More on Mr. Brown from Wikipedia:

Brown is widely regarded as the outstanding pioneering English rock climber of the 1950s and early 1960s. He established an unprecedented number of classic new routes (especially in Snowdonia and the Peak District); that were at the leading edge of the hardest grades. Examples on Dinas Cromlech in the Llanberis Pass include “Cenotaph Corner” (1952, E1, with Doug Belshaw) and “Cemetery Gates” (1951, E1, with Don Whillans). As well as creating pioneering routes, he often helped create new types of “protection” to improve safety on climbs, and is acknowledged to have created some of the first “nuts” by drilling the thread out of nuts and threading the centre with a sling. So famous was he that the Post Office would often deliver letters simply addressed to “The Human Fly, UK”.

In this context, Brown’s mountaineering achievements in the Alps and Himalaya have often been overlooked: he made many significant ascents in the Alps in the 1950s with Don Whillans and other members of the Rock and Ice climbing club and, in 1955, the first ascent of the third highest mountain in the world, Kangchenjunga in the Nepalese Himalaya, with George Band. In 1956 he made the first ascent of the west summit of the Mustagh Tower in the Karakoram with Ian McNaught-Davis. The other members of the team, John Hartog and Tom Patey, reaching the main summit the next day.

Apart from his numerous classic rock climbs in Britain, and his considerable mountaineering achievements abroad, Joe is remembered for televised rock climbs in the 1960s, three in Snowdonia, and then, in 1967, of a spectacular new route on the Old Man of Hoy, a Scottish sea stack, with luminaries of the climbing world Ian McNaught-Davis and Sir Chris Bonington. Fifteen years later Brown repeated the climb on the Old Man on a popular TV documentary with his second daughter Zoe. Her bubbly personality led her to being chosen as a presenter on the children’s TV show Tiswas.

A really impressive video for an impressive first 14er summit:

Blanca Peak is the fourth highest summit in Colorado and highest in the Sangre de Cristo Range. It is most easily accessed via Lake Como trail, a.k.a. the “Trail of Tears” by the King family. Most of this video was shot in September of 2009, though there are shots of Blanca’s east face from the Huerfano River side shot in June of that year and a nice time lapse shot from companion peak Little Bear in 2007. This was brother Matt’s first 14er summit; a worthy accomplishment coming from Lincoln, NE. Look for very cool time lapse of Little Bear as seen from Blanca.

There’s more on Blanca over at 14ers.com.

If you’ve climbed a mountain or skied the backcountry you’re probably familiar with Fitz Cahall’s body of work. If not, take a few minutes to check out an episode of The Season and listen to a segment of his incredibly popular podcast The Dirtbag Diaries before reading through this interview. Do that and you’ll discover one of the most eloquent voices in outdoor media.

Your stories capture the essence of outdoor life because they’re created with an insider’s perspective. You’re able to bypass a lot of the well worn formats, the climbing epic or ski film for example, and say more about the subject’s motivation. So what’s your motivation? Are you more interested in speaking to a core audience (fellow athletes) or is there a desire to reach beyond the outdoor sports community?

It’s funny. I think Mark Twight said in “extreme alpinism” that there are two types of minds attracted to climbing and adventure. The first is the engineer’s mind. Calculated. Detail oriented. Efficient. The other is the artistic minds who come at climbing with a playful, creative, sometimes unprepared approach. I’ve always been the latter — for better or for worse the same is true in my storytelling. I sometimes struggle to read blow by blow by blow by blow — you get the point — accounts of climbing. The jargon, the minute details, I always found myself skimming them — they just never really lived up to how it actually felt to do the sport. But climbing writing by people like John Long, John Krakauer, my friend Kelly Cordes, Mark Jenkins it just leapt off the page for me because it was about people, about where they came from and where they were headed. The climbs were just vehicles for conveying those stories. So right from the start I avoided trip report style stories. I avoided the blow by blow. That said, I don’t ever want to have to explain “How they got the rope up there” in my writing, so I used simple jargon sparingly so a climber could understand what was happening, but my grandmother wouldn’t get lost in a story like “Help Wanted” about the climbers Disneyland employed to scale the Matterhorn roller coaster. I feel like I aim for a middle ground. I wanted a skier to appreciate and understand the overlap in climbing and vice versa. Our sports share so many emotions and lessons.

Tell us about your new project. How has The Season been received?

The Season is a 22-episode web TV project that follows five athletes (a rock climber, mountain biker, kayaker, snowboarder, boulderer) through a course of a single season in the northwest. Some of them are pros. Some aren’t, but all of them have captivating stories. It premieres on www.arcteryx.com and then people can download it from iTunes via our site www.theseasontv.com. We put majority of our money into our production and story design, so that it looked and felt unique. We stuck to our backyard — the Pacific Northwest. To give a sense of the story lines, our rock climber Matt Maddaloni designed a new piece of gear from scratch. He wants to climb this incredibly scary-looking, expanding flake on Squamish’s The Chief. The flake flexes so much that cams pop out. He could bolt it, but instead he decided to create a piece of gear called the anticam which pinches the flake. Hard to explain with words. So we followed him through that process from the engineering on his computer, to the building, to the testing, etc.

In terms of reception, we’ve had an enormous positive response. I wasn’t sure how it would do. I was proud of it, but it’s not like printing a magazine where you make a certain number of copies. You kind of just have to wait and see how many people start downloading and blogging about it. It’s done well in that regard. That said, I think people who want to see Chris Sharma work on a 5.15 are going to be disappointed. There is some amazing world class footage, but Bryan Smith, my co-creator and I give equal if not greater respect to story. There’s going to be talking in it….it’s not straight adventure sport porn. So just be warned. If all you want is climbing, this might not be the series for you. Fortunately, it’s free.

Music plays a significant role in your projects. You feature a lot of indie artists. How did you find them initially? Are they seeking you out now that your projects have so much visibility?

It’s a little of both. I’m really fortunate to work with a group that helps promote independent music acts and labels so I get a lot of music through them. Some people I know, or know through friends of friends. A few contact me. The music makes the show. I’d wanted to use just northwest music on The Season, but I didn’t have time to rally that.

Have you considered taking your storytelling on the road, along with a few bands, for live events?

That would be sick, but as of right now there are no plans for that. I’ve been working so hard lately, that I’m pretty excited just to be able to enjoy the upcoming climbing/biking season here in the northwest because I kind of missed out last year. That would be awesome, and there has been talk of creating a multimedia show; it’s just way on the back burner.

Is storytelling becoming more important than the adventure at this stage or has it always been primary for you?

Good question. One I’ve been grappling with recently. The last few years I’ve really had to put a lot of energy into my creative exploits — it’s the predicament of every small business owner. I missed going to Yosemite for the first time in a while last year. That said there is a time and place for everything and I’ve loved seeing the Diaries blossom and the Season come to life. Bryan has become a close friend in the process. My brother does our design work so it’s awesome to collaborate with him, so there are a lot of pluses. It is tough though — something a lot of go through. The other day I went out Index my local crag and got stomped on a route that I used to have wired. I was whipping every where on tiny wires and old pitons. I got frustrated and then I remembered that climbing is hard. That’s why I do it — to be pushed and to step up to that challenge. I love alpine rock routes — it can be intimidating to do that kind of thing out of shape especially after you used to be efficient, but I try to remember that I may just have to try hard, dig deep. I’d rather go and fall all over than not go. If I approach it like that it doesn’t take too many beat downs to get back to the point where it just feels like having fun.

That will always be a balance for me. If I’m climbing too much, I’m not writing, but also if I don’t climb, if I don’t maintain my relationship with the natural world, I won’t have anything to write about.

You often profile otherwise average people who find themselves driven, sometimes unexpectedly, to pursue adventure, risk, and extreme athletic performance. What common threads are emerging as you tell these stories?

