鈥淭his book is probably not what you might expect it to be,鈥� says Melissa Arnot Reid of her new memoir Enough. Reid is the first American woman to summit Everest鈥攁nd survive the descent鈥攚ithout supplemental oxygen.

For one, she emphasizes that her book is not just another contribution to the Everest canon. In fact, until the last minute, the book鈥檚 title was actually This Is Not a Book About Everest. She wanted readers to receive this disclaimer upfront, so they wouldn鈥檛 be 鈥渨ildly disappointed.鈥�

Instead, her book is a deeply personal, seemingly no-filter account of her life鈥檚 journey. Released on April 1, Enough recounts everything from Reid鈥檚 difficult childhood and relationship with her mother, to lonely nights in the back of her truck in Montana, to many misadventures in love. Of course, she also discusses her extensive experiences climbing and guiding Everest, Rainier, and other peaks.

Filled with footnotes where Reid takes her off-the-cuff voice and honest takes to the next level, Enough is a book of our times, wherein candor, confessions, and embracing the bad along with the good seem to rule more by the moment.

鈥淚鈥檝e been really afraid of being rejected if I鈥檓 truly known,鈥� Reid told me from a hotel room in New York City, where she鈥檇 be kicking off a book tour the following day. That鈥檚 why this no-holds-barred approach to telling her story represents real bravery on par with her accomplishments in alpinism.

It takes courage to voluntarily share everything Reid includes in Enough. She reveals her most embarrassing childhood stories. She grapples with her exploitation of romantic partners to get ahead in the industry. She shares tales about named prominent alpinists that reveal tension and flaws. And she relives traumatic events and loss.

Since the scope of Enough ends in 2021, one subject Reid doesn鈥檛 explore in the book is her journey into motherhood, while continuing to work as a mountain guide. 鈥淚鈥檝e gone through this really wild personal experience of finding out that as a female athlete who works in the big mountains and becomes a mother, people sort of assume you don鈥檛 exist anymore,鈥� Reid reflects.

With a six-year-old daughter, a two-year-old son, and a fellow guide as a partner鈥攈e鈥檚 currently on a six-week stint in Alaska鈥擱eid describes her life these days as a 鈥渃razy Tetris game.鈥� Yet she also manages to run her nonprofit the , which she founded in 2012 to support the families of high-altitude workers who鈥檝e lost their lives in the mountains. Recently, the Juniper Fund also took over the work of the Khumbu Climbing Center, previously part of the . 鈥淭hat鈥檚 added a whole new layer of opportunity and work for us,鈥� she says.

While Reid acknowledges that Enough is heavy at times, she encourages readers 鈥渢o look at the darkness鈥� in order to 鈥渁ppreciate the light.鈥� She emphasizes that 鈥渋t鈥檚 important not to look away from what we鈥檙e most fearful of.鈥� Clearly, that has been, and continues to be, a guiding principle of her life. It鈥檚 the modus operandi of her book, too.

We caught up with Reid to find out the triple entendre behind the title, why releasing the book feels 鈥渞eally scary,鈥� what she thinks about technological change on Everest, and the next book project on her mind.

After the interview, we鈥檝e also included an excerpt from Enough.

This interview has been edited for clarity and concision.听

Want to catch Reid in person? She鈥檒l be speaking at the 国产吃瓜黑料 Festival in Denver, Colorado, May 31鈥揓une 1. .听

Watch an excerpt from our interview with Melissa Arnot Reid

Climbing: When did you decide you wanted to write a book? And when did it become a concrete project you were committed to?

Melissa Arnot Reid: I had been thinking about writing a book for a really long time. I had been approached really early in my Everest guiding career about writing a book because my story was a little different from some of the other Everest stories. But I knew that I 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 want to write a story about Everest and I 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 want to write a story that wasn鈥檛 complete.

I鈥檝e been a lifelong writer, which most people don鈥檛 know. During the pandemic, I actually had a minute to not be guiding and constantly on trips and I had a two-year-old. I just really decided to dedicate myself to putting all the stories that I was holding in my heart onto the page.

Climbing: Count us among those who 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 realize you鈥檝e been a lifelong writer! What kind of writing do you enjoy?

Reid: I鈥檝e been writing since I was really really young. Writing is one of the only things I鈥檝e been naturally talented at. When I was in fifth or sixth grade, I started writing a lot of poetry. I have all of it still, which is both amazing and cringey. I spend a lot of time alone and I spend a lot of time reflecting鈥攅specially as a guide, I鈥檓 a natural storyteller. So to be able to bring all that together onto the page is incredibly meaningful for me.

Climbing: A dream in the making since fifth grade. So this book contains a lot of what I imagine are stories you鈥檝e never told before鈥攁bout your childhood, past life partners, and experiences in the mountains with well-known climbers. Which of these stories were you most hesitant about putting out in the world?

Reid: Honestly, this whole book makes me really nervous because my public image has been really curated and protected by myself. I鈥檝e shared the expected story of perseverance and achievement, but I鈥檝e left out a lot of the nuance. I went there with this book. I made myself a promise when I started writing that I would write as viscerally and honestly as I could and edit backwards if I needed to. It鈥檚 so essential to have the whole story out there.

I鈥檝e had a really complicated life鈥攂oth really terrible things that were not my choice and terrible things that were my choice. I take you鈥攖he reader鈥攐n that journey with me. I鈥檝e been really afraid of being rejected if I鈥檓 truly known. So this whole book is really scary because it鈥檚 me on all my good days and really bad days, my good choices and my really bad choices. Not everybody鈥檚 going to love it. I tell some critical stories from my perspective of named people that鈥攊f you鈥檙e in the outdoor world鈥攜ou will find familiar. That doesn鈥檛 scare me because those people lived it with me. I do believe that knowing somebody else鈥檚 perspective of an experience can be really beneficial for us all.

Climbing: Are you expecting to hear from folks who you told stories about now that the book is out?

Reid: If you read the book, you鈥檙e going to be like, 鈥淕osh, I wonder what so-and-so thinks of this.鈥� If you鈥檙e thinking that, it鈥檚 very likely that I already talked to so-and-so face-to-face. I tried to give people who I speak critically about at least a head鈥檚 up that it鈥檚 not a highly refined and curated story of our perfect moments. But I don鈥檛 spare myself from that same level of critique. Somebody else鈥檚 perspective is going to be really different from mine. I don鈥檛 want to say this to be baiting, but people who are in the story that I speak critically about also know what I 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 say. And that鈥檚 quite a lot actually.

