I’m going to lead you through a few of features of the site, and tools we use, to help you get started.

Social Media
Our Never Stop Connecting social media toolbar at the bottom right side of each page is your primary gateway to the community features. One of the really cool things about these tools is that they not only help you track our progress but through them you can establish your own connections to climbers and other cool people worldwide.

If we have a favorite networking tool it would have to be Twitter. You can see our most recent updates there in the section immediately above the social media toolbar. Twitter allows us to socialize and learn from cool people like @alan_arnette, @helenebarrette, @selves, @kittell, @theclimbergirl, and many others. Sara Lingafelter (aka @theclimbergirl) just posted an excellent piece called Twitter 101 for us outdoorsy types which explains why this relatively small community finds tools like Twitter to be so useful. If you haven’t tried it yet now’s the perfect time. It’s super easy to get started. If you’re still hesitant check out Twitter in Plain English for a super fast, non-technical, video overview.

Flickr is awesome as well. There are so many great climber-photographers and many of them host their work there. Great photography is the draw here but do not underestimate the greater Flickr community - it’s amazing! Climbing, gear, and photography advice started flowing in as soon as we started posting photos. We’d love for you to connect with us on Flickr so that we can see photos and videos of your adventures too. Online Photo Sharing in Plain English provides another great video overview of Flickr and similar services for those of you who are new to the topic.

Our Facebook group is another great way to stay connected and make new contacts. We’ll push some of our photos and videos through the group but it’s also a place where you can discover people who share your interest in climbing. You can even share your own content with the group. Join our group, start connecting with the other members, and you’ll find your personal network growing as well.

Subscribe
You’ll find a link to our Twitter updates here again but there are some additional features. One is the standard RSS feed for those of you who would like to be kept posted through your favorite RSS reader. Our RSS feed collects updates from the website, and our Flickr site, so subscribing to it will keep you pretty well informed. If you don’t already use an RSS reader Google provides a pretty good free one. There is, of course, a great introduction to RSS concepts in the video RSS in Plain English.

We also have a FriendFeed account. The cool thing about FriendFeed is that it allows you to see virtually every update we make anywhere right away. It even, like almost every service we’ve mentioned, has it’s own RSS feed for those of you who really want to stay on top of everything.

Your Stories
Never Stop Climbing is not just about us. We really want to hear about your adventures and successes. We created a section called We Never Stop just to collect those stories. We’ve been blown away by the initial contributions and we hope that they continue to flow in.

Contributing a story is as simple as using this form. Once received, we’ll review it, and let you know if it can be added to the mix.

Start Connected
We haven’t covered every possible way to connect here but this list should be enough to get you started. All of this can seem a bit daunting if social networking concepts are completely new to you but jumping in headfirst is actually the easiest way to get comfortable with the tools. Embrace them, make your own connections, and you’ll quickly understand their popularity. We look forward to seeing out there.

The best part of this project has been, without a doubt, the connections we’re making with climbers around the world. Our next climb is a perfect example of that.

We’re just getting started here but climber Alan Arnette has been a major source of support for us - providing much needed feedback, climbing tips, contributing a post to We Never Stop, and even volunteering to be the subject of our first climber interview. Now he’s offered to host our next climb - a valuable learning opportunity for climbers in our position.

The plan (it’s still evolving) is for the two of us to meet Alan and two of his experienced climbing buddies (Patrick and Robert) in April for camping and crampon/ice axe assisted climbing in the snowy Collegiate Peaks section of Colorado’s Sawatch Range.

Day 1
Drive to the trailhead and hike, likely with snowshoes, to a camp at 11,500 feet.

Day 2
Climb a long ridge to the summit of Mount Belford (14,197 ft - 4,327 m). We’ll break there before making our way over the saddle to the summit of Mount Oxford (14,153 ft - 4,313 m). From there we’ll make our way back to camp for the night.

Day 3
We’ll be climbing early - up a fairly steep snow wall before turning up a steep, somewhat exposed, ridge and heading for the summit of Missouri Mountain (14,067 ft - 4,288 m). We’ll return to our initial camp from there.

Day 4
Break camp. Search for steak and beer.

Needless to say, we’re pretty geeked out about all of this. It’s the perfect challenge for us at this time and fantastic learning opportunity. We also expect it to be a hell of a lot of fun. You can’t ask for more than that.