Hmm…I would say that what I take away from the stories I encounter is — Don’t be afraid to surprise yourself. Whether that is in life or in climbing/adventure. Here’s a great non-climbing example. My good friend went to the dentist the other day. It was St. Patrick’s’ day. He was sick. No one likes going to the dentist. Going there sick is worse. He gets there and there are two cute girls working at the desk. They start chatting him up. My friend tends to be grumpy. They invite him out for the office party. He says no. He goes in. The hygienist asks him to come out. He tells her no. His dentists invites him to the party. He’s sitting there thinking “I’m sick. I’m tired. I’ll I want to do is go home, lie on the couch and watch T.V. but all these people keep asking me to go out.” So he decided to just go. He met this incredible, beautiful cool woman there. They’ve seen each other almost everyday since. Sometimes, you just have to surprise yourself, to step outside you comfort zone. We all struggle with this, but we are all capable of success. Sometimes, it’s just a simple as realizing that work, or sleep, or rest or comforts — they don’t make the world spin. If you go with out them for a bit, if you step outside of what feels normal, good things often come of that.

You appear to be making a living while not making mass market content (that’s a compliment). Are these vehicles viable from a financial perspective?

Yep. I won’t ever get rich doing this but I’m also able to pay my rent, drink beer, put gas in the car, pay for my health insurance (ouch) and save and donate a little money here and there. But it’s what I love and it makes me happy. And at this stage in my career I can’t really think of anything else I would want to do. I often get to do cool stuff for work, love the community I work with, get paid to think and am continually pushed.

So where is your storytelling career headed? Any plans to explore different media? Films? Novels? Games?

I think all those things are on the table, except the games. I hadn’t thought of that. Hmm…

You can also follow Fitz on Twitter @DirtBagDiaries.

Reinhold Messner is probably the greatest climber ever – definitely one of the toughest. It’s a must watch if you wonder why accomplished climbers do what they do.

Found over at Alan’s blog.

Climbers know what each day is like. They share the cold, the hunger, the pain in their lungs; and their hearts with teammates. They know the unknown.

Back home, the unknown is a mystery. Days go by with no information. No news is good news, they were told. But no news creates demons.

Then the phone rings, the computer beeps and all is well. Contact again. Smiles, a laugh, a tear of happiness. The team is together, focused on one goal.

A moment of clarity. The unknown is known. A deep breath. Then the silence returns as the connection ends.

As climbers we owe those who support us “back home” a great deal of gratitude.

Most know Washington state attorney Sara Lingafelter as “TheClimberGirl” or “Rock Climber Girl” – a prolific climbing blogger and key member of the Twitter climbing community. Her launch of the Twitter Climbers Wiki introduced dozens of Twitter climbers to each other and inspired at least one developer to start work on a very sophisticated Twitter climbing community site. Thankfully, she had enough time in her busy schedule to answer a few questions about climbing, technology, and her professional life. – John

Give us a brief overview of your climbing history. How long have you been at it?

I’m celebrating my fourth anniversary as a climber. I first set foot in the gym just after Christmas, 2004. Before that, I was a non-athlete. I sucked at competitive sports in high school, but always liked dancing, so resumed ballet classes when I was in college. Between college and climbing I had a brief stint as a distance road cyclist, but otherwise was relatively sedentary.

Do you remember what first sparked your interest in climbing?

The true credit goes to my bad-ass girlfriend Amy Moorhead. She took up climbing about a year and a half before I did. I’d never seen her so passionate and enthusiastic about anything, in the many years I’d known her. She is, truly, bad ass. I was terrified of heights, and swore I’d never set foot in that gym, despite her fun stories. That resolve held until my then-husband took up indoor climbing to rehabilitate a knee injury — he kept coming back from climbing so happy, enthusiastic, and energized. He got me a gift certificate for an introductory class for Christmas that year, and I was pissed! My response was “I’ll show you — I’m going to take the class, and I’ll HATE it the whole time!”

Famous last words. I was hooked from the moment I touched that first hold, despite my sometimes paralyzing fear of heights.

Once you decided to climb how did you turn it into reality? Did you take formal classes, sign up at gym, or have climbing friends who gave you the initial lessons?

I started out by taking the intro class at my local climbing gym. I fell instantly in love with the movement involved with working my way up the wall — it was like dancing, but better. I milked my two-week post-class membership, took my belay test, and then started climbing regularly.

I have done some training since — a lead climbing class at my gym; a two-day traditional gear and crack climbing clinic by the gym’s outdoor program; and we used to have an awesome women’s’ program at our gym — and I read a lot about climbing. But aside from those basics, the vast majority of my learning has come from the people I’m blessed to spend my climbing time with. I have a great core group of climbing partners who I’ve been privileged to travel the Western United States with over the last four years, climbing with, and learning from.

You’ve written that at times you “envy people for whom climbing can be an occasional activity… folks who can harness up a few times a year, and have fun climbing, without having climbing take over the rest of their lives… without making career and other sacrifices in order to indulge the climbing life.” Is this still true or have you embraced the fact that climbing is such a large part of your life?

It’s true, and not true. It’s hard to really describe. Either climbing has changed me, at a cellular level – or, climbing has brought me out in a way that I didn’t see coming – I don’t know which. Friends who haven’t seen me for a few years are a bit baffled by “the new Sara,” but most people who spend any time with me are enthusiastic about and supportive of this evolution. The part I envy is the relative ease of conventional living… existence is relatively calm and straightforward when you live in a house, work a regular day job, and spend your free time watching movies. There’s nothing easy or conventional about how I live now, but for me, my life now is much more full and happy than it has been in the past.

Steph Davis talks about making “fundamental life decisions impetuously, based on what feels right inside, and … never look[ing] back.” Before climbing, I was on the moving sidewalk. My life and decisions looked very “normal.” I spent all of my time and energy in a socially-acceptable caretaker mode, very much tuned to the needs and happiness of the people around me, with very little attention paid to myself. Since becoming a climber, I’ve become acutely tuned to myself – and although that’s made life much more complicated than it used to be, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I feel now like I make decisions at a cellular level – I don’t second guess myself, because I now have an unflappable trust of my own instincts. I definitely credit the strength, toughness, and experience I’ve gained from climbing with those changes.

So, yes – I’ve embraced the fact that climbing is a huge part of my life, and it’s one of the currents that moves me along. But, life would be a lot simpler, with a lot fewer difficult decisions, if I could crawl back into the “old Sara” sometimes!

How do you define climbing success?

I am firmly in the camp that the best climber is the one having the most fun. My first few years of climbing had some high points, but they weren’t my happiest years. I got frustrated and scared (terrified, really – sometimes to the point of hyperventilating on route) easily, I was still figuring out what it meant to be a climbing partner, and not all of my companions were happy, positive, encouraging partners.

The last year has definitely been the highlight so far… I’ve really come into my own as a climber, and have refined what to look for in climbing partners. I have had some tough and/or frustrating days in the last year, but I bounce back quickly (after ten minutes of deep breathing or a snack, instead of after days or weeks like it used to be). When I think about the 2008 climbing season, all I think of are funny stories, successes, laughter, beautiful places and routes, and fun. That’s unlike years past, where I remember a lot of scary and/or unhappy times.

Do you have any major climbing goals for 2009 or beyond?

My major climbing goals for 2009 are to do my best to remain uninjured, to surround myself with positive, fun climbing partners, and to climb every chance I get. Specific goals are to spend more time in Squamish, BC and really get my gear mojo on – I’ve done a bit of gear climbing elsewhere, but Squamish is the place I’ve had the most fun gear climbing. I’d like 2009 to be the year of getting competent at gear leading since my last two seasons of gear leading have definitely left something to be desired. I’d also like to get more solid leading sport 5.10s – 10s should be no problem for me given my fitness, strength and skill at this point, but mentally I still have work to do. It would be a real accomplishment for me if I got to a point of feeling confident and having fun leading 5.10 sport routes this year.

Do you have any interest in branching out into other climbing styles?

