remains in 1965. It was a stunning recovery that made local and national headlines, but it was just the beginning of this intriguing find that for more than fifty years has continued to haunt the author.

His vivid eyewitness accounts include a harrowing encounter of an avalanche on Ampato mountain, snow blindness on Coropuna mountain, eruption of the Ubinas Volcano, and his experience with an inexplicable phenomenon in Mauca Arequipa.

In this firsthand account, the author chronicles his excitement, obsession, anxiety, and exhilaration as he prepares for and participates in world-class shooting tournaments in Europe and South America. A riveting account documents all the famous high achievers in the shooting world that he was lucky to meet during his quest to find hunting, fishing, and shooting heaven.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098080112

Book preview

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From My Soul

(Desde Mi Alma)

The life and remembrances of an

obsessive-compulsive outdoorsman

A chaotic true story of destiny and survival

The Memoir of

Alonso A. Abugattas Sr.

ISBN 978-1-0980-8009-9 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-0980-8010-5 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-0980-8011-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2020 by Alonso A. Abugattas Sr.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American copyright conventions.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

A Note to the Reader

Introduction

Part 1–Perú

From Palestine to Perú and the World

My Father: A Tender Man for a Role Model

My Mother: Courage, Tenderness, Dedication, Sacrifice, and Devoted Nurturing

Family: My Link to the Past and Bridge to the Future

Can I Trust My Eyes? Can I Trust My Mind?

Thoughts About My Youth, Midlife, and Retirement

Arequipa, the City Where I Was Born

Hunting in Arequipa

Hunting in Puno

Mountain Climbing in Perú

The Foundation of the Club Los Cóndores

Climbing Misti with Dr. Jorge Zeballos Delgado and José Herrera

Eruption of the Ubinas Volcano

Chachani First Attempt

On the Way to Misti’s Summit via the Grau Route (South Route)

Climbing Misti During the Rainy Season

Climbing Coropuna

Climbing Misti via Chiguata with Carlos and Nico

Climbing Chachani with the Germans

Cavern of Sumbay

Avalanche on Ampato

Ubinas with Dr. Mario Rondón Palomino and the Nurses

Pichu Pichu with Dr. Roberto Reinoso

Climbing Chachani with Roger

The Cross of the Coronado—Pichu Pichu Volcano

Matalaque: Un Pueblo Olvidado (A Forgotten Village)

The Day Time Stopped for Two Hours in Mauca Arequipa

Last Pichu Pichu Climb

Ubinas Cross

El Libro del Chachani (Chachani’s Book)

Last Chachani Climb

Misti Search and Recovery

Snow Blindness on Coropuna

Amateur Bullfighter

Pilgrimage and Festival of the Virgin of Chapi

Volver a la Tierra Natal (Return to My Homeland)

Trout Fishing in Arequipa

History of the Introduction of Trout to Perú

El Valle del Colca and La Cruz del Cóndor

Part 2—The United States

Late Dove Season Challenge in Virginia

Shepherd’s Bait and Tackle—Loafers’ Assembly

US Olympic Training Center, Colorado Springs

Quail Hunting in Texas Big Country

Wing Shooting in South Texas

Fishing: An Obsessive-Compulsive Syndrome

Peacock Bass Fishing in Panama

Bass Fishing in Georgia and Florida

Raspberry Farm, Virginia—Paradise Lost

Summer Duck Wood, Paradise Found

Ben Venue Farm

High Meadow Farm

Lee Duckett’s Duck Hunting Club

The VI Championship of the Americas: Another Dream Come True

2019 European Championship of Wing Shooting

Epilogue

Appendix A—Hunters, Shooters, and Fishermen I Have Known

Dr. Harold C. Lyon Jr.

José Cedeño Bustamante

Wernher von Braun

Walt Runyon

Tuan Tran

Mauricio Kattan Shemmessian

Don Proffit

Dr. Jorge Zeballos Delgado

David Laylin

Leon Measures

Fernando Chirinos

Burl Branham

Michael Tipa

John Morelli

Dave Altman

Gustavo H. Padrón

Charlie Nichols

Dr. James Mark Battin

Allen Chubb Jr.

Ellwood Hunsberger

Robert Sedlak

Todd W. McCullough

Carlos N. Hathcock II, USMC

Yury Tsuranov

Juan Jorge Giha Yarur

Laura Revitz

Matt Dryke

Dan Carlisle

John C. Satterwhite

Ray A. Ycong Sr.

Kimberly Rhode

Appendix B—Major Shooting Modalities and Events

International Skeet (Olympic Skeet)

International Trap

Pigeon Shooting

Sporting Clays

FITASC

Helice Shooting (ZZ Bird)

Field Trials

Bolivarian Games

Pan American Games

Appendix C—The Vast Arequipa Countryside

Misti, Arequipa’s Majestic Volcano

The Very Real Threat of Volcano Misti to the City of Arequipa

History of Misti’s Cross

Missing, Lost, and Dead on Misti

Chachani’s Treasure

Avalanche on Ampato

Aguada Blanca and Salinas

Pampa Cañahuas

Cordillera de los Andes

Lost, Dead, and Missing in Colca Canyon

Mummy Discoveries

The Mejía Lagoons

Pucchun and Jahuay

Appendix D—Exceptional Arequipeños in History

Exceptional Arequipeños in History

Juan Abugattás Abugattás

Index

To my mother, with eternal gratitude, again and always.