Climbing: Having read Enough, I also want to reinforce what you鈥檙e saying about critiquing yourself alongside others. It鈥檚 not like you鈥檙e painting yourself out to be the hero of the story.

Reid: No, I am not. I have made a lot of mistakes. But you can be really imperfect and make tough choices and have low character moments and still be deserving. That鈥檚 sort of the journey that I鈥檝e gone on in my life.

Climbing: Some of the experiences in the mountains that you reflect on in this book are quite tragic. Did the process of telling these stories change how you view those events? In other words, did the writing process alter your perspective on the past?

Reid: It鈥檚 been incredibly therapeutic. It鈥檚 been really interesting to see what stories continuously play in the background of my mind. The biggest thing I鈥檝e learned through the process is some things that I thought were scars from my past were actually just scabs and can bleed easily again. It鈥檚 a good place to remind yourself that it鈥檚 okay to continue healing.

Climbing: Are those scabs more from your family life or from experiences in the mountains?

Reid: I鈥檓 really exceptional at compartmentalizing. It鈥檚 made me really good in both emergency medicine and guiding. It鈥檚 allowed me to keep a really calm head, but that also doesn鈥檛 allow you to process big trauma. I was present for two back-to-back catastrophic seasons on Everest with a lot of death and trauma, while simultaneously going through a really difficult time in my personal life. It actually feels emotionally appropriate for me to revisit those things with some tenderness instead of stoicism.

Sixteen people dying is something that should affect you鈥攁nd then, of course, I had a really complicated childhood. It feels good to be able to share that side of my life. I鈥檝e always disliked when people were asking about my story, like, 鈥淵ou must have been climbing since you were little. Your parents must have been really outdoors people.鈥� It鈥檚 always graded me鈥攊f only I could tell you how that鈥檚 not been my story. And there鈥檚 never space. Now I have 304 pages to tell you all about it.

Climbing: A few months ago, you shared on Instagram that 鈥渆nough鈥濃�攚hich is the title of your book鈥攐ught to be the word of the year. That feels pretty on-point right now. Have your thoughts on 鈥渆nough鈥� as the word of 2025 evolved at all now that we鈥檙e three months into the year?

Reid: 鈥滶nough鈥� is this incredibly beautiful word because it means so many things. It could mean that you are enough. It could mean that you鈥檝e done enough. Or it could mean that you鈥檝e had enough. In my case, it is truly all three.

When I think about 鈥渆nough鈥� being the theme of the year, it鈥檚 really all three of those things. I am enough: I don鈥檛 need to be anything other than what I am. So are all of us. I have done enough and I also can do more. But I鈥檝e definitely had enough. When you鈥檝e had enough, you get pretty activated to see change. That鈥檚 sort of where I鈥檓 at right now.

Climbing: As we enter the 2025 Everest season, the mountain has become more commercial than ever. We鈥檙e also seeing the , and drones are becoming more of a presence on the mountain. How has your view of Everest changed since your first climb? And as a longtime guide, what are your thoughts on where Everest is headed?

Reid: My first season on Everest was 2008. As we were trekking through Khumbu into basecamp, the porters were starting to use Nokia flip phones and there were cell towers. The conversation was: 鈥淭echnology is going to ruin adventure.鈥� This is pre-smartphones. I remember feeling like it was such a silly thing. Fast forward quite a long time, and technology has evolved the adventure that is Everest in myriad ways. How people choose to climb and how the commercial operations run is a huge part of that.

Climbing: What鈥檚 happened since you were last on Everest?

Reid: My last season working on Everest was 2016. In the last nine years, there has been so much change that it鈥檚 hard to even articulate. I鈥檓 still very involved in the industry鈥擨 run the Juniper Fund so we鈥檙e incredibly involved in what鈥檚 happening. A lot of the commercial guiding has shifted to really big Nepali outfitters, so foreign operators like [Lukas] Furtenbach have to continue to be competitive in the ways that are meaningful to them. They also have to answer to what people want.

My personal opinions on truncating an adventure into achievement alone probably aren鈥檛 really welcome in that commercial environment. Something that I鈥檝e always thought was really wonderful about adventure is it separates you from the ways that we distract ourselves in our daily life. If you don鈥檛 allow yourself that separation, it鈥檚 not to say you can鈥檛 have a tremendous adventure, you鈥檙e just having a different one.

I鈥檓 generally accepting that things are going to change and we have to witness it and act individually as responsibly as we can. But for the armchair Everest community, which is vast and vocal, this is an interesting time.

Climbing: Does it make you wish you were still guiding on Everest to bear witness firsthand to all the changes unfolding?

Reid: Through the Juniper Fund, I鈥檓 really involved in the worst side of the industry because we get involved as soon as there鈥檚 been a tragedy and we stay really involved with those families鈥� lives really forever. I get to be really up close and I can be very honest and tell you I haven鈥檛 really had a single season pass where I鈥檝e thought, 鈥淚 just wish I were guiding on Everest right now.鈥�

That鈥檚 not to say that I won鈥檛 go back. When I was guiding on Everest my first year, I was 24. I remember looking around and thinking, 鈥淚鈥檓 by 20 years the youngest guide here.鈥� So, I could take a whole 10-plus year break and come back and just be the normal age range of other guides. It would have to be really specific clients and a really specific situation for me. But I feel as involved as I want to be in it.

Climbing: Let鈥檚 talk more about your work with the Juniper Fund. What changes have you noticed since you founded this nonprofit? Have you observed any improvements or changes in the working conditions or risk level for Sherpas and other high-altitude workers?

Reid: Decline in risk is really interesting. So many of the families we serve are [impacted by] absolutely objective hazard situations鈥攁n ice fall, rock fall, a big avalanche. We are in the areas where those things occur. We have seen a huge shift in training for high-altitude workers with an emphasis on prevention from local outfitters. So, they鈥檙e training their workers to prevent the preventable things, which is excellent and is making a difference. We always have a hard time measuring, for example, the deaths that don鈥檛 occur because of preventative measures. And the numbers don鈥檛 actually tell that story very well because of the nature of accidental death.

But the conversations and the employment structures have changed a lot. It used to be foreign operators were the biggest employers of high-altitude workers, through a local agency. The largest employers [now] are local agencies who are running the entire guide service. I think the local agencies have a really close conversation with what the needs of the workers are. I can鈥檛 say that it鈥檚 better at this moment, but I do think that these conversations and the visibility have shifted a little bit.

Climbing: Talk more about the shift in how these high-altitude workers are perceived.

