Handbook for Explorers 8

Here there'll surely be a fresh obstacle:
A beckoning mountain face, bleak and sheer
That will leave no option but a frontal
Assault; and the need both to be there
And to have climbed it, and find a place to love
Beyond it, where beans and potatoes grow,
Such as all fucked up explorers dream of,
But which few of then will ever know.
For you there is no choice: you must move on,
Over mountains and through clouds, with just one
Consolation: everything you've known
Or possessed (when, warmed by the rising sun,
You step lightly upon your chosen track)
Is either in your head or on your back.