Yes. I still have yet to develop the power and strength to get off the ground bouldering, although I’m anticipating really hitting the boulders in 2009 after this winter’s training. I also got a baby taste of the alpine existence doing Eichorns Pinnacle in Tuolumne this summer – my overall fitness is finally where it needs to be for me to do the longer approaches necessary for some of the real classic technical routes. Finally – I still haven’t tried ice climbing. Despite much encouragement and many invitations, I’m not going to make it to Ourey this year – perhaps that’s a possibility for 2010.

Let’s move on to technology. I know that we share a common interest in building the online climbing community. You’ve been very active on Twitter and created the Twitter Climbers Wiki. How has this impacted your connection to the climbing community?

To set the stage for my answer… earlier this year, I found myself leaving work on a Friday with everything I needed for a weekend of climbing and camping in my car, and one by one my planned partners became unavailable. I changed plans, picked a new destination where I knew I’d be able to “happen upon” other climbers, and set out by myself. It was a real turning point for me. Until then, I’d always had trusted, known, more experienced climbing partners to guide me. It didn’t dawn on me that it may not always be like that. My desire to climb outweighed my shyness, and I very quickly got used to the idea of making new climbing friends everywhere I go.

My climbing partners all tease me about the fact that I introduce myself to every climber I meet…But, talking to other climbers, hearing their stories, sharing what I’ve learned and learning from others, has been a blessing. I love the idea that now I have friends, or friends of friends, in just about any climbing area in the U.S. (and some, abroad).

Where do you see the technology and related community heading in the next year or two?

That’s a tough one. I think we’re a small enough demographic as techie climbers, that I don’t see any huge commercial investment in climbing community technology. I think that we’ll see an evolution of the ideas we’re all talking about now — Tom’s (Tom Markiewicz) on the right track with his ThinkClimbing project.

I’d have to give some thought to why I lean toward and see more potential in the Twitter climbing community over other sites (like rockclimbing.com) — I don’t have an instant answer for that. I do occasionally read and participate in the rockclimbing.com forums, summitpost.org forums, and more regularly participate at cascadeclimbers.com — but I’ve met more folks who have turned into real life friends through Twitter, so far.

Have you considered using some of these tools to document your climbs in real-time or would you find it all too obtrusive and complicated? Will we see you tweeting from a wall or summit one of these days?

I work a part time job, I own a small business, I operate a number of side projects that are technology-dependent, and I also have a bunch of volunteer projects that involve technology. My Blackberry generally gets turned off when I arrive at a climbing destination, then turned back on when I get about half-way home. Climbing trips are the one time I really try to get away from work, and part of that, is having the Blackberry off. I really love writing reflective trip reports after the fact. A phone/camera company sent me a wireless device to participate in a couple-month “document your adventures” program and the thing never left the top of my pack. Real-time tool use isn’t complicated, but it’s a distraction I rarely engage in.

That’s not to say it never happens… you’ll see an occasional tweet or cell phone pic from me on some climbing days!

Photo © Shawn Campbell

You’ve done some pro bono work as a lawyer for the climbing community. Do you see your career further merging with your interest in climbing at some point?

Part of my chatting up climbers is talking to them about what they do for a living, since I’m still working on building a career that allows me to live the life I want to live. I took a step in that direction in 2008 by going to work for the Puget Sound Partnership – even though I’m doing work related to Puget Sound, I’ve learned a ton about issues that are also related to climbing (public lands, parks issues, etc.).

I’m actively working on transitioning to a work life more connected with the outdoor industry and/or climbing policy. I don’t have the patience anymore to do work that I don’t love, so 2009 is shaping up to be the year where I build a career based on work I love, and that means the environment and the outdoors.

Alan Arnette makes his home in Colorado, where he climbs frequently. He’s been a regular visitor to some of the highest mountains in the world – Denali, Shishapangma, Aconcagua, Orizaba and Everest and others. His web site is a fantastic resource for anyone interested in climbing. Alan has used the attention his climbs have received to raise funds and awareness for the Cure Alzheimer’s Fund. He has also been a significant resource for us as we prepared to launch Never Stop Climbing and we were thrilled he agreed to this interview. – John

You started climbing rather late in life at 38. How difficult was it for you to get fit and how do you stay climbing-ready (or close to it) today?

I had always tried to stay in decent shape but with a job that had me on the road 3 days a week and crossing continents it was tough – very tough. I was your basic weekend warrior, climbing whenever I could. The funny thing is that I excelled at cross-country and track in high school but stopped cold once I started working and never really exercised diligently until I started climbing around age 38.

Once I started climbing, running and climbing became my focus. While on the road I would work out in hotel gyms on the weights then run the hotel stairs late at night – I was always afraid I would get arrested! Today my basic routine is climbing (what else?) and lot’s of time on the elliptical machine since my knees will not let me do the long runs anymore.

You wrote that “Mountains test your essence.” How has your understanding of yourself changed after dozens of climbs?

Climbing, especially hard routes or at extreme altitudes tends to focus your mind on what is important to you. I am fond of saying that I have turned back on more mountains than stood on the summit. That is ok with me. I thoroughly enjoy the overall experience and the summit is a bonus not the measure of success – for me. While my absolute goal on a big climb is to summit safely, I don’t dwell on it if I don’t get there as long as I gave it my best effort.

Can you point to a particular climb or moment where you started to gather real confidence in your ability to take on difficult high-altitude climbs?

Yes, it was on my climb of Ama Dablam in 2000. I saw it a few years before and considered it impossible for me given my skills. However, I made the summit in good style and while trekking through the Khumbu on the way home my guide, David Hiddleston, asked me if I had ever thought about Everest. Of course I had but never admitted it to anyone. But with his simple question and my safe summit of Ama Dablam, a seed was planted that would influence me for the rest of my life.

Approaching Camp 3 on Ama Dablam, Nepal

You’ve expressed some regret that your focus on Himalayan goals distracted you from some of the climbing opportunities in South America. Do you have plans in the region beyond Aconcagua and your other climbs? Would you have liked to have tackled some of the mountains there earlier in your climbing career?

While I have climbed and trekked in South America three times I still prefer the Himalayas. Both have incredible mountains and offer world-class challenges but the people of the Himalaya mountain villages stand out to me. They live in such simple conditions yet have such big smiles and unselfish attitudes that I always leave there for the better. That said, one day I would like to attempt the high peaks of Peru.

Alan on the summit of Acancagua

In reading your dispatches it quickly becomes apparent that you are a very deliberate and cautious climber. Can you point to any single event where your judgment failed you and you made what could have been a critical mistake? If so, how did that event impact your climbing style from that point forward?

I try to be aware and cautious on my climbs both for my own safety as well as that of my teammates. I think it is each climber’s responsibility not to put yourself in a rescue situation or to assume others will take care of you in a crisis.

Coming down to Camp 1 on Cho Oyu in 1998 after our summit bid, I had a very heavy pack and became careless. While on a ridge above the Camp 1, I deliberately did not clip into the fixed rope thinking it was safe terrain and I was in complete control. Well, I tripped over my own feet and went sprawling towards a 3,000’ drop-off. Thankfully I self arrested my fall at the edge of the ridge. It was at that point that I vowed never to become over-confident again.

Alan on Broad Peak, Pakistan

In 1997 you helped bury 42 year old climber Alex Yaggi who, if I read it correctly, died unexpectedly in his sleep after a successful summit. You obviously struggled with this event and its implications in your 2002 Death on Everest essay. Are your feelings about death and risk in climbing still evolving or is the issue resolved for you?

Not an expedition goes by when at some point I think about Alex. While I never knew him well, I knew him well enough that his death was a shock to my very essence. Deaths occur on all mountains and happen to climbers from amateur to professional. It is part of the contract of serious climbing. The lesson I learned from burying Alex is that you never know what toll high altitude can take on you so be as prepared as you can and err on the side of caution.