Acknowledgments

So many people helped me complete this manuscript that I cannot begin to name them all. This story would never have been written without the input and cooperation of many friends who have lived with and encouraged my insanity over the years. Almost everyone mentioned in these pages helped, as did so many who are not mentioned. I apologize in advance to anyone I may have inadvertently left out.

My extreme gratitude goes to David McCardell Jr., my longtime friend and colleague, who has invested much time and energy in helping me get my story into its final form. David spent countless hours reading and editing the manuscript, and I am profoundly grateful for his excellent and thought-provoking suggestions. David helped me organize much of the book and turned general ideas and drafts into a cohesive narrative. David has great editorial skills, the patience of Job, the critical eye of a microsurgeon, and the disposition and kindness of a best friend. Thank you for faithfully dedicating your time and efforts to refine and polish my book over countless hours. I am honored that you lent your talents to the book. Without fail, every bit of your valuable editing, formatting, and design work made this a better book.

My heartfelt thanks goes to Dr. James Mark Battin for his enthusiasm about my manuscript in its earliest days, for his diligent efforts and energy in initially editing the manuscript, and for his warm friendship that I will always cherish.

Kenny Friend’s willingness to blend my blurry design vision with his graphic-design expertise gave us a spectacular book cover that I love. Kenny is not only a graphic-design expert; he is also a die-hard bow hunter. Kenny is the most creative person and extraordinary graphic-design artist I know. Kenny, thank you so much for dedicating your valuable time and attention to my book.

I want to thank my longtime friend, Dr. Jorge Zeballos Delgado, for his insight, counsel, and research assistance. He generously gave me virtually unlimited access to his extensive collection of films, photographs, slides, and personal notes, comprising a treasure trove of material about our adventures during the 1960s.

I am deeply grateful to Cathie McCall of McCall Photographic Designs for proficiently and patiently restoring my collection of vintage photos and slides, many of which are more than sixty years old. Her restoration prowess gave new life to my old memories that I cherish so much. I also used one of her driven pheasant hunting photos for the back cover of the book. I sincerely appreciate her excellent work. Thank you, Cathie, for using your expertise in my behalf.

Writing a book such as this is a solitary and time-consuming undertaking. I owe a special debt of gratitude to my dear sons, Alonso Jr. and Paul, who gave me their unstinting encouragement, support, guidance, and advice. They helped refresh my memory of so many forgotten details of my adventures in Perú. Because I was always working during their early years, through their teens, and beyond, I did not always spend enough quality time with them. For their unselfish love, friendship, and understanding, I adore them and could not be prouder of them and my grandson Alex.

Thank you to my wonderful parents, Juan and Anita, who sacrificed so that I might succeed. They encouraged me throughout my life with their love, wisdom, courage, and guidance. My mother is my hero for her courage and dedication. I can never repay them.

Finally, and above all, to my beloved wife, Rosa, for putting up with yet another time-consuming project and the accompanying tidal wave of books, notes, papers, photos, slides, and 8 mm film overflowing throughout the house. You are the love of my life and my very best friend.

A Note to the Reader

(Disclaimer and Warning)

Unless stated otherwise, this book was authored by Alonso Abugattas Sr. The contents of this document reflect the exclusive opinion of the author, and you, the reader, must exercise care in the use and interpretation of this information. Mountain climbing, hunting, and fishing are dangerous sports. Throughout this book, I make many references to guns and shooting sports. The shooting sports have one of the most enviable safety records of any sport, and it is important to maintain this high standard. When a new shooter is introduced to the shooting sports, the first lesson should cover safety and gun handling.

Serious accidents can happen when you go into the mountains, forests, rivers, and lakes to visit the places documented in this book. You must make your own judgment in terms of acceptable behavior and risk and should not rely on anything written in this book. I disclaim all liability and responsibility for any actions you take as a result of reading the narrations in this book.

The stories, names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this book are based on fact. The book you are about to read consists of my personal memoir, which spans my entire life to date. As such, it is inevitably subject to the failures of the human memory, which neuroscientists claim to be pathetically unreliable. Nevertheless, in reconstructing events, scenes, locations, and dialogue, I have done my best to keep everything as accurate as possible by consulting my own notes, photographs, slides, and films; talking with others who were on the scene; and, most important, relying on the research assistance of Dr. Jorge Zeballos Delgado. He gave me valuable access to his films, photographs, slides, and personal notes, which contain a treasure trove of material about our adventures during the 1960s. I have worked to produce a book that rings deeply true.

