#ok but doing a 2 and a half hour presentation on the expedition made me feel so fucking smart

[luminiera-merge]

there is nothing so humbling as first looking into the terror's fanbase. in other fanbases making two hour presentations and knowing crew profiles of people who died 170+ years ago made you The Smart One. you go look up the terror and suddenly it's "yeah yeah we all know about the backdrop of victorian-era colonial geopolitics and anti-inuit racism, tell us something we don't know". also they have their own yearly virtual conference. they just. did that

[ievenranthisfar]

My Aconcagua Adventure:  Day 13, Summiting the Mountain

Note: I’m publishing my entire Aconcagua journal serially. If you want to read from the beginning, start here.

2/10/17 – Day Thirteen

Like  I was saying… hot damn! 

Yesterday was full-on. Absolutely brutal. Way too long. But also, transcendental.

Because of the weather on the horizon, we had to alter our plans slightly. So rather than sleeping at Camp Colera [Camp Three, 19,357 ft] and attacking the summit from there, we stayed down in Nido de Cóndores [Camp Two, 17,717 ft]. That meant we’d be adding about 500 meters [1,640 ft] up and down plus another 3+ish hours to our day. Not ideal, but we figured it was our best shot. It also meant we’d have to alter our nutrition plan since we cached all our summit day food up at Colera prior to our plans change. (Most tragically, it ALSO meant we didn’t have our massive 960-calories bag of dehydrated macaroni and cheese we had been eagerly saving for our pre-summit dinner.) 

The night before we left, I couldn’t sleep at all. Not because I was nervous, just because of the same weird inability to sleep at this altitude I’ve mentioned before. I put my iPod on and listening to all the Bon Iver and M83 I had, hoping the noise would lull me to sleep. It didn’t. Finally, somewhere around 3:00 in the morning, I finally passed out. Ironically, I slept through my alarm at 4:30. But thanks to my inability to sleep, I woke up at 4:38 and roused Michael.

It was go time.

Fully bundled in four layers of gear, with headlamps strapped to our skulls, we took off under the light of a full moon. Departure time: 5:35am.

The first quartet of our day was the climb back up to Camp Colera. It was dark and frigid and slow. In the early hours, Michael seemed to struggle. He kept falling behind and needing to adjust his layers every five minutes or so. I wasn’t feeling too hot either due to my total lack of sleep the previous two nights. As we slowly picked along, I thought to myself, “So much for the summit.”

Surprisingly, we made it to Colera in about 1 hours, 45 minutes, the same time as two days prior with less gear and more sleep.

The sun had just punctured the horizon as we reached Colera, and we used it as an excuse to take a rest, grab food from our cache and... take monster dumps.

Speaking of beautiful things, watching night giving way to dawn giving way to sunrise at 20,000 feet was absolutely stunning. To be on the tallest thing around and seeing the other snow-covered mountains around us yawn awake was truly breath-taking.

From Colera, we had a fairly long and uneventful slog up to the Independencia Hut. By now, my toes were getting very cold. Fingers and toes had been my major preoccupation the entire expedition. Mine naturally tend to get cold easily, and I’d like very much to keep them. So I spent the majority of the day wiggling my toes in my boots to make sure I could still feel them or trying to kick blood back into them. In some ways, this was the scariest part of the whole adventure because HOW DO YOU KNOW IF YOU HAVE FROSTBITE WHEN THE WHOLE POINT OF FROSTBITE IS THAT YO CAN’T FEEL YOUR TOES ANYMORE?? 

We reached the Independencia Hut around 9:40am. Its claim to fame is that it’s the high refuge in the world, sitting at a staggering 6,400 m [20,997 ft] above sea level. But it’s also in pretty rough shape. The roof is blown off, and you could maybe squeeze two people in there. Maybe.

But, we were grateful for a rest and hid ourselves from the howling wind behind (what was left of) the hut. Realizing we hadn’t really eaten much, we used the opportunity to eat and drink a little, although we quickly discovered that a) with our effort level, the current elevation and the cold, the thought of eating bars or gels was wholly unappealing and b) despite being inside insulators, our Nalgenes had begun to freeze over, making drinking difficult. Not bueno.