Reid: We collectively used to think of Sherpa as uneducated, untrained laborers just carrying loads and it鈥檚 eminently clear now that that is just not the case. There are Nepali-born, high-altitude mountain guides who are of equal skillset to any foreign guide鈥攚orkers who have chosen this as their vocation and even have higher education, and this is where they want to be. Our landscape of understanding has changed. In supporting families with the Juniper Fund, we鈥檙e always listening to the families and grow our actions based on what they tell us: How do you feel supported? What more would you like?听

Climbing: This work you鈥檙e doing relates to the ending of the book, which I loved: the epilogue with Lhakpa Tenzing Sherpa, the son of a Sherpa who died in the mountains on a climb with you. Has Lhakpa continued climbing since your summit together in the Cascades? What has he been up to since the book ended in 2021?

Reid: He lives in Seattle and works in finance. He鈥檚 generally an adventurous guy, not specifically to climbing. I can鈥檛 speak on his behalf, but I can imagine he has a really conflicting relationship with the mountains because of his experience as a child and losing his dad when he was really young. But anybody who knows him loves him, because he鈥檚 just an exceptional, bright person and a wonderful human to have in the world.

Climbing: Does this make you want to write another book at some point? Or do you have any other big goal that you鈥檙e shifting your focus to next?

Reid: I鈥檓 interested to see how the book is received, because it isn鈥檛 going to be the book people think it鈥檚 going to be. How it鈥檚 received doesn鈥檛 really impact what it means to me because it鈥檚 so important to me.

But yes, I have another book that I am working on already. In 2016, right after I summited Everest without oxygen, I did a trip with Maddie Miller, a girl who I was mentoring. We climbed the high points of all the states, so the 50 high points in 41 days, 16 hours, and 10 minutes. And Maddie set the speed record at that time. We documented it, but we have a lot of stories from that experience. And it鈥檚 really like Maddie鈥檚 coming-of-age story as a 21-year-old in her last year of college. I鈥檓 really hoping to be able to bring that story out to the world because comparatively to Enough, it鈥檚 a fun adventure challenge.

Excerpt from 贰苍辞耻驳丑听by Melissa Arnot Reid

Excerpted from ENOUGH: Climbing Toward a True Self on Mount Everest by Melissa Arnot Reid. Copyright 漏 2025 by Melissa Arnot Reid LLC. Published in the United States by Crown, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.

You can purchase Enough or wherever books are sold.

Obama and the Dalai Lama and Americans wouldn鈥檛 be given any more visas that season.

I exhaled with grateful relief. A change in plans I could deal with. 鈥淒on鈥檛 say it鈥檚 bad news unless someone died!鈥� I joked.

The change meant that climbing from Tibet was out, so Pasang and I decided we would climb the route in front of us, on the south side of Everest. We were here and that was all that we could do, so we might as well enjoy it.

That night, I fell into a restless high-altitude sleep. I woke up every hour, hoping that when I opened my eyes the first light of dawn would have arrived. When it finally did, it came with the distant clamor of voices on the radio. I peeked out of my tent to see Dawa waving his hands and frantically motioning me to come up to his tent. I put on my down jacket and boots and headed up, unsure what the urgency was about.

鈥淢eli, there was an accident. A big one. All Sherpas.鈥� He paused and I watched his Adam鈥檚 apple bob as he attempted to swallow. 鈥淢any are dead.鈥� The words hung in space until he loudly exhaled. 鈥淐an you go up? They need help.鈥�

I took a breath to calm the flood of adrenaline that rose within me. Of course I would go. I assumed the familiar role of responder that I had practiced in my medical work, calm and intentional with my movement. I hastily departed to get dressed, planning to climb up to the accident site and help however I could. I 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 have a harness or crampons, so I borrowed them from another climber and went straight to the helipad at the edge of camp, where all the rescuers had assembled. Since I had significant medical training and experience, it was quickly decided that I would fly up first with medical equipment. No one was totally sure what had happened at the accident site, but what little news we had was grim. A large number of local workers had been climbing together when the avalanche came swiftly down on top of them. Some were dead.

Some were missing. And some were injured and desperate for care.

I boarded the helicopter, and a moment later we left solid ground and headed into something unimaginable. Tragedy was not new, nor was my facing it. Nearly every season that I had worked on Everest had included some sort of rescue or an up-close view of a tragic accidental death. That was part of the deal with the biggest mountains in the world. But I had never seen, nor even imagined, death on this scale. I had no time to wonder what it would be like鈥擨 just went in, closing my heart to the truth of what was in front of me and doing the job I was asked to do. Like so many times before, I knew I needed to seal off my emotions and do the task at hand. I could sort through the tragedy of it all later, and I would.

April 18, 2014

The air feels whisper thin and unoccupied. I stop, holding my own breath to see what I can hear. Nothing. Not a crack, nor a creak. Not even the sound of stillness. Here, everything is gone. Life is gone. It is as though something or someone has pressed pause on this moment in time and I am somehow allowed to look around and feel the absence of everything. Newton said that energy cannot be created or destroyed; it can only be transferred or changed from one form to another. I have felt that transfer many times, something turning into something else with the flip of a switch. But I wonder if Newton ever dreamed of something like this, a place where the earth opens and absorbs all the energy, leaving no trace of it behind.

The borrowed crampons on my feet are heavy and unfamiliar. But they talk to the glacier ice in the same familiar conversation of crunching and piercing, offering some comfort. I am at almost 20,000 feet and my lungs are burning like structure fires, telling me to slow down. The sound of my breath and the booming of blood flow is filling my ears now like the white noise of an ocean

in chaos. It is not rhythmic. It is not peaceful. I move quickly, following the chucks of broken ice and the splashes of red blood that are smattered about. A backpack rests near a crimson stain in the snow. I don鈥檛 know who it belongs to. I wonder if he lived or died. I keep moving, up and then down, covering every inch of the area in search of something missed. I am both eager to find something and dreading what it will be. And then, I see him. Upside down, suspended by the rope and the universe. Stopped right there and buried partially under hundreds of pounds of ice; entombed. I stop, allowing my breath to ease enough to speak. Keying the mic on the radio, I relay the news that I have found another one. We need to go check it out. The other rescuers rush from behind me, climbing up the slight incline around giant crevasses and blocks of ice, and continue to the broken battlefield ahead. I stay where I am, watching over them. I feel the weight of what might happen next pulling at us all. It feels like the mountain has only partially exhaled, and there is more to come. I do not want to be caught in her breath or see another life absorbed into her flanks. I will my soul to communicate with hers as I scour the slopes for any sign of movement. A helicopter lands below me and I see another body wrapped tightly, small and life- less. It is loaded in and flown away. It is wrong to be seeing death on this scale. Stacks of bodies, ponds of blood, wails of loss. This is the stuff of war. This is for people who signed up for the pos- sibility of carnage and had a moment to decide how they would handle it. But as that thought floats through, another comes to rest. Carnage is about the element of surprise. It is about accept- ing small losses over and over until one day you are faced with a loss you cannot ignore. A loss of size and scale you could not have even imagined.