All characters and events appearing in this book are authentic. In some instances, when necessary to maintain their anonymity, I have changed the names of individuals and locations. I also have changed, in some instances, certain identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations, and places of residence. Any resemblance to other persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Much of this book was written in 2016 about wilderness areas and events that took place in Perú and Bolivia during the 1960s. Access points, roads, trails, routes, permits, regulations, land delineations, property rights, and land ownership referred to in this book may have changed since the events retold in this book occurred.

Unless otherwise noted, all photographs are from the author’s collection.

On the cover: The author (left) and Carlos Zarate Sandoval Sr. on Misti’s crater.

Introduction

I was born on Cruz Verde Street in Arequipa, Perú, on October 2, 1944. My wife, Rosa Isabel Toribio Marin, was born in Lima, Perú. I have two sons, Alonso A. Abugattas Jr. and Paul J. Abugattas; a daughter-in-law, Lucy; a grandson, Alex; a granddaughter, Sandi; two great-granddaughters, Sury and Daniela; and a great-grandson, Jace.

The author traveling to the US at the Ernesto Cortissoz International Airport in Barranquilla, Colombia, on November 27, 1965, after an unscheduled overnight stay in Colombia because of bad weather. At age twenty-one, the author immigrated to the US.

My father, Juan Abugattas Manzur, was a successful and wealthy entrepreneur, and my mother, Anita Miranda Araos, was a full-time homemaker from Sicuani, Cuzco. I have one half brother and four half sisters from my father’s side: Juan Abugattas Abugattas (deceased), Lili Susana Abugattas Abugattas (deceased), Patricia Flora Abugattas Abugattas, Irene Beatriz Abugattas Abugattas, and Milade Luz Abugattas Abugattas.

I am descended from a family of Palestinian immigrants dedicated to commerce. The Abugattas family originated in Beit Jala, one of the three districts of Belén (Bethlehem) in Palestine, and migrated to South America more than 150 years ago.

I followed in the footsteps of my great-grandparents and immigrated to the United States in December 1965. It wasn’t easy to leave Arequipa. I left with the hope that, at any time, I could return to visit the land where I was raised.

I belong to two countries that I love dearly—Perú and the US—with different cultures that shaped the person I am now. A man travels the world over in search of his dreams or needs and finally returns home to find them. Unfortunately, I will never be completely at home again because part of my heart will always be elsewhere. That is the price I pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one country.

*****

Who would have believed at the beginning of my journey how far I would travel? Who would have believed that this humble man would one day become a consultant to many major market sectors in the US and abroad? Or that I would be a key contributor to designing engineering solutions for several of the largest US government agencies, state governments, colleges and universities, domestic and international banks, and other financial institutions? I have discovered that the only impossible journey is the one you never begin.

When I come to the end of my journey and I travel the last weary mile of my life, all the material things I pursued, accumulated, protected, and cherished will be left in the hands of my immediate family to care for or discard. All the minor and major worries that robbed me of sleep each night will be gone. The great mysteries of life and death that so consumed me will be clarified in a way that was not possible while I lived. On the day I die, the few family and friends who really know me and truly love me will grieve deeply. I don’t want them to grieve for my going! I would not have my family and friends sad for a second. But on October 2 of every year, just gather some wildflowers and remember the place where I lie next to your mother. Stand for a few moments beside me, and remember my life’s accomplishments. These things will certainly all be true on the day I die.

Yes, you and I will die one day, but before that day comes, let us live to the maximum. Appreciate your loved ones and your friends while you can because none of us will be on this earth forever.

Our life is a brief flash on this wonderful planet—Pachamama (Mother Earth)—that zooms with unbelievable speed through the infinite, unknown universe. So enjoy your fleeting time here with great passion and fervor. Make it adventurous, exciting, remarkable, ethical, and beneficial to others and the environment.

Don’t let your life be stolen every second by all you’ve been led to believe matters because on the day you die, the fact is that much of it simply won’t.

You will never really be free until you free yourself from the imprisonment of your own thoughts. Don’t waste your life on work that you do not enjoy. It’s obvious that you can’t succeed in something you don’t enjoy. Patience, passion, innovation, and dedication come easily when you love what you do.

I ask my family that, when I’m gone, just forget, if you can, that I ever frowned; remember only my smile. Forget unsympathetic words I have spoken; remember the good I have done. Forget that I ever had a heartache, and remember how much I loved my family. Forget that I’ve stumbled and blundered and sometimes fell by the way. Remember that I’ve fought some hard wars and won. Remember that I had so much enjoyment in the great outdoors with my beloved father, mother, sons, and esteemed friends.

I am writing this book for a selfish reason. I want to give significance to my life by sharing with you what I have experienced and learned in my obsessive and compulsive life.

Part 1–Perú

Perú

From Palestine to Perú and the World

Between 1860 and 1880, the Abugattas family began their migration from Palestine to South America. The family’s first members arrived in Argentina, traveled to Chile, and finally settled in Perú. Mollendo was the first Peruvian city visited by the Abugattas family. They then traveled to Lima and Arequipa and, subsequently, throughout the world.