You climb in support of the Cure Alzheimer’s Fund. Are you satisfied with your charity efforts so far and what advice would you give folks like ourselves who wish to climb for a cause?

It is a great honor to climb to raise money for Alzheimer’s. I recently visited my mother who is suffering from the disease and I am more determined than ever to help find a way to prevent this from happening to future generations.

The Cure Alzheimer’s Fund was a great partner in getting the word out about my ‘Road Back to Mt. Everest: Memories Are Everything’ five climb journey but there is so much more we can do.

My best advice would be to find a nationwide partner who is willing to promote your effort to as many people as possible. Fund raising, especially in tough economic times, is a numbers game so you need to reach as many people as possible to raise the money.

You are a self-funded climber. Have you considered working with sponsors?

I was very fortunate to have had a good career that allowed me to climb extensively but I have reached the limits of that model today. I would love to work with a sponsor that would help in the Alzheimer’s fund raising through a partnership with my climbing.

What would you do if a sponsor with deep pockets allowed you to create your dream expedition?

I would attempt the 7 Summits, including a fourth attempt of Everest. While not the most technically challenging climbs, they would present an opportunity to take the Alzheimer’s message to each continent on the planet. Alzheimer’s is a disease that potentially impacts every person on earth as we live longer and longer. The economic impact can easily bankrupt the largest health care systems much less those in smaller countries. It is truly an impending epidemic that we must address before it is too late.

Do you have any big goals in front of you at the moment? What’s next?

Nothing ready to make public but I am always thinking. I am currently doing presentations to schools and anyone who will have me showing my climbing pictures and talking about Alzheimer’s. Also I am staying busy climbing my Colorado mountains. But just when I think it is time to hang up my crampons, I get the itch to return to high altitude. Mountains are special to me and while not every mountain has loved me, I love them all!

Alan lives in Colorado and can be reached at climbing@alanarnette.com. He is available for individual presentations or multi-day workshops including team building, business consulting or individual coaching.

Why do you climb? An age-old question first publicly asked in the 1920s of George Mallory during his attempts on Everest. His incredibly complex or dismissive answer was “Because it is there.” Similar to mine and no less understood by strangers, acquaintances, friends and some of my family.

To see the sun rise before it does. To understand fellow climbers in an accelerated environment. An alternative to the day-to-day world. To see if you can do it. To spend time with yourself and see if you are really whom you think you are. To discover your limits.

Climbing captures the allure and mystery of life for me. First there is the peacefulness of being high on a mountain as the sun peaks around the Earth. Then there is the camaraderie of friends being roped together as they work up a mountain not as individuals but as a team. Finally, there is the challenge of taking a step on a steep slope knowing that a mistake could be deadly but the next step will be rewarding.

After six weeks of climbing up and down the Khumbu Icefall, Western Cwm and Lhotse Face, I leaned heavily on my right knee. My headlamp showed pure white snow at my foot – a sharp contrast to my bright yellow boots. I felt another wave coming over me. I gagged once again and struggled for breath. Even with my oxygen bottle turned on, I was having serious difficulties at 27,200′ on Mt. Everest. After a quiet discussion with myself, I turned around to return to the South Col and Camp 4. My 2002 summit of Everest would have to wait.

A test of my body or of my mind?

France, Tour Ronde, 1996, I am climbing a 60% slope on mixed ice and rock. I am roped to Jouergen, my German guide. I thought I was in good shape but this 12,000-foot peak is testing my condition. I plant my ice axe in one secure position and then another. I concentrate on kicking the front points of my crampons solid into the ice. At ten thousand feet it is easy, and then the summit tests my strength. I take each step one by one. Jouergen asked me if I am tired. I answer “no”. He replies “I would be surprised if you were not.” An instant dose of reality. From now on, I tell the truth.

I once heard that adventure is defined as when you are doing it you pray to God to get you out alive and once it is over you pray to God to do it again.

Alaska, the Granite Range, 1999, Howie and I are almost up the couloir when we hear the telltale CRACK of ice breaking. We instantly fall to the snow, plant our ice axes, cover our heads and hold on to each other. The fall passes and we acknowledge the danger with a smile. It was a small “water-fall” avalanche that covered us with ice, snow and rock. Twenty minutes later, another covers us and Howie looks at me with the unspoken question to which I respond “Let’s go down.”

Danger seems to drive the adrenaline that keeps us going. Maybe this is a commentary on the lack of excitement in our everyday lives. While watching the soccer game or band concert brings family satisfaction, it is often what we do for ourselves that brings personal satisfaction.

Climbing is a sport that requires you to be fit, mentally in control, a team player, patient and accepting of failure. This last characteristic is very misunderstood. Consider spending from 6 to 18 weeks attempting a summit only to be turned back by weather, equipment failure, your own inadequacies or something else: a team-member’s inadequacy. Do you place blame or just go on? What do you learn?

My life is a balance of three areas: family, work and myself. I try to focus on each area while not ignoring another area. I find that when I get out of balance, my overall happiness suffers as does the other areas. My personal time is focused on climbing, today.

Mountains test your “essence”. They bring out your best and your worst. They are completely unforgiving, impersonal and answer to no higher authority. When you agree to climb one of these high mountains, you declare formally or informally how to dispose your body upon death. This exercise makes declaring beneficiaries simple.

August 1997, Cathy and I are sitting on our patio and discussing my “body disposal” assuming the worst for the upcoming Cho Oyu expedition. I have the legal form on the table for both of us to read. The choices: 1) bury on the mountain, 2) cremate in Katmandu or 3) return to your home. By the way, choices 2 and 3 are conditional upon being able to get your body off the mountain – highly unlikely in the vast majority of the cases.

Why does someone go on these expeditions knowing what you know? Many people I have met on these expeditions are very successful in life already. Almost everyone has the full support of the closest family members. For me this is without question and gives me strength. So why risk EVERYTHING for a mountain summit?

Standing on the summit of Ama Dablam, October 2000, I feel grateful. It was only 3 years ago when I first saw this beautiful mountain and privately declared it an impossible dream. It was too high, too steep and too technical plus I had neither the time nor the money to climb these “impossible” mountains. I was happy just trekking in the Khumbu. But something got inside me on that trip. I could feel my lungs crying out yearning for more oxygen. I could see myself taking one slow step, stopping for a deep breath and then forcing another step. I could see myself pushing towards the summit.

I read the message on New Years Eve 2003, David Hiddleston had died on Mt Tasimen in an avalanche. My friend and my guide on Ama Dablam and Everest was gone. Doing what he loved. His friends and family, in their grief, expressed their understanding.

Lying in the medical tent with an IV in my arm, I think about the last six days, the last six weeks. Everest had been hard, very hard. I was suffering from a bacterial lung infection and dehydration. I was glad to be back in base camp after a two day ordeal from the Balcony. No regrets, no self-absorbed pity party – at least at that time. Get to Katmandu and then Colorado and then maybe I could reflect on the experience. Consider what had happened, what I learned and what next. Attempt peaks a lower altitude. Go after more technical mountains? Maybe rock climb the locals. Canada, there a lot’s of mountains there! Or should I stop climbing while I am still alive?

June 2006. At 20,800′ on Broad Peak I am having the best day and the worst day. The snow under my crampons is soft yet solid. The views of K2 and the Godwin-Austin Glacier are mind-blowing. I see my friends ahead and behind me and draw comfort from their company. However, deep inside, I know it is over. The body is not right. The risks too high. Time to come home. Before …

I wrote in a dispatch from Broad Peak “… as I prepare to go up the Hill, I ask for all your positive energy for me and my teammates. Wilco and Gerrard are making their bid tonight. More climbers tomorrow and more later. We will move from camp to camp higher up the Hill and make the final bid from Camp 4. The whole process will take 4 or 5 days. This is why we are here. This is when the test really begins. There are a thousand reasons to stop and only a few to push on. And those are personal and unique to each climber. Please accept our love of mountaineering. Please accept our result regardless of what it is. Please know that this is what makes us alive, it is the fuel that drives us on an individual level …”

So, Why? Is the answer to reach the ever-higher altitudes on earth? Or is climbing simply a way of seeing how far you can take yourself? The brutal honesty it forces? The clear understanding of the consequences? The bonds developed when life is simplified? The insight that personal growth is accelerated when you push? Or is it just because?