Stay tuned for more updates as planning and training continues.

Note: The photo of Missouri Mountain is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License by szczepan1990.

I don’t usually play these blog games but Jim Hughes is a volunteer Lay Chaplain at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center and he wants to know “5 Surprising Things About Mountain Climbing” so I’m going to take a shot at it.

First, I should state the obvious - I’m just getting started at this whole mountain climbing thing. You’re going to get a newbie’s perspective but after months of research and work I’m at least a somewhat educated newbie. Take all this with a grain of salt - or feel free to offer your own suggestions in the comments. Here are my five observations:

Style Matters
Climbing is often portrayed as an epic struggle where the only goal is reaching the summit. It’s easy enough to understand why a script writer would take this approach, it’s dramatic and universally understood, but it often obscures an incredibly complex sport and community.

Alpine, ice, and rock climbing (there are others such as bouldering) have their own unique approaches to gaining altitude. A technique appropriate for one style might be the worst possible approach in another. And like any constantly evolving sport there will also be disagreement, often amongst equally competent climbers, about which approach work best and when it is best used.

Style extends beyond technique and also applies to community established rules of etiquette. Again, these rules may vary from niche to niche or, like the Leave No Trace movement, be widely accepted across multiple climbing styles. Since the sport is extensively self-policed, and because the community is relatively small and tight-knit, gross errors in style and etiquette can have a lasting impact on a climber’s reputation.

A lot of the feedback that I receive from experienced climbers has been positive and tends to revolve around style. They appreciate the fact that I want to be a self-reliant climber, that I want to master the skills needed to move safely in an alpine environment, that I’m training to the limit of my ability, and that I want climb for what they perceive as the right reasons. This is obviously a complex and highly subjective evaluation but this is what climbers subject themselves and their fellow climbers to almost constantly. Ultimately style matters most because it gives us partial but valuable insight into a climber’s personality, competency, and ethical standards. The stakes are high and these factors are weighed heavily.

It’s Harder Than it Looks
First, climbing is physically demanding. It doesn’t matter if you’re attempting a steep 2,000 foot walk-up, a challenging 30 foot boulder, or an 8,000m peak. There are obviously many degrees of difficulty but climbing demands moderate to the most extreme levels of physical fitness. If you choose to seriously pursue climbing then typically you are also choosing to commit yourself to months or years of intense physical training.

“It’s always further than it looks. It’s always taller than it looks. And it’s always harder than it looks.” - The 3 rules of mountaineering.

Climbing will also challenge you intellectually. Becoming a successful climber requires a significant amount of knowledge, skill, and judgment. There are climbing techniques to master, weather conditions to monitor, and many different types of equipment to evaluate and use effectively. Don’t forget survival skills and physiology too!

“The pleasure of risk is in the control needed to ride it with assurance so that what appears dangerous to the outsider is, to the participant, simply a matter of intelligence, skill, intuition, coordination… in a word, experience. Climbing in particular, is a paradoxically intellectual pastime, but with this difference: you have to think with your body. Every move has to be worked out in terms of playing chess with your body. If I make a mistake the consequences are immediate, obvious, embarrassing, and possibly painful. For a brief period I am directly responsible for my actions. In that beautiful, silent, world of mountains, it seems to me worth a little risk.” - A. Alvarez.

Perhaps most significantly, climbing will also challenge you psychologically. Climber’s routinely push themselves to achieve the difficult and seemingly impossible. There is a very delicate balance, one that many climber’s have failed to achieve, between maximum performance and a suicidal commitment to gaining altitude at all costs. Climbers pushing the limit must remain aware and self-critical in the most demanding circumstances imaginable. If they do cross the line, especially in places like the death zone, then only the judgment and intervention of their climbing partners may save them. On top of the personal challenge you’ll may also be tested with difficult group dynamics or leadership challenges if you climb in a team environment.

“Technique and ability alone do not get you to the top; it is the willpower that is the most important. This willpower you cannot buy with money or be given by others..it rises from your heart” - Junko Tabei, first woman to climb Everest.

The ultimate goal of climbing is the navigation of immense physical, intellectual, and psychological challenges under extreme pressure in a manner that ensures success. Success, at least in my book, is chiefly defined by safety. There may be many goals and factors that contribute to your individual evaluation of a climb, and definitions of success, but I think that most of us agree that it only matters if you are still around at the end of the day.