Why did we immigrate? Why does an individual, a group, or a family decide to leave the place where they were born and had lived—their space of belonging, its core—their language, traditions, and customs, and venture into an unknown world?

A proverb tries to describe the migrant’s circumstances—one who leaves his homeland and has no country yet has two, the old and the new. The aphorism actually has a second interpretation: If, on the one hand, the immigrant is enriched through access to other cultures, he also experiences a feeling of amputation and loss of sense of self. The old has been displaced; that which is new is never fully assimilated. In this sense, immigration begets trauma from numerous affective linguistic and cultural ruptures.

My family’s immigration was triggered by religious persecution and the economic problems created by the political uncertainty of the decaying Ottoman Empire.

During the immigration from 1887 to 1912, the entire Middle East, including Palestine, was under the authority of Turkey. Every Arab immigrant who came to Perú entered with a passport of the Ottoman Empire.

Because almost all the Arab pioneers who reached the shores of the Peruvian Pacific were Christians, the religious persecution in Palestine is relevant. All members of my family who immigrated to Perú were Palestinian Christians of the Eastern Orthodox rite. Arabs from Syria and Lebanon were Maronite Catholics of the Syrian rite.

Arab and Muslim are not the same. In the more general sense of the term, any person whose primary language is Arabic is an Arab. Arabic is a national cultural identity—not a religion. It is entirely different from Islam, a religion. The majority of Muslims are not Arabs and do not live in the Middle East. Arabs are members of the Semitic people of the Arabian Peninsula. An Arab can profess any religion, including Judaism.

The Arab identity is a relatively recent notion. Originally, the term was restricted to Bedouin Arabs of the Arabian Peninsula. It was not even a concept of nationality. The idea of an Arab nation not of umma appeared early in the nineteenth century. Umma is the community of believers of Islam, which includes other Asian and African peoples.

The secret of immigrant genius is having their world turned upside down. This sparks creative thinking, and new situations demand cognitive flexibility. Lost in today’s legal immigration debate is this unavoidable fact: millions of brilliant minds have blossomed on alien soil. That is especially true of Perú, Argentina, Chile, and Brazil, as well as the United States. These are nations defined by the creative zeal of the newcomer.

What is it about the act of relocating to distant shores—voluntarily or not—that sparks creative genius? When pressed to explain, we usually turn to a tidy narrative: Determined immigrants, guided only by their dreams, hungry for success, arrive on distant shores and are bolstered by a supportive family, as well as a wider network from the old country, and succeed. It is an inspiring narrative, but it is also misleading. The fierce drive might explain why immigrants succeed in their chosen fields, but it fails to explain their exceptional creativity. Many immigrants possess oblique perspectives. Uprooted from the familiar, they see the world from a different angle, and this fresh perspective enables them to surpass the merely talented.

*****

The first Abugattas family who settled in Arequipa, Perú, included Yadala Jorge Abugattas and his wife, Sofía Badawy. Their children were Jorge, Catalina, José, Maria, Graciela, Elena, Jacobo, and Carmen (the only one surviving). In Arequipa, the Abugattas family founded the locally well-known Y. Jorge Abugattas e Hijos store that was located on what is now Mercaderes Street, in front of the Sunac. For ninety-eight years, they sold clothes. The store finally closed during the national crisis of 1988.

At the same time, my grandfather, Abdalah Abugattas (cousin of Yadala), and his wife, Flora Manzur Rabaa, also settled in Arequipa. With their sons Joaquin, Jesús, Juan (my father), and Estela (all deceased), they established the Fabrica y Bazar Okey that was located in el Parque Duhanel on Piérola Street in the center of Arequipa.

My grandparents Abdala Abugattas Abuamacha and Flora Manzur Rabaa and their older children Elvira, Joaquin, Juana, and Victoria. The younger children, Juan (my father), Luz Estela, and Jesús. Estela Abugattas photo archives.

The migration of Arab immigrants to Perú was a rapid, comprehensive integration and complete assimilation with the Peruvian culture; however, it has never been incompatible with the preservation of the memory and devotion of the homeland.

The Abugattas family in Arequipa, 1937. Front row left to right: Juan, my father (Abdala’s son), Luisa Majluf (wife of Jesús), and Jesús (Abdala’s son). Back row left to right: Carlos (Elvira’s son), Luz Estela (Abdala’s daughter), and Jaime (Joaquin’s son). Estela Abugattas photo archives.

My Father: A Tender Man for a Role Model

I was fortunate to be blessed with a father who, despite a second family and a very busy career as a successful entrepreneur, always made time to take me hunting and shooting, to spend quality time with me. As I reflect on my childhood years and compare my father with the fathers of my friends and relatives, it is apparent to me now that he possessed rare qualities as a tender role model for me.

Unfortunately, my family broke up when I was four years old. My mother had to face up to the challenges of her role as a single mother. She had the gentleness, dedication, nurturing ability, and time. My father was the breadwinner. My father was always attempting to make our visits into perfect weekends. A father is the most important role model that a boy will ever have. When I contemplate that my father has been part of my existence from the moment of conception on, I realize that fatherhood is a miracle of life and a great responsibility.