Within a few hours, the final body has been freed from its icy tomb and wrapped and laid next to the others, waiting its turn to be loaded into the helicopter. We climb in and for a moment I feel a small sprig of gratitude that we are alive. Then I feel guilty and selfish for feeling anything good.

As we reintroduce ourselves to the rest of Base Camp, we cannot be understood. We are new people now. The others want to know what we saw. They want to feel grateful, too, that it was not them. But what can be said about death on this scale?

The Tibetans believe that a goddess lives inside every mountain. The one inside Everest is called Myosangmalangma, and she is extraordinary. She is fierce and powerful, riding on top of a wild white tiger that she has tamed. She is generous, holding a mongoose that spits gold coins and a basket of fruit that she willingly shares. She is different from the goddess that they believe resides in K2, Takar Dolsangma. That goddess is angry and has the taste for human flesh, which she will take to satiate her hunger. But not Myosangmalangma. If she takes a life, it is not for hunger, it is to teach you something. I wonder if I will learn the lesson she is offering. I wonder if I even can.

As night falls on the end of this horrific day, I look up at her moonlit flanks. She has taken so much, but she is quiet now. I do not feel anger toward her. I wonder what she is trying to say. I can feel her protective qualities, casting out over us all again, even amidst this great loss. I can sense her generosity still dormant under the veneer of terror she has cast. I silently make her a promise that I will listen. I am paying attention. With a settling crack, the icefall adjusts its position once more. I feel the vibration under my feet, and I feel her exhale in my soul. I breathe a deep breath, letting the air absorb into my body and exhaling gratitude back to her.

* * *

The details of the accident became more and more tragic as we pieced them back together. The Sherpas had been climbing up in the early

hours of the previous morning when they arrived at one of the metal ladders that were placed to help cross the gaping crevasses. It was broken, making the route impassable, and they shed their loads to wait for the icefall doctors to come fix it.* They pulled out their thermoses and cigarettes and snacks and huddled together in a sort of dogpile to stay warm. A thunderous crack ripped through the sky. Two thousand feet above, an ice block the size of a suburban house calved off the cliff and careened down, breaking apart and spewing destruction in every direc- tion. The men were buried. Those who tried to run were hit by ice chunks or knocked into crevasses hundreds of feet deep. The seven men who stayed huddled were crushed under the ice and under one another and mostly suffocated.

It was a tragedy that would affect every village in some way and bring the climbing season to a halt. Workers demanded a better safety net for their families if they were going to do such a dangerous job. Women in villages threatened to bring all the children and leave them at Base Camp if their husbands climbed. I sat with Pasang as we both cried. She had lost an uncle and knew almost every one of the sixteen who died. I knew six of them well after years of working alongside them on this very mountain. One was Ang Tshering, the Camp Two cook who had so tenderly helped me after Chhewang died.

I wondered how things might have been different for us if Pasang and I had our climbing gear. Would we have been caught too? I chose not to dwell on this what-if and instead decided to return home.

I stayed in Nepal for a week after we returned from the mountains to Kathmandu. I cried every day and felt empty and helpless. My sleep was interrupted by images of the ice splattered with blood. I would wake up wanting to flee from myself but with nowhere to go. By the time I got home to Idaho, I had placed all my feelings on a shelf with a label.

鈥淭hings No One Can Understand鈥� and met everyone with quietness. I had spent a huge part of my adult life facing traumas on the ambulance and in the mountains, but this was on a scale that was much harder to wrestle down in my mind and soul. With Jon, I was icy, distant. I 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 even attempt to let him close. His best friend was getting married that May and he was excited that I could join him at the wedding now that I was back early. I resented his excitement and looked at him with disgust that he could find a bright side to something so horrific.

Truthfully, he 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 know what to do. Who would? He offered me all the space I needed but I greedily took more, wanting to be surrounded by only my own thoughts. I decided to ride my bike alone across Montana instead of going to the wedding, replacing one discomfort for another in the rhythm of survival that had brought me here. I started to seriously wonder if here was where I even wanted to be. How long would I be able to avoid the truth that was crashing down around me, a serac of its own?

*The icefall doctors are a group of Sherpas who are paid by every team to set the ropes and ladders in the icefall only. They don鈥檛 go above Camp Two but instead work to keep the ever-changing route passable.

The post She Made History Climbing Everest Without Oxygen鈥擝ut Her New Memoir Tells a Bigger Story appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Picture yourself in your office. Your phone buzzes with a text message: Time to go!听You sprint downstairs to a waiting taxi and zip to the airport, where you board an overnight flight to Kathmandu. You land, hop in a helicopter, and soar over the Himalayas to Mount Everest Base Camp, where Sherpas hook you up to oxygen. You and your guides climb the Khumbu Icefall, Western Cwm, Lhotse Face, and continue on to the summit, where you snap a triumphant selfie. You then descend 11,400 vertical feet back to Base Camp, where a helicopter whisks you to the airport, and you board your flight back home. One week after receiving the text, you’re back in your office.

Sounds like a scene from a science fiction movie, right?

In May, an Austrian mountaineer and guide named Lukas Furtenbach will oversee four paying clients on an Everest expedition that, door to door, will last just seven days. That’s about one-third the length of the speediest Everest expeditions currently offered by guiding companies. And it’s much shorter than most guided ascents of the world’s highest peak, which typically last anywhere from six to eight weeks. On those trips, climbers complete multiple acclimatization hikes up the mountain to adjust to the extreme altitude.

“Our type of expedition opens Mount Everest up to people who don’t have enough free time for the traditional experience,” Furtenbach told 国产吃瓜黑料. “We are confident they will summit. Our reputation is on the line, and our business would be impacted if we fail.”

All four clients are from the U.K., which means they will start their journeys at or near sea level. According to Furtenbach, each client is paying $153,000 for the trip.

So, what鈥檚 Furenbach鈥檚 secret to speed? In short, xenon gas. A few weeks before traveling to Nepal, Furtenbach’s clients will travel to a hospital in Germany where they will don a diving bell-like mask and inhale xenon gas. Studies have suggested that the odorless gas can protect vital organs from altitude sickness, while boosting the body’s production of erythropoietin, or EPO, the hormone that stimulates the production of red blood cells. When used alongside traditional at-home acclimatization methods, xenon gas can make the human body capable of withstanding Everest鈥檚 extreme altitudes, according to Furtenbach.

