Information is weight that holds down and holds back like a jungle like so many vines and chutes mud and rain that keeps you struggling and straining towards that place on a map the high point that once atop promises an unambiguous view, the place that looks so close there's no need to carry a pack but nine hours later, hacking through underbrush, pulling at leeches and swatting mosquitos finds you crippled by heat cursing the map that so grossly misrepresented the relationship between yourself and the place you wished to reach, the map that never mentions, never, that should you ever achieve that keystone ridge, that high and illuminating view, you will look out to see the impeding silhouette of the next ridgeline blocking your way.