My father knew that, in large part, being a successful father is simply a matter of letting kids go their own way, giving them the space to follow their own impulses—within certain boundaries dictated by considerations of safety. My father was never obsessed with making me a success. He knew that I would have my entire life to make a success of myself; he also recognized that I would be young only once.

Early on, my father instilled in me a love and respect for shotguns and gave me an appreciation for what it takes to be an ethical hunter. He taught me that doing the right thing is always the right thing to do. I know that I am the being I am today because of his wisdom and strength.

My father visiting Washington, DC, 1979.

My childhood was inspired by hunting adventures with my father in quiet ways, in past associations, full of memories of places I visited vicariously throughout my life. The guns are removed from the confines of mere firearms. They transport me to the realm of golden precious memories to be possessed for a lifetime. All my guns have sentimental value beyond mere monetary worth.

My father had several shotguns, mostly German side-by-side doubles with external hammers and various bolt-action high-power rifles, as well as one Victor Sarasqueta sidelock 20-gauge shotgun. French walnut, straight grip, and splinter fore-end. Fine, and finely done, checkering. Extensive engraving over case-hardened locks. A beautiful classic side-by-side. The Victor Sarasqueta shotgun was a pretty faithful copy of the best of the British smoothbores. Through the centuries, the Basques produced just about every firearm imaginable. Most have been copies of the inventions of others. Their shotguns are on par with Purdey, Holland & Holland, and Westley Richards. It is a pity this is not better known.

I learned the most important lessons of life from my father. My father was my guide and my light. He opened my eyes to life when I was still a child. I am glad he did, and today, after so much time has passed, I still appreciate it.

I will always remember my dear father because he was the best father in the world. His life has ended, but his legacy of wisdom, integrity, and courage will live on forever. In my heart, I will forever treasure those wonderful moments I spent with my father. I follow his wise advice every day; but most of all, I thank him for giving me the best example of life. Dear Dad, I want to thank you for everything you did for me and tell you I love you forever.

It is very hard to survive the death of a beloved father, especially when you have been very close to him. Do not let his memory be forgotten because only if we remember our fathers will they live forever. We must know how to keep their spirits alive.

I find it hard to accept that my father is gone because he was a superb father whom I loved with all my heart. I am aware that this farewell is momentary, and therefore, I ask God to provide me the strength to continue my life without him because I do not want to wallow in the sadness of not seeing him again.

My father, Arequipa, Perú, 1933. Estela Abugattas photo archives.

I have not gotten over his loss, and I doubt I ever will. I never stop missing him or recalling those beautiful moments that we lived together. I will remember my father forever and hope the time will come when we meet again and will be together forever.

My father, front row center sitting, Beit Yala, 1928. Estela Abugattas photo archives.

My Mother: Courage, Tenderness, Dedication, Sacrifice, and Devoted Nurturing

I am wealthy and extremely fortunate to have had a mother that dedicated her entire life to raise me the right way. Someone whom I could count on when in trouble and problems arose, whom I could trust to give an honest and tender reaction, rather than a tactful or polite one. Someone who accepted me not for what I had or have done, but despite what I was. I was both good and bad, both strong and weak.

Anita Miranda Araos, my dear mother.

I honestly do not know how I can adequately describe my mom with words. She had genuine precognitive and intuitive psychic abilities. She lived her life in the most positive way. She saw the good in everything and encouraged others to do the same. Her actions and the incredible example that she showed her children and grandchildren are behaviors that should be emulated by all of us. She was a true role model, a unique person who possessed qualities we should all try to embrace.

Her family and her role as mother and grandmother were most important to Mom. This is where she drew her strength and left her legacy. Being with her family was what she enjoyed most of all. Her life had many obstacles, and she struggled for twenty years with rheumatoid arthritis. Yet through it all, her love and caring for her family remained her focus, and in so many, many ways, she was able to show that love to us. This courage and perseverance through adversity is a powerful lesson for me, and I believe it is her legacy. What a wonderful lesson she gave us. Keep your priorities straight. Keep that which is most important in focus. Love and care for your family. Let them know in all the ways you can show them that you love them. Do not let adversity, setbacks, or any of the world’s distractions divert you from this most important aspect of life.

*****

Anita Miranda Araos was born in Sicuani, Cuzco, in Perú on August 15, 1922. She met my father, Juan, at age twenty-one in Arequipa. She liked him, and they started a family.

So many people in this world have it so much easier than my mom did. So many never had to face half the challenges she faced, and so they easily lose sight of what is truly important. Many of us get distracted by insignificant things in life; many of us brood and focus on our little problems and forget that which is most important. But through everything Mom endured, she managed to keep her priorities straight. What can be more important than loving and showing your love for your family? How can some of us who are blessed with so much forget to be thankful to God, while somehow Mom kept her faith through all her trials?

This is a wonderful legacy. This is a wonderful example to follow. Keep focused on what is truly important, not only when your life is easy but also when it is difficult.