“We are doing this primarily for safety as a form of preventing altitude sickness,” Furtenbach says. “This is not about performance enhancement.”

The news of Furtenbach’s experimental tour caused a stir in the mountaineering world when , and in the ensuing weeks, the entire industry of guides and expedition operators . Some guides voiced their support of the experimental procedure, others chastised it, while others raised questions about safety. On January 22, the International Climbing and Mountaineering Federation, a global body that advocates on behalf of climbers, condemning the practice.

The ordeal has forced mountaineers and guides to revisit the ethics鈥攐r lack thereof鈥攖hat climbers follow on the world’s highest peak, and to ask themselves how far climbers should go to improve their changes of actually reaching the top, and who belongs on the peak.

“The old adage, 鈥楯ust because you can, doesn鈥檛 mean you should,鈥� applies in this context,” says mountaineer and longtime Everest chronicler Alan Arnette.

The post Is This the New Way to Climb Mount Everest? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On Monday, January 20, 2025, President Donald Trump to rename Alaska鈥檚 20,310-foot Denali, the highest peak in North America. The mountain鈥檚 name will revert to Mount McKinley, named for William McKinley, the 25th President of the United States, who was assassinated on September 14, 1901.

The decree undoes the work of former President Barack Obama, who, in 2015 officially changed the name from Mount McKinley to Denali, the peak鈥檚 traditional name from the Koyukon Athabascan language, which is spoken by Alaska’s Native inhabitants. Denali translates as 鈥渢he high one鈥� or 鈥渢he great one.鈥�

The name change will take effect within 30 days. The name of Denali National Park and Preserve, where the mountain sits, will not change.

Policy wonks (and ) know that there has been infighting in Congress about the name of North America鈥檚 highest peak since at least 1975. That was the first year the state of Alaska petitioned to use the local name Denali instead of McKinley. Lawmakers from Ohio, McKinley鈥檚 home state, pushed back.

But how do the people whose lives and livelihoods depend on the mountain feel about Denali鈥檚 name change? We asked some of Denali鈥檚, er McKinley鈥檚, most prominent athletes, guides, and rangers.

Why Alaskans Prefer the Name Denali

The guides and mountaineers who spoke to 国产吃瓜黑料 for this story expressed dismay at the name change.

鈥淚t鈥檚 worth mentioning that the President suggested doing this about six years ago,鈥� says Mark Westman, an Alaska resident and former ranger on the mountain. 鈥淎nd he was told by Alaska’s two senators鈥攂oth of whom are Republicans and both who are still the current senators鈥攏ot to do that.鈥�

Indeed, on Monday, January 21, Alaskan Senator Lisa Murkowski, a Republican, : 鈥淥ur nation鈥檚 tallest mountain, which has been called Denali for thousands of years, must continue to be known by the rightful name bestowed by Alaska Koyukon Athabascans, who have stewarded the land since time immemorial.鈥�

Guides and climbers echoed Murkowski鈥檚 sentiment鈥攖he importance of the name Denali lies in its connection to Alaska鈥檚 precolonial听history, they said.

鈥淭he name Denali reflects a local cultural heritage here that predates the United States,鈥� Westman says. 鈥淭he name McKinley was an arbitrary name given for someone who had never even set foot here. He was from Ohio.鈥�

Conrad Anker, who began climbing in the Alaska Range in 1987, said he was overjoyed when the peak鈥檚 Indigenous name was officially restored in 2015. Changing the name back, he said, makes no sense to outdoor enthusiasts, local Alaskans, or the region鈥檚 Indigenous population.

鈥淚t was fitting to honor the people of Alaska with the rightful name,鈥� he said. 鈥淚 think it鈥檚 worth noting that the vast majority of peaks in the Himalayas have local names.”

Guide Melissa Arnot Reid, the first American woman to ascend and descend Everest without supplemental oxygen, said that precolonial names such as Denali enhance a visitor鈥檚 connection to a place. That鈥檚 why she encourages her climbing clients to refer to peaks and regions by traditional names.

鈥淒iscovering what the local people call a place, and why, enhances our connection to that place,鈥� she says.

Does Anyone Even Use the Name Mount McKinley?

Even before the 2015 name change, climbers and guides frequently used the peak’s Native name, guides told us. Westman, who first came to the peak in 1994, said that while the names were used interchangeably by locals back then, the preference was to call it Denali.

鈥淭here鈥檚 been a difference in the name Denali for, well, forever,鈥� he said. 鈥淣ative Alaskans were calling it Denali for thousands of years before anybody else came here. In the climbing community, it鈥檚 almost universal鈥擨 almost never hear anybody call it McKinley.鈥�

In the days following the announcement, many Alaskan residents appear to agree. On Tuesday, January 21, the group asked 1,816 adults in Alaska about the proposed name change. The survey found that 54 percent opposed it, while just 26 percent supported the change.

Ski mountaineer Kit DesLauriers, the first person to hike and then ski the Seven Summits, pointed out that even Alaska鈥檚 political leaders have used the name Denali publicly for decades. 鈥淲ith Denali, the traditional name has been the choice not only of Alaskan Native people, but also of the entire state including its political leadership since at least 1975,鈥� she says.

Dave Hahn of RMI Mountain Guides, who has ascended the peak 25 times, said that the mountain is 鈥渂ig enough to handle however many names you want to throw at it.鈥�

But he stressed that Denali felt like it was always the appropriate title within the climbing community. 鈥淚 never felt that McKinley was wrong鈥攊t honored a president that was assassinated while in office,鈥� he said. 鈥淏ut I think that Denali is truer to where the mountain is, and who the people around the mountain are, recognizing that it鈥檚 an Alaskan mountain and not a Washington D.C. mountain.鈥�

Most People Will Still Say Denali

The sources who spoke to 国产吃瓜黑料 for this story agreed on one thing: they will continue to call the peak by its Native name going forward.

鈥淚 intend to continue to refer to the great mountain as Denali for as long as I鈥檓 alive, and I encourage every other climber to do the same,鈥� wrote author听Jon Krakauer听in an email. 鈥淭rump might be able to officially rename it, but he will never be able to force me to call it anything except Denali.鈥�

Ultrarunner Jack Kuenzle, who in 2023 set the fastest known time for ascending the peak, echoed the sentiment.