Alan Arnette makes his home in Colorado, where he climbs frequently. He’s been a frequent visitor to some of the highest mountains in the world – Denali, Shishapangma, Aconcagua, Orizaba and Everest and others. His web site is a fantastic resource for anyone interested in climbing. Alan has used the attention his climbs have received to raise funds and awareness for the Cure Alzheimer’s Fund.

Submit your own story for publication in our “We Never Stop” series.

I was up all night, my heart racing, turning pages violently, dreading the next paragraph, growing fond of some climbers anddespising others. By Sunday morning, I was exhausted. And I was hooked.

I kept on reading – the next logical choice was Anatoli Boukreev’s “The Climb”, his own account of the disaster in May 1996and his answer to Krakauer’s attacks.

Since then, I’ve built a library of over fifty or sixty books related to mountain climbing, mountain adventures, survival and tragedy in the mountains, coffee table books of the Himalayas and the Andes. I scour bookstores and the Internet for any new publication related to the sport.

Trekker
At some point since 1997, I decided to make the transition from armchair climber to actual climber. My great friend Dan is in part responsible for the actualization of this transition. As we worked together on a large CRM software implementation (he was the client, I was the vendor), we bonded over a beautiful picture of Mount Everest that Dan had taken himself from Tyangboche Monastery. A few months later, Dan put together a group of ten of his friends and acquaintances to go trekking in the Khumbu, the famous “Everest Base Camp Trek”. I had never gone on a trek, or multi-day hike, and I’d never even gone camping “for real”, in other words, without a car to hold all my supplies.

The Khumbu trek is not a “mountain climb”, it’s a stunningly beautiful hike that, over several days, takes trekkers through magnificent valleys flanked by breathtaking peaks. The goal of the trek is two-fold: the unbeatable view of Everest from Kala Patthar (5,545m, or 18,192 ft), and the visit of EBC. Seeing that we were there about two weeks before climbing expeditions were scheduled to arrive, we chose to skip EBC and focus our efforts on Kala Patthar. Efforts, for hiking? Yes, when the hike is taking place between 12,000ft and more than 18,000ft. The top of Kala Patthar, which is a barely noticeable hill in the Khumbu region, would be the highest peak in many countries of the world. Facing Everest from across the Khumbu Glacier, Kala Patthar is actually a gentle ridge on the side of Pumori. Reaching the (near) top of Kala Patthar and taking in the grand view of Everest, Nuptse, Lhotse, Ama Dablam in the distance, Pumori and countless other Himalayan peaks was more than enough to convince me that I had to progress to the next level, and find a way to set foot on a real mountain.

A year later – and sadly, in much worse shape physically – I decided on a whim to go to Africa and tackle Mount Meru and Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. I didn’t have summit fever – considering how out of shape I was, I didn’t expect to make the summit in either case (I didn’t reach Meru’s summit, but I did summit Kili). I went for the adventure, the travel experience, to see Africa for the first time, and because Dan and the new friends I made in Nepal highly recommended attempting Kilimanjaro.

Now – Kilimanjaro is high – the highest in Africa – but it is, much like Kala Patthar, a tough hike, requiring serious acclimatization over several days. The main difference, is that no one really goes to Nepal to climb Kala Patthar; everyone goes to see the Himalayas, and mainly, Mount Everest. Thousands of people flock to Tanzania to climb Kilimanjaro and reach its summit. Beyond understanding and dealing with the impacts of altitude, however, Kili does not require special training, or knowledge of mountaineering skills such as roping up, wearing crampons, self-arresting, or building snow anchors.

If you’re still with me, Reader, you’ll have noticed that I went from reading books, to trekking at altitude, to summiting one of the world’s highest and best-known non-technical mountains.

Student
My next steps would come a year later, when I decided to learn the skills that make a mountain climber, well, a true “mountaineer”. I signed up for a week-long mountaineering course with one of the USA’s best (arguably, the world’s) mountaineering schools and expedition organizers, Alpine Ascents International, of Seattle. AAI specializes in the “seven summits”, training and supporting climbers who have the ambition of reaching the highest summit on each continent. For us beginners, the target climb is of more modest altitude and difficulty, such as the one we tackled during our week-long schooling, beautiful Mount Baker.

I trained for four months before Mountaineering School, and lost about 30 pounds. The requirements were clear: participants must be in great shape physically, must have some experience with multi-day hikes and camping trips (which I had acquired starting with my trip to Nepal), and must be able to carry a 60-pound pack comfortably, over multiple days, going upwards. By the time I flew to Seattle, I was in the best shape I have ever been in. I was buff, I had become a runner (I could do 5 miles with no problem), and I was strong. Living in Toronto, I did not have many occasions to go train at altitude, but every weekend or two, I would strap on a 60-pound pack (hint: a two-liter plastic soda bottle filled with water weighs 2kg, or 4.4 lbs), and go climb local ski hills – multiple times. I got ambitious and started going up as fast as I could with the 60-pound pack. I have to admit that I managed to impress myself.

The rendez-vous at the Alpine Ascents office was on Sunday morning, 6am. Wearing my pack and carrying another duffel, I walked from the hotel to the office, anxious and doubting this was a good idea, but absolutely determined to see it through. I had to find out, once and for all, whether I even liked this mountain climbing business. Maybe I would discover that this was not for me at all – or maybe I would fall in love with it utterly and completely, never to look back.

I walked into the office, not knowing another soul, and was nervous to find out who my expedition mates would be. One thing that, frankly, made me nervous, was whether there would be other women on the course, or whether I would be surrounded by a group of highly-competitive Type A male adrenalin junkies. I knew I was in great shape for me, but wasn’t sure if that would be good enough to keep up with a bunch of “guys”. To my great relief, across from me sat another woman who looked about my age, and who was also there on her own. She looked relieved to see me too!

There was another woman, Winslow, who it turns out, was one of our two guides. The other guide, Todd, was her husband. The rest of the group were all guys, but three of them looked like occasional weekend warriors at best, and had signed up thinking this would be a “fun weekend”.

The Lessons
First lesson: packing gear. The Northwest is famous for its humid climate so first things first: line your pack with an industrial strength trash bag. Garbage compactor bags are recommended. Since I couldn’t find them (not sure why they’re so rare here), I used a heavy-duty plastic “leaf bag”. They’re huge and practically indestructible. To protect the sleeping bag from moisture, line the sleeping bag compression sack with a regular (smaller) garbage bag, put the sleeping bag in, and then compress the hell out of the whole thing to remove all the air. Practice that at home before having to do it in a tent in the cold
early in the morning: I almost sprained fingers the first time I did it…

I mentioned that I learned this in the Northwest because of the humid weather. It’s true that on most camping trips in Canada, you may not think of lining your pack that way. I had not done it in Nepal or Africa. However, since learning this at AAI (at 6am…), I’ve made it a habit to always protect my sleeping bag, and to line my pack. (On a recent 3-month trip to Peru, Bolivia and Argentina, it helped keep my gear dry on a few crucial occasions.)

I was well equipped – I had everything on the gear list (some well used, some brand new, mostly mine). Wanting to be well organized, I had a collection of “stuff sacks” of all sizes, allowing me to pack socks with socks, and gloves with gloves, separate from my tent and stove and food. The only problem was that the night before, I’d been up until about 3 in the morning packing and repacking, unable to fit all my stuff sacks inside my humongous expedition-size backpack. How was I going to be able to bring everything AAI told us to bring, if it couldn’t even fit in my pack?