Mom made a very loving home for me. She knew more than her share of tragedy, losing her brother and her mother early in her life. She subsequently lost her father when she was in her early teens. She also lost my older brother at birth. But her love for her family and her faith in God somehow gave her the strength not only to go on but to love life without bitterness and instill in me a gratitude for every day we had together.

She adored her grandchildren—my sons, Alonso Jr. and Paul—and we know that as she got sicker and sicker with her rheumatoid arthritis, one of the reasons she fought so hard was for them. She saw them all the time, and each one had a special bond and connection with her. My two sons were the light of her life, and she let me know it until the end.

My mother cared deeply for everyone she knew, whether you were her family, friend, or a member of the community. She was always willing to help anyone in need. She had the kindest heart of anyone I knew. Her house was always filled with friends and family. All our friends called her Mom because she was like a mom to everyone. Friends lived at our house—usually invited by her—and they were always treated as one of her own.

With my mother in Arlington, Virginia.

Mom was a generous, loving, supportive, and unselfish woman who always put other people ahead of herself. She was charitable, giving, considerate, and kind. She possessed great emotional intelligence. In Arequipa, we could not go anywhere without bumping into someone that she knew. As a kid, it made me crazy, but as I grew older, and I saw what a positive influence she had on so many people, it became gratifying. I have modeled my own life around this. I know that I am the person I am today because of her influence.

We miss her with all our hearts and will always cherish the times we spent together. She was always there when we needed her and was the most loving and caring wife, mother, and grandmother. She was selfless and always put others ahead of herself. She never wanted people to go out of their way for her, yet she did it all the time for others. She touched the lives of so many people, and even though she is gone, her memory will live on in all our hearts forever. Her spirit has not left us. Everyone who was ever touched by her in his or her lifetime should have faith that she will be watching over them because that is just the kind of person she was.

She has left reminders of herself everywhere. My mom was a remarkable woman, and I doubt she ever realized how many, many people she had an impact on in her lifetime. We cherish the memories we have of her, and honor her memory by doing good things for others. This is how she lived her life, and there is no better way of honoring her than by following her example.

I wish that we’d had more time, and perhaps that during the time we did have, we had spent more of it together. I wish that so much of her life had not been lost to her illness, that things could have been different for her and for me. Although I know that she is at peace and that her struggles are at an end, there is ongoing pain and sadness. But even though she is gone, she has left the legacy of her love, courage, and perseverance. The ways she touched our lives will remain, and I ask my two sons to keep those memories alive by sharing them with one another and with my grandson Alex.

As I write this, tears come to my eyes when I contrast my attitude toward dying with the one I experienced at my mother’s deathbed in an Arlington, Virginia, hospital. I arrived, urgently summoned from my work, during her final hours. Unfortunately, when I arrived, I had already missed forever the opportunity of telling her how much she really meant to me as my mother, how much her presence meant to me as a child when my father was away with his second family, how much I loved her. I involuntarily deprived myself and her of these tender feelings and meanings. At the time, a wise old nurse who had a great deal of experience with life and death told me to allow my grief to surface, which it immediately did. From that surrendering, I found the strength to carry me through the loss of my mother.

Losing your parents gives you a new appreciation for them. My mother taught me to hug my father when saying goodbye instead of merely shaking his hand.

Family: My Link to the Past and Bridge to the Future

I have such a huge family that I cannot begin to name them all in this book.¹ I sincerely apologize to any extended family members who do not appear in this book and who feel left out.

Family history inevitably bears scars from some of the unpleasant times, and family history holds cherished memories of many joys and good times. Though our family relationships may encounter peaks and valleys, family represents a steady river of strength that runs through it all the time—a holy sanctuary to which all the family can return and from which they can draw a real and continuous nourishment for their souls. From that place, they can venture into the forest to explore exciting new trails. Yet they can always hear the river flowing, and they know they are never very far from it.

Family tradition is a way of keeping our family history alive as we go back and remember those unique moments and give them renewed life. In time, they become rituals. It is an incomparable sensation to feel the sanctuary of our family history again, celebrating annual holidays together, perhaps spending the opening day of the hunting or fishing season together, or observing family traditions during birthdays and other anniversaries.

We greatly enjoy shooting sporting clay tournaments together for charity. Now that I think about it, shooting, hunting, and fishing are probably the only forms of human activity that I have taken seriously until now. Hunting, shooting, and fishing are powerful experiences that can rejuvenate the soul and strengthen relationships. We all have profoundly different ways of doing things. For me, at this point in my life, experiencing the distant honks of wild geese migrating through the clear night has become a very important part of my annual rituals. Returning to the mountains, lakes, and rivers of Perú, where I spent all my childhood and where roots still exist for me, has been a powerful anchor in an otherwise turbulent life.

The Abugattas family. From left: the author’s mother, Alonso Jr., the author’s wife, and the author. Washington, DC, in 1968.