“Getting to the summit is optional, getting down is mandatory” - Ed Viesturs

It Is More Dangerous Than You Think
This might not be surprising considering what you’ve read so far, and recent events, but I’ve only hinted at the possible dangers. Seemingly bottomless, and often hidden, crevasses, tumbling seracs, crumbly rock, huge variations in weather, altitude sickness, avalanches, bad decision making, and countless other factors conspire to make climbing a demanding and unforgiving sport. Climbing risks in popular culture are typically limited to falling and freezing to death. While those are certainly legitimate risks, the full picture is significantly more complicated and it can take years for a climber to master it fully.

“Mountains are not fair or unfair, they are just dangerous.” - Reinhold Messner

It should also be noted that although additional risk does come with increased altitude the most dangerous climbs are not always the highest. Weather, remoteness, geology, a climber’s ability, and other factors come together in a complex and ever-changing web of risk that may result in your local 4,000m peak being far more dangerous than Mount Everest on any given day. In fact, while Everest may seem to embody all that is dangerous about mountaineering, and is quite dangerous, it is also statistically safer than other mountains such as K2.

It’s Safer Than You Think
I know that it sounds like I’m contradicting myself here but stay with me. It is true that highly skilled and cautious climbers can face injury or death due to factors beyond their control. Freak accidents can and do happen. However, a careful study of mountaineering accidents will reveal some very telling trends. Many accidents can be traced to climbers using poor judgment, using faulty gear (or using it incorrectly), climbing well beyond their abilities, and entering extreme environments unprepared. These mistakes are preventable and within the climber’s control. It may be a bit unrealistic to call climbing “safe” given it’s inherent risks but it can be as safe as you choose to make it.

You Can Do It
Admittedly, I’ve probably made climbing sound like an incredibly difficult undertaking. It is. However, you don’t have to be born at the base of the Rockies or have a perfect set of lungs to have a go at climbing. Mountains are no less demanding but challenges that were once thought to be insurmountable obstacles are being overcome with increasing frequency as the sport advances. There are now climbers with prosthetic limbs - even wheelchair bound climbers. Climbers are reaching the highest peaks in their seventies. Respect for those who love mountains, and who are willing to work hard to overcome apparent obstacles to get there, is shared throughout the climbing community. Commit yourself, connect to the community, and you’ll be surprised how they come together to help you reach your goals. You can climb mountains.

“The first question which you will ask and which I must try to answer is this, ‘What is the use of climbing Mount Everest ?’ and my answer must at once be, ‘It is no use’. There is not the slightest prospect of any gain whatsoever. Oh, we may learn a little about the behavior of the human body at high altitudes, and possibly medical men may turn our observation to some account for the purposes of aviation. But otherwise nothing will come of it. We shall not bring back a single bit of gold or silver, not a gem, nor any coal or iron. We shall not find a single foot of earth that can be planted with crops to raise food. It’s no use. So, if you cannot understand that there is something in man which responds to the challenge of this mountain and goes out to meet it, that the struggle is the struggle of life itself upward and forever upward, then you won’t see why we go. What we get from this adventure is just sheer joy. And joy is, after all, the end of life. We do not live to eat and make money. We eat and make money to be able to enjoy life. That is what life means and what life is for.” - Edward Whymper, Scrambles Amongst the Alps

(Thanks to JockontheRocks, Alan Arnette, and Climbnarc for their feedback as I was preparing this post. The opinions and errors are mine alone.)

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.

Guadalupe Peak
Texas High Point
Elevation: 8,749 feet (2,667 metres)
Coordinates: 31°53′28″N 104°51′36″W

An Early Start
We’d arrived at Guadalupe Mountains National Park at dawn the following morning, hiked to Devil’s Hall and back (with no sleep whatsoever), and crashed out in our tents by 4 PM after setting alarms for 4 AM the following morning.