The trick: bricks and mortar. Forget stuff sacks – yes, they keep things organized. However, they do not settle well inside a pack, and as a result, the amount of space wasted between the stuff sacks adds up. Leave the stuff sacks at home (except, perhaps, for first aid supplies and food…).

The bricks and mortar principle, if you’re not familiar with it: put a couple of bricks at the bottom of your pack (top-loading, preferably) – definitely the sleeping bag, and such items as a stove or fuel bottle – then fill in the gaps between and around the bricks with mortar: clothing, loose socks, gloves, and yes, even underwear. Pack the heavy stuff lower down in your pack, to keep your center of gravity low (nothing worse than crossing a narrow snow bridge with a balance-killing top-heavy pack), and keep adding a layer of bricks, then mortar, then another layer of bricks, until all that’s left is the tent and fly.

Assuming you’ll share a tent, one partner packs the tent itself (it makes great mortar as you cram it in all the tiny empty spaces between everything else in your pack), and the other partner, the poles and fly. Split the common food the same way. Strap crampons, helmet, ice axe, shovel, snow stakes and other common gear on the outside of your pack, ensuring that no “loose bits” or straps can snag at branches, rocks or even ice as you move up and down the mountain.

Our two guides inspected everyone’s gear as we packed – did we have the right clothing, too few or too many layers? Did we have the requisite types of socks, gloves, mittens, hats? Did we have only just the toiletries that were essential – toothbrush and toothpaste, wipes, TP, Purell? (I did sneak in a travel size deodorant – to avoid going insane…) Glacier-grade sunglasses? And the list went on, as each item went into the pack.

At the end of the packing lesson – I was positively thrilled to find that not only did everything fit in my pack, but it was actually easier and more comfortable to carry.

Chatting with the other lady in the group (Sue), we both realized that we had very similar backgrounds – fascinated with climbing, we wanted to see if it was really for us, and wanted to learn the right skills. She was a competitive mountain biker, but had trained extra hard for this. She was still worried about not keeping up with the guys. My confidence in that department had increased when I had concluded that the guys around us were not all world-class athletes. I was pretty sure that while I wouldn’t be in front of the group, I wouldn’t be last. Most importantly – the group was friendly, and the guys didn’t seem to look at Sue and I as anything less than equal team members. After all, we all carried the same amount of weight on our backs.

Heading off for Mount Baker, Todd drove the big SUV with all of us in it, hauling a trailer containing all the packs and gear. All passengers were sound asleep within 15 minutes of leaving the AAI office. Three hours later, we reached Mount Baker Snoqualmie National Forest, and approached the trail head. This was it…

Putting on my rental Koflach climbing boots, I strapped on my pack, grabbed my climbing poles, and set off on the trail, with Todd, Winslow, Sue and the rest of our group (ten of us in total).

On the Mountain
I had barely gone 30 minutes before I started thinking, “Oh boy – my hips, my back, my legs hurt already. I’m in trouble! I can’t start asking for a break, it’s only been 30 minutes!” I took a couple of deep breaths, looked around and noticed that everyone else (other than the guides) looked to be in a similar mixed state of doubt and anxiety, and decided to plow on and ignore the pain. After another 30 minutes, I had found my groove, the pain was gone, and I had settled into a comfortable rhythm.

We came to a crossing where the bridge had collapsed and the only way across was logs stretched eight feet over the creek. Huh. Lesson two: when crossing water (whether wading in, or on a bridge), unbuckle your pack’s hip belt and chest strap. If you end up swimming, you’ll need to ditch the pack in a hurry to avoid sinking. To my disappointment, I wasn’t even able to step up onto the logs, about 3 feet off the ground, as my pack and the plastic boots made it hard to step up and balance. Sensing my fear (yes, that’s what it was…), Winslow grabbed my pack and literally danced across the logs to the other side. She repeated that with her own pack, and then Sue’s! I was impressed – Winslow was about half my size! Wow!

Late in the afternoon, we reached our first camp site. By then, it was clear that both Sue and I were in better shape than some of the guys, and we had no trouble keeping up with Winslow, who was setting pace at the head of our group. Trailing about half an hour behind us, with Todd, was one of the guys, who was suffering badly. Pulling into camp, he was exhausted, nauseous, and pretty weak. This wasn’t due to altitude sickness, but to the fact that he was severely out of shape! To his credit, he didn’t stop, and persevered over the rest of the week.

That evening in camp, we all learned how to start our stoves and feed ourselves – yes, it is part of mountaineering school, lesson number… three? If you’re out there and depend on your climbing buddy to prime and start the stove, how are you going to melt snow for water, if your buddy breaks a leg and can’t move?

We had dinner, and then learned to fabricate our Prussik knots, from the length of climbing rope we had been told to purchase and bring. Prussiks are knotted ropes used by climbers to climb up along a fixed rope when hanging vertical (in other words, when your feet are not on the ground). If you’ve seen the movie “Touching the Void”, you’ll remember Joe Simpson attempting to Prussik up the rope after going off over the overhang, before Simon cut the rope.

Three Prussiks in all: one for the upper body, two loops for the feet. The idea with Prussiks is that you can slide them up a fixed rope, and they will hold your weight, as they “lock” in place and do not slip. We would get to train using our Prussiks the next night. The first night’s lesson was simply to tie them – which was hard enough for those of us not well versed in the art of tying knots! We also learned to tie a bowline – pretty important, to tie into the rope.

The next morning had us boiling water from a nearby creek, making breakfast, and repacking our packs. The only downside of the bricks and mortar packing method, is that you find yourself packing, unpacking and repacking the entire contents of your pack at least twice a day. The upside – it doesn’t take long before you make it an easily repeatable process that takes only a few minutes. We didn’t break camp that morning, as the plan was to climb higher that day, but come back to our campsite that night.

Our second day took us above the tree line right away, and we soon had a training session with one of the Park’s Rangers, who taught us about the geology of glaciers, how crevasses are formed, and how to read the movements of a glacier. Our trail was just on the edge of the moraine, looking down on the glacier (whose name now escapes me), so we had a perfect classroom to learn these important lessons.

Still further on, Todd and Winslow taught us how to use a compass. Some of us already were adept users, while others (me included) pulled a brand new shiny compass out of our packs. On this climb, we couldn’t really get lost, and didn’t need the compass. However, the point was to learn to become mountaineers – and using a compass to navigate in the wilderness is a crucial lesson, even now with GPS units and near-ubiquitous cell phone access to SAR services.

Let the Children Play!
Later in the afternoon, we reached snow levels. Woo-hoo! We got to learn how to walk on snow! Wait a minute – I’m from Canada, I’ve walked on snow my entire life, what could they possibly teach me?

All kinds of good and fun things, as it turned out. The right way (safest with the least effort) of walking uphill on snow, cross-over steps, walking with crampons, heel stepping on the way down, not to mention the hour of fun we then spent learning to glissade and self-arrest! Like kids, we threw ourselves down the slope, on our butts head uphill, on our butts head downhill, on our stomachs head first, and even on our backs head downhill – since this was training, the slope ended gently at the bottom with no crevasse to swallow us if we failed to self-arrest. Within a few attempts, all of us had picked up the technique of grasping the adze of the axe with one hand, and digging the pick into the snow while putting all our upper body weight on it. It really was loads of fun!

We then learned to rope up, tying into the rope via our climbing harness, and practiced our new walking skills uphill. Slightly different story – a little more intense now. Each rope of 3 or 4 climbers (the three “girls” were roped up together) made its way up on the glacier, getting to a series of challenging crevasses that we had to learn to negotiate. Walking roped up in a straight line is very different than negotiating crevasses, where you have to constantly adjust the slack in the rope in case someone falls in. Interesting intellectual challenge, actually, especially if needed in the middle of the night… Better to train during theday, like we were doing.

We reached a flat expanse on the glacier, where, still roped up, we took a long and well-deserved break. We would return the next day to build our Base Camp for our summit bid two days later.