Sharing family traditions with my core family is a very tender and special experience for me. The family creates one of the strongest bonds humankind can know. Every crisis faced together makes the family stronger, and my family is my link to my past and a bridge to my future. According to well-known novelist Mario Puzo, the strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other. There is another kind of strong bond which men and women can enjoy beyond the primary brotherhood of sharing the same mother and father. It is the fraternal feeling that we can experience with our fellow men. These bonds have existed for centuries. Soldiers in combat have known of this unusual camaraderie which only those who have been in the arena together can share. Those who compete in any arena know this particular feeling of closeness which can develop, even between competitors. When you are pushing your body in life-and-death situations while mountain climbing, you form a closeness with your fellow climbers that is hard to share with your spouse or girlfriend.

The Abugattas family. From left: Paul, the author, Rosa, and Alonso Jr. in Springfield, Virginia, in the 1990s.

I was incredibly fortunate to meet my future wife Rosa in Washington, DC, in December 1965. No healthy single twenty-one-year-old man with a pulse is capable of meeting an attractive single woman without immediately sizing her up as a potential mate. The next thing I knew, we were married on July 14, 1967. Since that day, she has given me her unstinting support to my hunting, fishing, and shooting compulsions. She has provided me with continuous support and encouragement for more than fifty years, including helping me fulfill my dream of writing this book.

My wife Rosa is an amazingly strong, resilient, compassionate, beautiful, loving, dedicated wife and mother. She raised our two terrific sons while working full time and volunteering for needy children and unfortunate immigrants. She has had an amazing way of multitasking with her maternal responsibilities, family duties, and her avid support for charitable causes and volunteerism. She is a devoted Catholic who cherishes her faith. She relishes being around her family and the happiness it brings her. For her unselfish love and dedication, I adore her and could not be prouder of my dear sons, Alonso Jr. and Paul, and my grandson Alex.

The author’s wife and Alonso Jr.

The author and his wife Rosa in Washington, DC, in 1966.

Can I Trust My Eyes? Can I Trust My Mind?

When I was seven or eight years old, I lived with my mother in a big old house next door to the Colegio Salesiano on San Pedro Street in Arequipa. Behind the house were several large cultivated fields with numerous fruit trees. My father and mother occasionally hunted doves in those fields and fruit trees. There was a big patio leading to the street entrance and a water fountain nearby.

I vividly remember returning home with my mother and one of her friends from the movies one day. We had watched an old black-and-white Johnny Weissmuller Jungle Jim movie. It was probably after 10:00

pm

when my mother was saying goodbye to her friend by the door leading to the big patio when I saw something unexpected. I saw what appeared to be the figure of a priest wearing a Franciscan robe with a hood, moving from the water fountain across toward the right side of the patio. I immediately called this to my mother’s attention, but it happened so fast that neither my mother nor her friend saw anything. The figure had already traveled out of the line of sight, moving away and quickly disappearing in the darkness. The sighting was almost too strange to process.

Could I trust my eyes? Could I trust my mind?

Thoughts About My Youth, Midlife, and Retirement

My first job was working for Salvador Tajmani. Salvador was a Palestinian from the same town as my father’s family, Beit Jala, in one of the three districts of Belén (Bethlehem) in Palestine. Salvador immigrated to Perú with my grandfather, Abdalah Abugattas. Through my father’s influence and recommendation, I was hired as the general manager of his shirt factory, which manufactured the famous Alwatan and Arrow shirts in Arequipa. Until that time, all I had ever done was hunt, fish, shoot, and climb mountains. When hunting or fishing opportunities came with my friends of the Oficina Departamental de Caminos or other similar opportunities, I always conveniently came down sick.

That trend actually started when I was going to high school. Sure, I should have been in school, but I learned more on those days than did my friends who went to class. Guilt was not along for the ride during my adventurous trips. There are few things in life that rival fleeing up the road to the altiplano (high plateau) with a shotgun, rifle, fishing rod, or ice pick toward the promise of adventure, game, or fish in the company of friends. Unlike most of mankind, on those days, I never let the necessity of making a living interfere with the pure luxury of living. I was lucky enough to be AWOL from my daily life during my adventures, adrift in a world with much more claim to reality.

I rejected the insidious pressures of society that would blunt my critical faculties to all that was happening around me. I felt the heartbeat of the mountains and nature, and I was completely alive in those moments, completely oblivious to the rat race.

What compels a man to be an adventurer? To risk his life to push his own limits? All I ever wanted to do was hunt, fish, shoot, and climb mountains. Mother Nature was my favorite teacher. I loved that nature does not care what your job is, how much money you make, what your gender is; I loved the freedom from all that. Being on the mountain was a peaceful place for me, so I kept chasing that feeling.

When I immigrated to the US in December 1965, my lifestyle completely changed to that of countless other people who are oblivious to the very nature of it—to the degree that, even when called upon, vehemently deny it. The lifestyle of long work hours, endless business travel, unpaid overtime, time spent commuting, no vacations, and little time for family and friends. Before you know where you are, you become a fully paid member of the rat pack. This is how it starts. It demands silence in the face of injustice lest you jeopardize your chances of career advancement or promotion.