We had already made it 1,000 meters [3,281 ft] on the day. We naively told ourselves, “Only 500 more!” So we slugged our packs over our shoulders and foolishly pressed on into the wind.

Right above Independencia Hut is Windy Ridge. Windy Ridge is called Windy Ridge because it’s a ridge that’s really windy. And if I didn’t mention before, the ridge is really, really windy. So as I was getting blasted in the face by 85 kph [53 mph] winds with snot freezing in streaks across my face, I screamed, “OK! I GET IT! IT’S WINDY!” 

The base of Windy Ridge put us at the start of the second half our journey: the Gran Acarreo (“The Long Haul”). It’s basically a long, windswept scree field pitched at 30° to 45° that you traverse to reach the base of the final push. It’s not particularly tough on paper, simply super windy and long. Most of the time we were forced to walk semi-backwards to protect our faces from the howling wind. And every time I looked up to see how far we’d come, I would just think, “Shit. Is that it??”

Finally, the Gran Acarreo gave way to the infamous and dreaded Canaleta. The Canleta is really the only feature anyone talks about on Aconcagua. It’s essentially another scree field featuring rocks ranging from pebbles to boulders that stretches the last 400 meters [1,312 ft] to the summit. Normally, on a normal mountain, it would be fairly tough. But seeing as it starts at 6,500 meters [21,325 ft] above sea level... It. Is. Soul-crushing. 

I’m not really sure how to even describe what it feels like. You can see the summit the entire climb, and you think, “Oh, it’s right there.” And then another hour passes and you think the same thing. And then another hour. And another hour.

Your pace is basically non-existent. Or rather, it’s half-step, half-step, half-step, half-step, rest on poles and breathe heavily for two minutes. And if you have to navigate a big step up or loose scree incline, add another three minutes of breathing time. It sucked. Really hard.

We finally made it to a resting place maybe 300 meters [984 ft] from the top near some caves. Michael was really struggling again (I mean, so was I), and I was still supremely concerned about my toes, which I could now only barely wriggle and only together a single unit. They were nearing the danger zone.

As we left the caves, we passed what seemed to an alpine stretcher about 20 feet to our left. I’m not 100% certain, but I’m pretty sure inside was the body of the North American guy who died up there. We heard that his body was still up by the Cuevas, and I saw what looked like two bootied feet sticking out the end. Whomever it was, it was a sobering reminder of what we were undertaking.

By now, with the altitude, I started to feel like I was moving outside my body. Noises started to sound differently. Some became barely audible. Others sounded like they were next to my head. I used the squeaking of my poles twisting in the snow as a totem. It helped to keep me conscious and present. But it didn’t always work. I realized after long stretches of time that I hadn’t bothered to wriggle or even think about wriggling or even care enough to think about wriggling my toes. I was totally spaced. And Michael was pulling farther and farther ahead of me.

We were both severely hypoxic by now. Our progress slowed considerably and despite being only 150 meters [492 ft] from the peak, we were growing more apathetic with every step.

It’s a weird kind of endurance, this mountaineering thing. Deep determination, ambushed by howling apathy.

Another hour or so later we were so close to the top, we could see the rock. But between it and us was a narrow, very steep ledge covered in icy snow. Michael said he was going to put his crampons on. “But we’re right there,” I protested. Literally we were 150 steps away. The summit was right there. But he was right. So, breathing heavily, I shrugged my pack off my back, sat down on the edge of the trail, grabbed the crampons and tried to attach them to my boots. We had done the same thing 200 meter [656 ft] and two hours earlier, and that was difficult. But now, at around 6,900 meters [22,638 ft], it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. I just couldn’t bend fair enough to get this one strap through this one little hole on my right crampon. I grunted and strained and breathed. With each attempt, I was burning precious oxygen. I was getting angrier by the second. 

Finally, I got it. I sat up and suddenly came to. Holy shit.