鈥淚 can鈥檛 imagine anybody will be actually utilizing McKinley,鈥� he said. 鈥淚鈥檝e never heard it called that.鈥�

Keith Sidle, who teaches mountaineering courses with the Alaska Mountaineering School, said the only thing he expects to see change is how the mountain is named on maps and signs. Sidle said his climbing buddies are already saying online that they will continue to use the Native name.

鈥淚t鈥檚 changing a name on a piece of paper, it鈥檚 not changing the mountain,鈥� he said. 鈥淭o the people that it really matters to, it鈥檚 not changing anything.鈥�

The post Trump Just Renamed North America鈥檚 Highest Peak. These Climbers Will Still Call It 鈥淒enali.鈥� appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Back before climbing went mainstream (Olympics, gyms, Hollywood documentaries, , yippee!), we climbers were known for our social awkwardness and unapologetic penury. The community was an eclectic mix of rule-following problem-solvers (e.g., mathematicians and engineers) and barely functioning societal dropouts who survived on peanut butter and ramen while sleeping in caves, stripped-down cargo vans, or passenger cars with plywood 鈥渂ox springs鈥� in lieu of seats.

So perhaps a good joke, playing off the classic riff about engineers, might have been:

Q: How do you know when a climber likes you?

A: She stares at your rock shoes instead of her own when she鈥檚 talking to you.

With such an oddball crew, there were (and remain) Yet the good news鈥擨 guess?鈥攚ith the sport鈥檚 recent boom is that there are more of us than ever, expanding the pool of eligible single climbers.

This also means that there are now at least 10 reasons why dating a climber might possibly be a good idea.

1. Climbers Are Low-Cost/Low-Maintenance

Climbers have traditionally been non-materialistic; the thinking was that we鈥檇 rather be poor and have the free time to climb than labor away earning enough cheddar to slurp consomm茅 alongside tiny-fork bluebloods at some Michelin-starred snob-hole. On the one hand, this is great news. Our low-overhead minimalism makes us cheap dates. Want to stage a 鈥渞omantic鈥� 鈥減icnic鈥� with a moldy loaf of French bread, spray-can cheese, and gooey tomatoes harvested from a dumpster听 (鈥渋t鈥檚 caprese!鈥�) while watching pirated Netflix on a phone using the free Wi-Fi in the McDonald鈥檚 parking lot? We鈥檙e all-in鈥攁nd easily impressed鈥攁s long as it doesn鈥檛 overlap with good condies.

The con? Any money we do have鈥攐r that we siphon off you鈥攗sually goes right back into the sport: These days, most climbers easily drop a few thousand bucks a year on gym memberships, shoes, chalk, pants, cams, ropes, pads, fingerboards, fans, travel, and skin care.

2. We Like to Travel (To Rocks)

Another thing traditionally associated with climbers: wanderlust. And since travel is the glue that binds many a relationship, we鈥檙e a catch. The only caveat is that there needs to be rock (or a gym) at our destination or we go full 鈥淭orrance,鈥� like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. For instance, if you told me I had a once-in-a-lifetime, all-expenses-paid trip to Fiji, where I鈥檇 be taught surfing by Laird Hamilton, my first question would be, 鈥淚s there any rock in Fiji?鈥� And my second would be, 鈥淥r at least a doorjamb in the bungalow for my hangboard?鈥�

As a further example: years ago, after a month of Eurail touristing around Europe, I landed on the Greek isle of Paros (where the Euros gaily tan and windsurf during their August holidays). At that point, I was so hard up to touch rock that I did pointless traverses in a crumbly beachside cave right where everyone takes a dump鈥� in the 100-degree heat. Talk about a 鈥渟hitty鈥� landing鈥攁nd a near-psychotic desperation to clamber.

3. We鈥檙e Fit

Climbers must be some of the most training-obsessed athletes around, even at the amateur level where literally nothing is at stake. Witness the endless training ateliers, podcasts, apps and tools, and our obsession with etc. We end up with toned, attractive, eminently datable physiques, even if all we鈥檙e doing is eking out sad, expensive, barely noticeable one-percent gains after months of self-flagellation. The downside: We are so rigid about our workouts that we do weird things like fingerboard while riding as passengers in cars, or even 鈥渃ar-king鈥�: ARC endurance training by squeezing a grip ring while driving.

4. We Know How to Do Proper Pull-ups

Unlike CrossFitters, whose half-assed 鈥減ull-ups鈥� make them look like fish death-flopping in a dinghy (see video below) and will never get them stronger, our rizz us up with sexy, well-defined shoulders and backs (see reason No. 3).

Also, I may be biased (I probably am), but I feel like our sport is smarter than CrossFit: We need to execute complex, choreographed beta under the pressure and duress of facing a fall, whereas all CrossFitters need to do is figure out how to roll a tractor tire around an office-industrial parking lot without getting rhabdo.

5. We鈥檙e Good at Communicating

At least on a rope, since we need to be clear with our belay commands in a life-or-death situation. How well we express our needs off the rock will vary. Everyone鈥檚 different! Plus we tend to forget that the non-climbing public won鈥檛 always understand our lingo. So if your climber boo says, 鈥淢y feelings for you are deeper than the anchor jug on 厂颈濒别苍肠别,鈥� they love you. But if they say, 鈥淗anging out with you is worse than a front-team double split on a greasy Bishop afternoon,鈥� they hate your stupid face.

6. We鈥檙e Really into Skin Care

Other than models, actors, and perfectly complected skinfluencers, climbers might be than anyone on Earth. If you date a climber, you鈥檒l never need to buy balm, salve, lotion, ointment, emery boards, nail files, tape, Band-Aids, or nail clippers again. We have all that stuff stashed in multiple spots鈥攎edicine cabinet, cragging pack, gym pack, and cars. It鈥檚 not all designed for making your face radiant and free of age lines, but you will most definitely have the best finger and palm skin in town.

7. You鈥檒l Be Plugged into an Instant Community

Just as , , usually from our apparel, veiny forearms, and chalky, hands. In this way, we tend to bond quickly, forming communities and networks both large and small. So if you pair up with a climber, you will be plugged in to a big family, which is great if you are a social person, but perhaps not so great if you鈥檇 rather not see your guest room turned into a hostel for a rotating cast of aromatic vagabonds who range from lost skatepunk bouldering kids, to dreadlocked Germans chain-smoking Drum cigarettes, to penny-pinching bro-grammers soaking up all your Wi-Fi while they work on rest days.