John Starting Out on the Guadalupe Peak Trail

The 4 AM wake-up wasn’t too much of a shock thanks to nearly 12 hours of sleep but it was still an ungodly early hour to be up. It was cool, perhaps in the upper 30s (fahrenheit) , with clear skies that revealed millions of stars. Jermaine and I both quickly, and quietly so as not to disturb the campers surrounding us, went to work breaking down tents, stuffing our backpacks, filling hydration packs, and munching on gorp and energy gels to fuel ourselves for the effort ahead. Lifting my pack to throw it into the bed of Jermaine’s truck for the short drive to the trail head was a shock. At 50-55 pounds it seemed heavier than ever but that’s exactly what we wanted for this training climb.

Jermaine Sleeping with his Eyes Open

We drove the short distance to the trailhead, parked, took a couple of photos, and started dialing in our packs. The trail to Guadalupe Peak isn’t really visible from the campsite even though its countless switchbacks crisscross the walls that tower a thousand feet above the lower camps. Maps tend to use straight lines to represent the long series of switchbacks so they don’t always accurately reveal what you are in for when you start this trip. We’d read dozens of trip reports and knew that the trail gained elevation quickly but didn’t really know what to expect otherwise.

Moving on to the trail I muttered something about keeping it “slow and steady” and lead off in the dark with my Black Diamond Spot headlamp lighting the way. I had no idea exactly how slow things would actually be until I ran out of breath about 30 feet later. Jermaine wasn’t fairing much better. We stopped a few seconds and moved on only to stop again a few feet later. We repeated this three or four times before I muttered something about failure not being an option. I think I dropped a few F-bombs as well. Privately, I was wondering how I could go from months of strenuous workouts to nearly being stopped dead in my tracks at the base of Guadalupe Peak but I wasn’t going to stop. I decided that the cold, altitude, pack, and early hour were all a shock to my system and that I’d eventually hit my groove if I could maintain a slow and steady pace. At this point I asked Jermaine to lead so that I could could focus more on getting into the zone.

John Climbing at Dawn

Climbing Higher
Jermaine did a great job of setting short-term goals and moving us slowly from point to point in that early hour. I did manage to find my groove and we found ourselves several hundred feet above our camp by sunrise. We started switching in and out of the lead position with the leader calling out hazards, mostly exposed areas, along the way. We’d stop occasionally to send status updates to Twitter or give our shoulders a rest but mostly we keep a slow steady pace that took us higher and higher up the wall.

Looking Back

Exposed
The Guadalupe Peak trail is fairly rugged. It’s almost entirely rocky and uneven. Some of the rock is quite slippery and it is not unusual for the narrow trail to also slope gently towards exposed drop offs that would easily prove fatal should you be unfortunate enough to slip. I can’t say it really concerned us much in those early hours. I think we were both more excited about gaining altitude than worried about falling but the standard leader’s joke when passing through the more dangerous sections was “Um, don’t fall here.”

Don’t Fall Here

While there was a healthy respect for these areas any fear was offset by the sheer awesomeness of standing two feet from the edge and surveying the landscape spreading out a thousand or more feet below and knowing that you reached that point under your own power. It’s a feeling that can’t be conveyed by photos, videos, or trip reports. You have to do it to fully grasp the impact.

Alpine Forest
We continued to gain elevation and move along the wall towards Pine Springs Canyon. At this point we moved up to a gap on the mountain’s shoulder which is exposed on two sides. From here you move around to the other, windier side, which shortly transitions into switchbacks that climb through an alpine forest. The view from this point was amazing so we paused for a moment. The 30-40 MPH winds were chilly but bearable. However, we were nearly knocked off our feet by a freak gust that must have exceeded 70 MPH. We were both rocked but instinctively leaned forward on our trekking poles at a 90 degree angle to minimize our profiles and managed to ride out the gust. It was an exciting but dangerous reminder of the unpredictability of mountain weather.

Temperatures started to fall as we climbed through the forest. We were no longer directly exposed to sunlight and we were catching strong winds. Heavier gloves came out and we moved on - wondering when the high camp would appear. We were still strong but busting 50+ pound packs uphill on rocky surfaces while getting pushed around by strong cold winds is hard work - very hard work.

Climbing higher we could see the vibrant fall colors of the trees in Pine Springs Canyon over a thousand feet below. The high walls of the canyon, that towered above us on our previous day’s hike to Devil’s Hallway, were now far below.

We busted out the new series of switchbacks for another few hundred feet of elevation gain and moved around to find a small valley bordered by 100-200 foot slopes on either side. We didn’t know it yet but the high camp is situated on the high point to the right at about 7,900 feet. It would take us another half hour to reach that spot and we were cursing the person who decided to place the backcountry camp site on a point above the trail.