Heading back down, we stopped at “the Prussik tree”, a spot that Todd and Winslow had used before to teach Prussiking skills. A climbing rope tossed over a sturdy branch and well tied to an anchor became our fixed line. The first guys who tried found it challenging to even get off the ground. The rope itself is elastic, so it took a few “bodies” before we all figured out how to get started properly. Some of the guys made it look quite hard, so Sue and I were dreading this. She went next, and with a big grin on her face, Prussiked her way up the rope a good 15-20 feet without breaking a sweat. I then gave it a try, and found that all the ab work I’d done had paid off! It’s all about using your abs to pull your body up, surprisingly. Picture a caterpillar – stretch, fold, stretch, fold…. With every step up in the Prussik stirrups, your abs allow you to stretch and fold your body, as you move the Prussik knots up the fixed rope. Again – loads of fun, if you’re in shape…

Base Camp
Setting our early the next day, we broke camp and reloaded our packs with 60lbs of gear again. Ooof… Walking uphill in crampons the day before had been a good lesson, but doing it fully loaded with 60lbs was a different story, especially when it came to crossing some dodgy crevasses. Keeping your balance in such situations is not obvious. Recommendation: when training with 60lbs, put yourself in off-balance situations (walk a low balance beam, for instance; or climb up and down a chair, to get used to high steps with a big load).

Arriving at the location for our base camp, Todd and Winslow first marked the edge of camp with visible stakes – this was important, as anything outside of that perimeter was unexplored territory, and therefore could hide dangerous crevasses. Lesson number… well, I lost track…: leveling a site to build camp. Lots of shoveling, digging with ice axe, building igloo-like walls to shelter the tents. The sun was beaming, and despite the altitude and glacier, we were drenched in sweat by the time the tents were up. Last but certainly not least: the latrines.

Which brings me to another critical lesson: Leave No Trace. There’s the lesson: leave-no-trace. Obviously, it means, don’t leave any garbage on the mountain; it also means, don’t leave any food or even crumbs; and for human waste, yes, you can write your name in the snow (though keep the font small, will you?), but solid waste must be carried back down the mountain and deposited in appropriate containers at the bottom. How do you do that, you ask? Using “blue bags” (http://www.nps.gov/noca/planyourvisit/leavenotrace.htm), which are plastic bags containing something that looks like cat litter and which helps in the decomposition of human waste.

Hiding behind our snow latrine wall, one would lay open the bag on the ground, do his/her business in the bag, then tie it all up and stuff it into another bag that one would carry in his/her pack… safely. An outside pocket works well for that, I found. This whole business had one of our team mates exclaim, “I was expecting to lose weight on this trip, or at least carry less weight down as we ate the food along the way… Not quite, since I have to carry my crap down!” If climbers had figured out a way of doing this on Everest, Mont Blanc, and other iconic mountains, there would be far less crap lying around there… but that’s for another day’s writing.

Finally, after building walls around the tents and making ourselves nice and comfy, we started getting dinner ready. We had learned to dig a hole for the tent’s vestibule, so that we could sit inside the tent, and put on boots comfortably. We could also cook safely with the stove just outside, while standing nearly upright in the vestibule. The weather was beautiful, the temperature still in the high forties, and we watched a gorgeous sunset.

Blizzard! In August?
We woke up with two feet of fresh snow the next morning, engulfed in a full-on blizzard (this was mid-August, three hours north of Seattle!). No one wanted to get up early and dig out, so through the noise of the wind, we shouted from tent to tent that we’d linger in bed for a while longer, hoping the storm would abate somewhat.

Around 9am, we had no choice but to get up and start the day. We still had a lot to learn that day, before contemplating a summit attempt that night.

Our lessons for the day included building snow anchors, belaying techniques, rappelling (inside a crevasse – very exciting!), and the culmination of our lessons, rapidly building a pulley and anchor system to pull someone out of a crevasse. Taking turns rappelling about 20 feet inside a crevasse (blue, white, deep dark at the bottom…), we each played the role of “helpless climber fallen into crevasse” to be extracted by the rest of our team. The weather had barely let up since morning, and it was significantly colder than the previous two days. By the time we learned and practiced “clipping/unclipping unto the fixed rope”, visibility was close to nil, so the exercise took on a realism that gave the situation a bit more gravitas. By late afternoon, we had traveled less than 200 yards from camp, but we were exhausted. We melted snow for dinner and a brew (coffee, tea, hot cocoa) and to fill our water bottles for the next night and day, then hit the sack. Due to uncertain weather conditions, our summit bid was at risk. Continuing blizzard conditions would prevent us from going up. But the worst case scenario would be if we woke up at midnight, and faced conditions that forced a debate within the team: is it safe to go up or not? Would we be over-confident newbies, or over-cautious newbies? What kind of decision would the guides ultimately impose on us?

Summit Bid
The weather gods took care of the decision for us. When we got up at midnight, the wind had died down completely, the sky was clear and filled with stars: it was perfect. We roped up to leave camp at about 1am, and the march upward and onward began. We had our ropes well tuned by then: Winslow led mine, with Sue in the middle and me at the back. We initially led the procession, but we hit a dead-end trying to go around a crevasse, and ended up the last rope. A couple of hours into the climb, we stopped on a hard-packed snow field, with a mild incline (which didn’t feel so mild then) and strapped on our crampons. Another lesson learned: sit on your pack and hold on tight, don’t let your crampons, pack, or yourself, slide down the hill…

With crampons on, hard pack snow and ice under our feet, the long hours of the night started creeping up on us. That’s when it becomes hardest to maintain focus and concentration, and (to me, at least) the whole adventure starts feeling like the worst idea I’ve ever had. “Someone said this was fun? I’m paying for this? I’m supposed to enjoy this misery?” are questions that go through my head in these climbing circumstances, until I make a conscious effort to change my frame of mind, and start focusing again on the task at hand.

Now – I speak from experience when I say that the more you climb, the better focus you maintain, and the faster you can push aside negative thoughts in favor of singled-minded perseverance; that does not exclude the ability to make sensible decisions (to turn around in bad weather for instance), but rather heightens the senses to focus on the right things. We stopped briefly every hour or so, to re-hydrate and absorb some calories (Clif Bar, candy, trail mix), throwing on an extra layer to preserve our warmth during breaks.

I was still feeling strong when dawn started to break, the first glimpses of daylight in the distance infusing us all with new life. What a feeling – rejuvenation, energy, adrenalin, hope, determination… Everyone seemed to have a new bounce in their step. We could feel the long night – no doubt about that – but the summit was in sight, and the hardest part was over, kind of…

The last long incline was still in front us. When the going uphill gets tough, I always resort to counting steps. So up I went, step-step-axe plant, step-step-axe plant, crunch-crunch-plant… One and two and three, one and two and three, un et deux et trois, endlessly, it seemed. At one point, Winslow and Sue reached the top of the last steep incline, and suddenly increased their pace! One-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three! Taking a deep breath, I realized everyone had crested the top of the wall, and I stood alone at the end of the rope, the others invisible to me. Wow… Cool! A few minutes later, I reached the crest as well, and saw that we were about 15-20 minutes from the summit.

We took our final steps up together, and all hugged and took pictures and celebrated on the summit of Mount Baker, at around 9am. Looking north, I saluted Canada proudly – did it ever look pretty! Since the strongest climber on a rope should always be uphill, to act as an anchor in case the whole rope slips and falls, Winslow had to descend last on our rope – which made me the leader! So I ended up leading our three ropes on the way down. For an experienced climber, this was child’s play: retrace our very visible steps down! For a newbie like me, it took a few minutes to get used to the feeling of having no one in front of me, and having to make sure that I was leading everyone back to camp.

Needless to say – after those first few minutes – I loved every moment of it. It was an incredible feeling, to have the whole gloriously sparkling mountain in front of me, unmarred by the presence of others, glistening in the sun, rolling and undulating like a white ocean.