At crucial moments, however, my mind drifts back to the pleasant, the familiar. I recall the smell of an empty shotgun shell, the joy of hunting with my dog, or the wonder of hearing the high, distant honks of geese migrating through the clear night.

It entails the loss of your dignity and human spirit. Of most concern, say cardiologists, is the chronic stress that taxes the body over time, rather than only during episodes of short-term stress. The price is too high. Many believe that stressful jobs have led to an unhappier population, unable to enjoy the benefits of economic prosperity and a higher standard of living.

During my long career, my early jobs and work assignments allowed a more harmonious work-life balance, and I loved all my jobs. I was very successful with Salvador Tajmani, Central Charge Service, the Riggs National Bank, and Pitney Bowes Management Services. At Pitney Bowes Management Services, I was a solutions design architect/consultant working in the US and Canada. On March 26, 1996, in Kapalua, Hawaii, I received the Pitney Bowes President’s Award for Outstanding Achievement. I am living proof that nothing can stop you. You can struggle and still accomplish anything you want.

However, the last three to four years of my career were very tough. When Pitney Bowes Management Services was acquired by a global venture capital firm in 2013, what was formerly an innovative and socially responsible company became another owner-driven enterprise focused only on profit. Before long, I found my work depressing and exhausting, and I strongly disagreed with the conduct of senior management. Finally, I decided that I needed to reclaim my life again.

My doctor suggested a new approach. He said, You’ve got to get rid of some things you’re doing that are anxiety-producing situations. To drive home the point, he added, You need to understand the effect of chronic stress on your body as your life is continuously crammed with more and more obligations.

For me, the great outdoors was the ultimate dream. It took almost a lifetime to get the time and freedom to really enjoy it, but I never forgot the dream. My path was not a straight one, but because I had the vision, I eventually got there. The real learning came in the journey, not in reaching the goal. It is extremely healthy to do work that you love. Wild is the wonder in nature that fires my curiosity. I seek, learn, value, and strive to protect its enduring inspiration. Of course, there are many things that are more important in the larger picture, including parents, spouses, children, and health. It is all about priorities and perspective, I suppose.

Now, I am a lucky man. When I am not hunting, fishing, or reloading ammo, I am shooting. Shooting has been my lifelong passion. I still feel the same sense of anticipation and excitement entering a competition, going hunting, or fishing today as I did more than sixty years ago. By no means am I a top gun at the tender age of seventy-five; I am a shooter just out to have fun. All this luck—after a very long, productive, and stressful life in the corporate world! Since my retirement on the last business day of May 2015, I have totally changed my lifestyle to reduce the unbearable stress of my last job. We are not always in a position to choose, but if possible, avoid people who make your work life stressful. I am greatly humbled by and thankful for the many blessings that have been bestowed on my family and me.

I know that my longevity will be greatly affected by my ability to do what I love during my retirement. I love hunting, fishing, and shooting so much I do it often. For as long as I can, I will continue doing what I love.

Nowadays, we live in an age when sophisticated machinery and office equipment have removed much of the need to demonstrate mental agility and manual dexterity. So it is perhaps not surprising that people should turn to activities like clay pigeon shooting in ever-growing numbers to create and satisfy personal challenges lost or stifled in workaday routine and sedentary leisure time.

Hardcore fishermen will probably disagree and say that there is no finer thrill than watching a salmon or trout rise to a fly of their own making, but to my mind, the sight of a clay pigeon being broken into little pieces through individual skill is just as satisfying and rewarding. It is also infectious and extremely addictive.

My passion for shooting, hunting, and fishing has taken me all over, being limited only by my budget and time. It has offered me more fantastic experiences and long-lasting friendships than I could ever have dreamed of. Hunting, fishing, and shooting provide something in common with people in all walks of life and economic levels. One is always meeting extraordinary characters and making new friends for life.

Today, in the US, there is a very strong antigun sentiment that is driven primarily by the left and by the mainstream press. In taking a controversial progun position, one is bound to run into foolish criticism. Though I no longer feel it is necessary to satisfy or be accepted by everyone, neither do I have to wage war against those who differ with my progun views. There will always be foolish gun critics or antigun enemies as long as we are making progress with the National Rifle Association of America (NRA). I must learn to coexist with those I may not agree with. There are going to be setbacks. This is going to be a long campaign.

Today’s America has the greatest litigious culture in the history of the world. Gun owners face widespread bias and misunderstanding. If you are going to carry a firearm in self-defense, you have no choice but to purchase the most comprehensive insurance coverage you can. Because even if you do everything right, even if the police clear your name, and even if no charges are ever filed in criminal court, you still risk being dragged through a civil lawsuit that will cost you substantial time and money, even if you win.

*****

I categorize the regulation of guns in Perú during the 1950s and ’60s as very restrictive. In Perú, the right to own a gun was not guaranteed by law. Only licensed gun owners could lawfully acquire, possess, or transfer a firearm or ammunition. Applicants for a gun owner’s license in Perú were required to establish a genuine reason to possess a firearm, such as personal defense