High Camp
We were the first group into the site that day and had our pick of the few sites. The most popular site is surrounded on three sides by a small wall made of tree branches and rocks. However, there is another site before it that looks more exposed but sits in a naturally recessed area. The winds were really moving at this point, constantly high and probably gusting to 50 MPH, and it seemed that the recessed camp site was actually fairing better. We dropped our packs, decided to take a short break before setting up our tents, and found places to sit that were sheltered from the wind.

About 30 minutes later we both woke up. We had sprawled out on the cold ground, fallen asleep, and were now shivering like mad. Temperatures were dropping and the wind was picking up. We struggled to our feet and moved quickly, as quickly as we could, to erect our tents. We needed to get out of the wind and warm up.

Setting up tents in howling, and increasingly cold, winds is not a piece of cake. However, we were motivated and worked as a team to setup both quickly. Mine went up first. Jermaine actually had to get inside of it, while I worked outside, to keep it from blowing away at one point. Luckily, we had rope which we used to tie off the tents in every direction. Between rope, our gear, and large rocks placed in each tent, we managed to keep them in place. Still, large gusts of wind (some approaching minimal hurricane force) would come out of nowhere and nearly flatten them.

High Camp

With dove into our tents, cleaned up, and crawled into our sleeping bags. We were in pretty good condition but the nap on the cold ground and winds had sapped body heat and we were looking forward to warming up inside our tents. Our initial plan had been to setup camp, eat and relax, and then sprint for the summit but the increasing winds and diving temperatures forced us to push our summit plans back a few hours. We decided to crash out, get up well before dawn (when winds are typically lightest), and head for the summit without the 50 pound packs.

Freaky, Hellish Wind
We spent the next couple of hours eating and getting our gear sorted out. Occasionally we’d have to push back against the tent walls as huge gusts push them in. I’ve ridden out several hurricanes and tropical storms but this wind was just different. It wasn’t uniform. You could hear several different gusts moving around you. They often moved in slightly different directions and each had a unique sound. Some whistled, some swirled, some sounded like jet engines at full roar and it went on for hour after hour. We each fell asleep long before it died down. The tents would hold but one of my metal tent poles would actually be bent by the wind before things calmed down.

Summit Push
I’d told Jermaine that we’d get up at 4 AM for the summit push but woke up sometime in the night and decided to move the time up an hour and set my cell phone’s alarm for 3 AM. When it went off I hit the headlamp, reached for the phone, and accidentally took this photo.

John - Accidental 3 AM Self-Portrait

A minute or two later I called out to Jermaine to wake him up and we started reviewing our plan for the morning without leaving our respective tents. I had to take a large Canon 40D to the summit so I needed a pack. I didn’t have an extra day pack with me so I stripped my large pack of everything but the hydration bag, stuck the camera in it, and got ready move out. Jermaine also carried a liter of water.

We were off quickly, making our way down the slope back to the main trail, and up towards the final sets of switchbacks that curl around the mountain and up to the summit. It was bitterly cold, we were told later that rangers estimated it at 23 degrees fahrenheit before wind chill, but it didn’t effect us much while we were moving uphill. Moving in the dark, with only headlamps to light the way, was eerie. Sections of the remaining trail are quite exposed and it was not uncommon to turn to look left, right, or down and see nothing but utter darkness. The headlamps beam, with over a hundred foot range, found nothing to land on and just disappeared into nothingness. It was like hiking on a thin white line in space at times. The “don’t fall here” jokes came out again.

We moved across a small wooden bridge suspended over a gap in the cliff’s edge and across into another alpine forest. This one was sparser than the earlier, lower, forest and contained long switchbacks that climbed up to a rockier area. We were climbing above 8,000 feet at this point and would soon turn a corner where we’d see the silhouette of El Capitan in the darkness and what we could only assume to be the summit a few hundred feet above us to the right.