Retracing our steps meant that I was generally safe from the risk of heading into a hidden crevasse, but still had to remember that in the rising temperature, snow bridges and crevasse edges were much softer than they had been in the middle of the night.

We managed to avoid danger, and other than fatigue, didn’t have any problems. Oh – I forget the fact that as I peeled outer layers, I eventually was dressed all in black, attracting the heat of the sun like a reflector. I became overheated and de-hydrated, and called a break. Todd and Winslow tried to convince me that camp was “just around the corner”, but I needed to take off my black mid-layer and drink some water – urgently. Getting going again after 5 minutes, I sheepishly walked into camp… a mere ten minutes later. One more lesson: don’t wear black, it’s deadly on a glacier.

We ate and rested in camp for a bit, then started re-packing our heavy loads and dismantling the tents. Leaving camp carrying 60lbs again, we had already been up and walking for 12 hours straight. Those 60lbs didn’t feel so good, but once again, mind over matter won the day, and we proceeded downhill.

Downhill is painful too. Knees hurt, fatigue just keeps accumulating, and it’s easy to let one’s guard down. Not a good thing to do. One team mate, while negotiating one of the last crevasses we would see, slipped and snagged his right crampon in his left pant leg. Result? He punctured his thigh, not too badly, but enough to bother him a fair amount for the remaining four hours of descent in front of us.

We eventually stepped off the glacier back onto the trail, re-crossed the creek, and reached the parking lot at 5pm. We had been going almost non-stop for 16 hours. A bit tired, yes. A bit sore, yes. But relatively speaking, not too badly scarred! Heading back to Seattle, we stopped for fast food along the way – we all devoured our meals, in need of calories, but all the while fighting the urge to sleep right then and there. We settled into the SUV, and hoping that Todd was more awake than the rest of us, since he was driving, promptly fell asleep heading back to the city.

From Armchair to Actual Climber
The course and climb confirmed it for me: I love climbing mountains.

The course offered by Alpine Ascents is not unique; in fact, several outfits in Canada, the US, Europe, and New Zealand (amongst other places), offer similar week-long courses. Alpine Ascents had been strongly recommended to me by an acquaintance who had climbed the seven summits with them (and has since climbed Everest a second time, also with AAI). I was very pleased with their professionalism and attention to detail, as well as their focus on safety and teaching. Yamnuska, out of Canmore, Alberta, Rainier Mountaineering Inc. (RMI), Mountain Madness, and several other similar companies also boast good reputations. It’s worth phoning and asking questions, and reading every word on their web site. Some have you sleeping in huts, so the “teaching” is not as complete since you don’t learn full mountaineering and snow camping skills, but your choice depends on your goals and desire for comfort (personally, give me a tent over a hut full of snorers any day…). My bottom line: if you want to become a mountaineer, invest in a course – not only will you get a mountain climb out of it, you will learn skills that could save a life one day. If you’re learning from buddies and fellow climbers, make sure they are qualified to teach you all the right skills, the right way, while also being able to look out for your safety on the mountain. Oh – and get a copy of “Mountaineering: Freedom of the Hills” (Don Graydon (Ed.), Kurt Hanson (Ed.), Mountaineers Society, Mountaineers Books ), and read it.

You might ask what I’ve climbed since… Sadly, a year later, my scheduled trip to Mount Rainier (also with AAI) was thwarted at the very last minute by a back injury (which eventually led to surgery). But last year, I got to climb Chachani, in Peru – no crevasses and no ropes, but crampons, ice axe, and a new altitude record, at 19, 931 feet. I remain a happy climber. Check out http://www.alpineascents.com/cascades6-dtd.asp and hit the Slideshow button (top right) – most of the pictures are from our course! Slide 38 is our summit shot – I’m wearing the blue jacket, standing at the back. Note the smiles all around) Oh, and on slide 29, that’s me at the very front…

Submitted by Helene Barrette. You can read more about Helene’s adventures on TravelPod and connect with her on Twitter.

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September 11, 2003. Two years after the 9/11 that marked us all forever, I lived another event that has changed me forever: at around 8am local time, I reached the summit of Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa at 5,895m. The view was amazing, the sun still rising in the distance over vast plains, and I was surrounded by nearly 300 people who were also reaching the summit that day. Most climbers were ecstatic, the guides ranged from indifferent to happy, and quite a few climbers didn’t look like they were handling the altitude too well.

As a member of a commercial climb organized by an adventure travel company, I had been climbing for the best part of two weeks. The first week, we climbed Mount Meru, which “faces” Kili, and which, at 15,000ft+, is no small feat. For my first ever “alpine start” – leaving the hut at 1am – I managed to psyche myself out completely. I also did suffer from mild altitude sickness – and had to turn back at around 4am. Disappointing, but Kili was the real goal.

Week 2 saw us starting at the bottom of the Shira Plateau Route – beautiful, daunting, fascinating. Never boring or repetitive, this route climbs through the jungle to eventually reach a huge plateau, where the now-vanished Shira volcano once stood. Continuing over the next few days, we eventually reached the base of the Western Wall. Our route was to take us to the Summit Plateau of Kili, via the Wall’s “Western Breach”. This route is generally considered the most technical on Kili, and requires some moderate scrambling, with a fair bit of exposure.

This time, I was ready for my alpine start! We left camp at about 1am again, and slowly trudged up the wall. A spectacular full moon was lighting up the path so well that we could turn off our head lamps for the easier sections. A few hours into the climb, we reached a steeper scrambling section. One look down, and I realized that I had better not fall — the consequences would be, if not deadly, very very very serious… Our guide told us that we had reached the “point of no return”: if we climbed over the boulder in front of us, there was no going back, we would have to keep going up and go over the summit, and down the other route. I glanced behind me, and thought, “there is NO WAY I’m going back down the way we just came, so I guess I’m going up…” So – up we went.

With my head down, carefully and very slowly placing one foot in front of the other, I failed to realize that we had reached the “lip” of the Breach, where the wall ends and the plateau stretches out in front us, blocked hundreds of meters further by a vertical wall of ice where the glaciers have receded. We had reached the flat summit plateau, and the sun was just starting to color the sky orange right in front of us. We felt completed elated – it had been a long cold night until then – as our spirits soared once again, and we all knew that we were going to reach the summit. We took a moment to “re-hydrate”, and then the rest of my group moved up ahead of me. I was by far the slowest member, and one of the guides stayed with me at the back as I “polé-poléd” my way up the final low-angled climb to the summit. My last few steps took me straight to the summit marker sign, and we all hugged and shouted with joy at having made it. It was nothing short of magical.

I have to confess that I had not trained at all prior to Kili – work was too busy, and I approached it as “I’ll try, and if I don’t make it, no big deal”. I suffered quite a bit (I was overweight and out of shape, and had failed to train properly — shame on me, I don’t recommend doing it that way…), but in the end, it was sheer determination (and helpful guides) that got me up the mountain.

Standing on the summit, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that, if I could do THAT, I could do ANYTHING I set my mind to. Even now, five years later, when things get tough, I try to remember that feeling of complete and utter confidence, of knowing that if I try, I will succeed.

After taking pictures and video, and pausing to remember the victims of 9/11 for two minutes of silence, we tackled the descent. A never-ending scree slope (the “Coca-Cola route”) took us down fast, but by the time we reached camp, not only were my knees sore, I thought I had bronchitis. My lungs were so full of scree dust, that I could barely breathe. I wheezed and coughed all night (fortunately, I had a tent to myself), and by morning, the fresh air around camp seemed to have helped. Things were much better, as we made our way down through the jungle once again, and collected our certificates attesting that we did, indeed, reach the summit of the highest point in Africa.

I can’t wait to go again: Africa, the mountain, the people, the climate, the wildlife… Amazing… Go! What are you waiting for already?

Submitted by Helene Barrette. You can read more about Helene’s adventures on TravelPod and connect with her on Twitter.

Submit your own Never Stop Climbing story.