I had blacked out for about ten minutes. I lost track of time and space. It was confusing and—needlessly to say—a little scary, especially since I was sitting on the ledge of the trail. A fall off to the left would’ve been a nasty spill down the very precipitous scree field. But at least I had my damn crampons on. So I collected myself, and we moved out. So close.

Just like some kind of cheesy where the hero stumbles across the room to hit the red button that saves the whole planet, we staggered towards the summit. Despite being able to see the summit literally in front of us, we couldn’t move any faster. Our legs and lungs felt encrusted in concrete.

And then suddenly, we were there. We had made it. The highest point in the Americas. 22,841 feet. Time: 2:08pm.

I tried to get Michael to hit sticks like we always did at the end of a climb, but he just stared at the ground and groaned, “Noooo.” I think it was a combination of hypoxia and the fact he had tossed his poles about two feet away.

We took a few pictures, hugged and just tried to soak it all in. The moment was almost too big to full comprehend it. 

In one book, I’d read that because the Himalayan season starts a few months after Aconcagua’s, when you stand on the summit, you could very well be the highest person at Planet Earth at that exact moment. And it felt like that. (Also, just to make sure, I stumbled over to the biggest rock up there and stood on it. That way I’d be higher than Michael.)

We had done it.

But of course, if you go up, you have to come down. And we had spent just about every ounce of energy, mental capacity and emotion making it to the summit. That, combined with our lack of eating or drinking, meant we were seriously, seriously toasted. It was time to get down. We had been on the summit about 25 minutes.

As we started picking our way down slowly, it became readily apparent that Michael was really messed up. He was stumbling. And stopping. And cursing. I wasn’t far off myself.

We—very slowly—made it back to the Cuevas where we forced ourselves to eat and drink whatever we could. I shoved my bag of tortilla chips into my face to get some salt. But only half of the chip actually made it into my mouth. The rest either tumbled down the front of my jacket or ended up glued to my now-frozen-solid mustache and beard. A guide and two German hikers sitting nearby gawked at us with a combination of pity and disgust. We were drooling on ourselves.

After our stop, we descended the rest of the 1,300 meters [4,265 ft] feeling somewhere between gold garbage and hot garbage. Michael stumbled a few more times, slicing into his down pants with his crampons, and I threatened to force-feed him some dexamethasone.

By the time we starting coming of Colera, it was my turn to feel awful. We had started running down the steep slope, just wanted to be done and back in the tent. And in the late afternoon sun, with all my gear on, I started to get severely overheated and nearly fell a few times on our final descent.

But finally we had made it.

We were done. Total time: 12 hours, 15ish minutes.

We threw our shit down and just groaned outside our tent. Then we got inside the tent and groaned for even longer in there.

But we had done it.

We lay face-down on our sleeping bags for a few hours. It was total-body exhaustion. I wasn’t sore or hurting, just utterly depleted. Depleted physically, mentally, emotionally, everything-else-ally. As I the whole thing over in my head, trying to decide if it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m still not sure.

But we did it.

For the next few hours, we tried to move as little as possible from the warmth and comfort of our sleeping bags. Occasionally, I would wriggle my toes just because I could and nothing on Earth could make me happier.

Remarkably, neither of us had very bad headaches. We mostly just didn’t want to ever move again. So instead, we cooked our precious dehydrated mac and cheese while fully laying down, out the door of our tent. I was still feeling outside of my body—a very strange sensation—but once we wolfed down our amazing mac and cheese, we both instantly started to feel better. 

I slept better last night than I have any other night this entire expedition (and at 18,000 feet no less). I did, however, have at least three different dreams that we had somehow flown home without spending any time in Mendoza to eat steak and drink Malbec. (That was secretly the ulterior motive behind this entire trip.) In the final dream, as some sort of weird consolation, my brain invented a story about an anti-smoking group stationed at a mall giving me front-row seats to see Usher in concert as well as a dozen logs of cheese. It made no sense, but I assume it’s a metaphor for something. 