The switchbacks grew shorter and steeper as they curved up the peak. It became difficult to make out the path at some points and making our way over some of the large rocks on the way required careful movement. Frankly, by this point it seemed like the switchbacks were just going to continue forever even though it was apparent that there wasn’t much ground left to climb. We took our last short break at about 8,500 feet, turned off our headlamps, and stared out into the darkness that surrounded us. The sky above was filled with millions of stars and on the desert floor below we could see the occasional truck pass. From our vantage point they looked like tiny, slow moving, points of light. On the horizon, over a hundred miles away, we could see the lights of El Paso. It was a view worth suffering for.

We moved on again, hopeful that we were quite close, and we were. Just a few minutes later I’d turn to my right and catch the summit marker in my headlamp’s beam just 30 feet above. I yelled “We’re there!” and scrambled, as quickly as possible, the remaining distance to the marker. Jermaine joined me a minute later and we shook hands - relieved.

John at the Summit

We immediately started taking a few photos and pushed out a summit announcement via Twitter. We also made quick calls to our families. However, we’d stopped moving and the cold really started to set in. First our hands, then feet, began to suffer. We weren’t in danger but we were incredibly uncomfortable. We’d each take couple of photos and then have to stop, push our gloved hands back into our coats, and warm them up before attempting repeating the painful process again. Luckily, sunrise (and warmth) was only a few minutes away and we elected to stay on the summit to take more photos.

Happy to See the Sun

The rising sun revealed El Capitan and features in the desert that had remained hidden during our climb. The hour we spent on the summit started to pass quickly as the temperatures rose.

El Capitan from Guadalupe Peak at Sunrise

We shot a few more photos and then Jermaine pulled out the summit register contained in the old ammo box wedged under the summit marker. We read through it briefly and found entries ranging from inspirational to the comical.

Jermaine Gonzales Reads the Summit Register

We each signed the register and prepared to make our way down the mountain. Along the way, the temperature would rise quickly. We’d have to remove all the cold weather gear before even making it back to our tents.

We’re processing photos, video, and writing the trip report now. We’ll be adding new content throughout the week. We’ll even have some reviews of some of the gear we took with us.

We’d like to thank all of you who are following us at this early stage, contributing your own stories, offering climbing tips, and generally cheering us on. Sharing our first summit experience with so many friends, family, and climbers is not something we’ll ever forget.

• Winning a $40 Sun and Ski Sports gift certificate - That’s pretty exciting when you’re broke!
• Helene Barrette submitted the first entry in our “We Never Stop” series and it’s awesome.
• Helene Barrette submitted a second, even more awesome, entry about her first steps as a mountaineer.
• Cool tweeps started following us on Twitter.
• Mountaineer Alan Arnette surprised us with yet another “We Never Stop” entry - a totally awesome one at that. We hope this luck follows us to the mountains.
• This shout out from the tweeps and Sun and Ski Sports was pretty cool. We are not worthy but our contributors most definitely are.

So what’s next? Here’s the basic plan for the next couple of weeks.

Early next week we leave for Guadalupe Peak. We’ll spend two days on the mountain, including one night at over 7,000 feet. We’ll probably summit more than once and spend time at the high camp shooting photos and video. If we can get a signal (we think we can) you’ll know because we’ll post updates to Twitter.

We’re packing quite a bit a gear and large packs for this trip. Yes, we could travel much lighter but this trip is essentially a training hike for us and we want to spend some time at the high camp. We’re still getting into shape so the extra workout is a good thing.

Once we return (”if” we return as our friends are fond of saying) we’ll edit our video and make it available via our YouTube channel and Flickr, post our photos to Flickr, and work some of the content into the web site. We’ll also write up a detailed trip report. Once that’s complete we just have to roll out our bios and a kick ass climber interview that we’ve been working on (sorry, you have to wait - it’s worth it) and the site will be officially launched.

What then?

We have a couple of organizations that we’d like to support as our climbing skills progress and we’ll be starting those conversations in November. We might have something in place by launch but that will likely take a bit longer. The charitable component of this project is important to us and we want to get it right.

You’ll see regular updates as we continue to train. The site will feature a lot of fitness related content as we move forward. We also have our eyes on some mountaineering and climbing classes. You can expect extensive coverage of these events. We have a lot to learn but we’ll move forward as fast as our bodies and bank accounts allow.

Before the year is out we’ll be moving into the planning phase of our next climb and we’ll want you to join us. We don’t know exactly how that will work but we’re working on it. As soon as that plan solidifies we’ll announce it here. Remember, it’s never to early to start training.

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,