8. We鈥檙e Youthful and Free-Spirited

Climbers are often accused of hiding from real life by being out at the rock all day, which is 100 percent true. But this carefree lifestyle also keeps us young at heart and fun to be around. Thus, while some might call us immature, I prefer to think of climbers as youthful.听

Take it from me. At age 53, I can spend all day bolting choss, stop in at the gym to train, come home and pop in a frozen pizza and wash off some baby carrots for the kids like the 鈥淲orld鈥檚 Greatest Dad鈥� that I am. Then trade wiener, butt, and fart jokes with my boys at the dinner table much to my wife鈥檚 chagrin. And still wake up the next morning with enough energy to put in a two-hour workday and then MoonBoard. I mean, if I were single, I鈥檇 be a major catch!

9. We Always Know the Weather

No one is as obsessed with the weather as rock climbers, who schedule our lives around when it鈥檚 ideal to climb. Condies are king, and we stay up to date鈥攙ia multiple apps and websites鈥攁t least a week out on the weather, including wind, humidity, chances of precipitation, etc. So, if you never want to have to check the forecast again, date a climber.

10. Lots of Us Are Secret Trust-Funders

Despite our and our apparent poverty (worn, soiled clothing; blown-out rock shoes; guerilla camping; etc.), many of us are actually secret trust-funders. I mean, how else do you think that buddy of yours who never works somehow manages to spend three months a year in Spain and three months at Rocklands while also basing out of a high-end condo in an expensive mountain town and shopping exclusively at Whole Foods? It鈥檚 because he has a secret income he might be ashamed to talk about, e.g., a trust fund. If you play your cards right, you, too, can share in that bounty, trading the stress and tedium of work for the delicious apathy of鈥� 鈥渘ot work.鈥�

Matt Samet is a freelance writer and editor based in Boulder, Colorado. He is the author of the and the memoir 听

The post 10 Reasons Why You Should Only Date Climbers appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On November 14, Jenni Lowe, president of the Alex Lowe Charitable Foundation (ALCF) and widow of climbing legend Alex Lowe, announced that the nonprofit she founded in his name will officially dissolve before the end of 2025. The nonprofit鈥檚 assets鈥攊ncluding the iconic Khumbu Climbing Center鈥攚ill go to the Juniper Fund, a Nepal-based charity helmed by celebrity mountaineers Melissa Arnot Reid and David Morton. Jenni Lowe first initiated the handoff process about a year ago.

鈥淚t just felt like time,鈥� she told 国产吃瓜黑料. 鈥淚鈥檓 approaching 70 years old, and I feel as though I鈥檓 ready to change direction in my life.鈥�

The ACLF has been a force of change in the Khumbu region of Nepal since its founding 25 years ago. Jenni Lowe initially launched the ALCF alongside leading alpinist Conrad Anker to help indigenous mountain communities and to honor her late husband, Alex Lowe, after he was killed in an avalanche on Shishapangma in 1999. At the time, Alex Lowe was considered one of the best alpinists of his generation, establishing bold first ascents in Antarctica, Baffin Island, and in the Himalaya. He was only 40 when he died, and he left three young sons behind.

The cornerstone of the ALCF鈥檚 work was The Khumbu Climbing Center, a facility that helps provide safety education to Sherpa guides and other members of indigenous climbing community. Together with Anker, Jenni Lowe helped build the KCC from the ground up. Since its launch in 2003, the facility has provided life-saving training to hundreds of climbers.

From here on out, the KCC will continue under the umbrella of the Juniper Fund, a well-regarded nonprofit that has worked alongside the ALCF for more than a decade. The Juniper Fund鈥檚 mission to support the families of Himalayan high-altitude workers, especially those grieving loved ones killed in the mountains, dovetails with that of the ALCF. That made the hand-off an easy decision, Lowe told 国产吃瓜黑料.

鈥淭he Juniper Fund does amazing work,鈥� Lowe said. 鈥淲hen I started the ALCF, I was this young widow, and I had deep compassion for the women over there who I saw as in my shoes. The Juniper Fund stepped in to provide support to those families in a beautiful way.鈥�

Lowe hopes the transfer of assets from the ALCF to the Juniper Fund will be complete by the end of 2025. That includes all monetary assets, the building that houses the KCC, and other resources. The ALCF鈥檚 board of directors will continue to be involved throughout this process, Lowe said.

Arnot Reid described the transfer as an opportunity to build on the Juniper Fund鈥檚 existing mission. But, she said, it鈥檚 important to emphasize that the KCC isn鈥檛 getting passed off, per se; it鈥檚 a powerful organization in its own right, and it鈥檚 simply getting a new financial backer.

鈥淭he KCC is run in Nepal by Nepalis, and it鈥檚 an incredibly successful and really well-run organization,鈥� Arnot Reid said. 鈥淭hey don鈥檛 need our intervention to run the incredible programs they already have; they just need our support financially and awareness-wise to continue to bring their mission to people who aren鈥檛 aware of it.鈥�

Arnot Reid said the Juniper fund is committed to supporting the KCC鈥檚 existing work and has no plans to alter or add to it at this time. Instead, the Juniper fund will work closely with the organization鈥檚 Nepali representatives and follow their lead.

But while the work will remain the same, Arnot Reid says Jenni Lowe鈥檚 leadership will certainly be missed.

鈥淛enni is a role model for me,鈥� Arnot Reid said. 鈥淪he worked really hard to make things happen in a space where people said it wasn鈥檛 possible, or 鈥榃e can鈥檛 do that,鈥� and she did it with grit.鈥�

That鈥檚 something Lowe is equally proud of: she said in her time at ALCF, the nonprofit accomplished more than she could have ever dreamed of.

鈥淚n the beginning, it was just a way for me to walk through the grief of losing Alex. I had no idea what I was getting into when I first started the foundation, but it was a huge gift to my life,鈥� Lowe told 国产吃瓜黑料. 鈥淚 love that community and I’ll miss them. But I feel satisfied and happy with what we鈥檝e done. It鈥檚 time to make my world a little smaller.鈥�

The post The Nonprofit Founded to Honor Alex Lowe Is Closing After 25 Years appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On October 4, 2024, American climber Tracee Metcalfe trudged toward the summit of 26,335-foot听Shishapangma in Tibet. It was freezing, the snow was deep, and winds gusted up to 30 miles per hour. Metcalf, 50, was on the edge of her comfort zone.