Ironically, after all that worrying about my toes, it was my fingers that got it bad. When I awoke the next morning, I noticed a burning sensation on the tips of my fingers. After mentioning to Michael, I realized it was very mild frostbite. Awesome. 

After lazily getting up, we packed our gear and made our way from Nido to Base Camp. Because we had to carry down everything we had plus all our caches, we had a lot of shit. Literally. We had to haul down all the poops we had taken on the mountain in a plastic bag. There was also a lot of leftover food we didn’t eat. Our packs weren’t just heavy but comically exploding too. 

But as we cranked down the mountain with our massive packs almost tipping us over, passing conga lines of other nervous hikers going up, all I could do was smile and think, “You suckers have no idea what you’re in for.”

Because now we did.

[powuk]

Mark Beaumont - The Making of a Hero

New Post has been published on http://wp.me/p8zhPs-bO

Mark Beaumont - The Making of a Hero

   “You’ve just got to decide you’re never going to stop”

These were the words from POW UK ambassador Mark Beaumont when asked how he achieved the incredible feat of cycling around the world in under 80 days (78 days, 14hrs & 40 minutes to be precise), breaking no less than two world records and raising the bar significantly in the world of ultra-endurance cycling.

Inspired by Jules Verne’s classic adventure novel Around The World In Eighty Days, Mark began his journey in Paris on 2 July and cycled an average of 16 hours (240 miles) a day, and only slept for five hours each night. He cycled through Europe, Russia, Mongolia and China, before reaching Australia and New Zealand. He returned through North America before “sprinting” through Portugal, Spain and France. It’s hard to express quite what an extraordinary achievement this is – for most people, cycling 100 miles would be a major challenge! Succeeding in cycling around the world in 80 days has not only redefined the limits of endurance sport, it has made the previously impossible, possible.

But what’s that got to do with climate change you may ask? Actually, quite a lot.

Making the Impossible, Possible: Turning Concern, Commitment, and Confidence into Success

Mark Beaumont – Arc de Triumphe

  Remember the four-minute mile? There was a time when many believed that it was impossible for humans to run a mile in under four minutes. Runners had been trying to break this barrier since the late 1800s. Then, in 1954 Roger Bannister ran the mile in 3 minutes 59.4 seconds. A month and a half later, John Landy ran even faster. Now, it is broken routinely.

I can’t think of a better example of the immense power of human psychology and the manifestation of belief. In the words of William Arthur Ward, “If you can imagine it, you can achieve it. If you can dream it, you can become it”. Conversely, self-doubt is often the single greatest barrier to success.

In a piece to camera for POW UK, just before his expedition, Mark talks about the parallels between his approach to the challenge, and the psychology behind something as overwhelming as climate change. It’s his conviction that if we are concerned enough about something, we will commit to the preparing for the challenge at hand. The more we prepare, the more our confidence grows that we can succeed, and once we believe we can succeed, nothing can stop us.

Why Doom and Gloom Just Creates More Doom and Gloom

The attitude that leads to ground-breaking achievements like these is so far removed from the doom and gloom scenarios we’re so used to hearing on the news. Climate Change, The War on Terror, Global Conflict – not only are we constantly bombarded with negative news stories, but they are also nearly always presented in a way that’s big, scary, and insurmountable. I don’t know about you but it certainly doesn’t motivate me to get off the sofa and do something positive. I’m more likely reach for a tub of ice-cream and the nearest box-set. It’s incapacitating in its negativity.

But what if we all took a bit of Mark’s incredible can-do attitude and just decided we’re never going to stop. Ok, so we’re not all going to become athletes, but if we believe in something and commit to its cause, we have immeasurable strength in numbers. We can achieve anything. It may not happen overnight, but if we are concerned enough to make one change at a time, committed to taking positive action, and have the confidence to drive it forward, then the ripple effect will be unstoppable.

I can already hear the climate deniers and eternal pessimists muttering about this being hippy dippy nonsense. Try telling that to Mark Beaumont, I dare you!

Ever felt like being a hero? Well now you can be.

Join me and let’s commit to taking positive action to Protect Our Winters!