鈥淚f there wasn鈥檛 so much at stake for a lot of people, we might have considered turning around,鈥� Metcalfe told 国产吃瓜黑料. 鈥淥r at least, I would have.鈥�

Metcalfe was a member of a guided expedition with the Nepali company called Imagine Nepal, alongside other paying clients and guides. She and the Imagine Nepal team picked their way around a knife-edge ridge, with nothing but air thousands of feet below them on either side. As they completed the traverse, the group reached the peak’s summit. The climbers celebrated as they took turns standing on the pinnacle. Metcalfe, however, was too focused on the impending descent to party. 鈥淚t wasn鈥檛 this crazy, sublime moment like you might think鈥攂ut none of my summits have been,鈥� she said. 鈥淚 have a hard time being in the moment up there.鈥�

Metcalf has now been 鈥渦p there” on all 14 of the world鈥檚 mountains above 8,000 meters. In reaching the summit of Shishapangma, she became the first American woman鈥攁nd just the third U.S. citizen鈥攖o complete the achievement, which took her almost a decade. But Metcalfe鈥檚 accomplishment on Shishapangma had its roots in tragedy. In 2023, Metcalfe was on Shishapangma when avalanches swept down the flanks, killing climbing guides Mingmar Sherpa and Tenjen Lama, as well as American climbers Anna Gutu and Gina Marie Rzucidlo. Metcalfe and Rzucidlo were friends, and at the time, Rzucidlo and Gutu were each attempting to become the first American woman to complete the 14 peaks. Shishapangma was the final peak for both women.

In the wake of the accident, Metcalfe became the frontrunner to break the record鈥攕he already had ascended nine of the peaks. But the deaths left her wondering what compelled her to climb鈥�and whether she wanted to complete the record for herself, or for the history books.

鈥淧eople started asking, 鈥榃ho has the most in the U.S. now? Who is going to be first?鈥欌�� she said. 鈥淎nd it was me. I had the most. I tried hard to avoid those questions, because that wasn’t what I was climbing for.鈥�

A Mountaineering Hobby Becomes a Passion

Metcalfe grew up in Los Angeles, and began rock climbing and mountaineering while attending college and medical school in Colorado. She hiked many of the state’s 14,000-foot peaks, and in 2013 began working as an expedition doctor in Alaska on Denali, an experience that motivated her to take on higher mountains in the Himalaya. She climbed Mount Everest in 2016, and in subsequent years ascended other peaks above 8,000 meters.

鈥淚t wasn鈥檛 necessarily that I wanted to go climb the 14 highest peaks in the world,鈥� she said, 鈥渂ut I did want to climb bigger mountains, and I 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 have a group of climbing buddies.鈥�

The commercial climbing industry, with its guided expeditions to the top of Everest and other high peaks, offered Metcalfe community and structure. She signed up for more trips to Himalayan peaks. She nearly reached the summit of 8,000er Manaslu the fall after she summited Everest. The following year, she summited 22,349-foot Ama Dablam. She returned to 8,000-meter success with Cho Oyo in 2018, Makalu in 2019, Annapurna in 2021, and Dhaulagiri and Kangchenjunga in 2022.

鈥淢y friends were all starting families or busy with their jobs, and I wanted to keep climbing mountains,鈥� she said. 鈥淏ut I鈥檓 not a professional climber, I鈥檓 not totally self-sufficient, and there is such a strong culture and community around these peaks, that it made sense to keep coming back. It flowed and evolved.鈥�

In 2023 Metcalfe traveled to Shishapangma to ascend her tenth 8,000er. By then, the goal of becoming the first American to complete the 14 peaks seemed out of reach鈥攂oth Rzucidlo and Gutu had 13 and arrived in Base Camp looking to reach the summit first.

鈥淚n a way, I was grateful,鈥� Metcalfe said. 鈥淟ike, 鈥楥ool, they want to get this record. Let that attention be on them. I’m going to focus on me.鈥�

Being four peaks behind Gutu and Rzucidlo may have saved Metcalfe鈥檚 life. Conditions on Shishapangma became dangerous after a storm dumped fresh snow on the summit. On summit day, Metcalfe left Camp II at 22,300 feet elevation alongside Gutu, but the latter soon outpaced Metcalfe and the other Imagine Nepal clients. When the first avalanche killed Gutu and Mingmar Sherpa, Metcalfe and her companions turned back. Rzucidlo, who was further ahead and continued climbing, was killed in a second avalanche. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 put myself in their shoes,鈥� Metcalfe said. 鈥淚f I was to have found out there was another American woman attempting the summit the same day as me, I don’t know how I would have felt.鈥�

The deaths of Rzucidlo and Gutu were hard for Metcalfe to reckon with, and it showed her just how selfish听mountaineering can be at its core. But Metcalfe never considered abandoning the high peaks. 鈥淎t a certain point, you can鈥檛 take the risk away,鈥� she said. 鈥淭hose avalanches could’ve wiped us out, too.鈥� Metcalfe was also struck by how the deaths impacted the loved ones that Gutu and Rzucidlo left behind. 鈥淗ow shitty is it going to be for my family, my friends, if I end up dead doing this?鈥� she asked herself.

Metcalfe’s relative anonymity in the world outside of mountaineering fueled her desire to return to the peaks. She鈥檚 not a climbing influencer with throngs of online followers and incentives to break records. She has just one sponsor鈥攁 Los Angeles-based orthopedic surgeon. Metcalfe has covered the lion’s share of her expedition costs out of her own pockets.

鈥淣o one is particularly interested in sponsoring a 50-year-old woman who has never achieved anything particularly remarkable and has fewer than 1,000 Instagram followers,鈥� she said.

Pushing for the Record in 2024

So she returned to the mountains in 2024 and ascended five 8,000-meter peaks with Imagine Nepal: Gasherbrum I and II, and Broad Peak in Pakistan鈥檚 Karakoram range, and Himalayan peaks Lhotse and Shishapangma.

Metcalfe said that climbing that many mountains in one year had more to do with personal goals than the record. 鈥淚 turned 50 this year,鈥� she said. 鈥淚鈥檓 getting a partial knee replacement soon. I鈥檓 getting older. I only have so many climbs at this level left in me.鈥�

Metcalfe reached the summit of Shishapangma on October 4. In the days afterward, a staggering number of climbers reached the top of that mountain to complete new records on the 14 peaks. Nima Rinji Sherpa, 18, became the youngest person to summit every 8,000er. A handful of women became the first of their respective nations to complete the 14 peaks: Alina Pekova the first Russian; Dorota Samocko the first Pole; Dawa Yangzum Sherpa the first Nepali; Naoko Watanabe the first Japanese; and Adriana Brownlee the first from the United Kingdom.

Grace Tseng became the first Taiwanese person, Adrian Laza the first Romanian, Alasdair Mckenzie the youngest European, and Shehroze Kashif the youngest Pakistani person.

国产吃瓜黑料 asked Metcalfe about the significance of these records. 鈥淏eing the first doesn鈥檛 mean a whole lot to me,鈥� she said. Rather, Metcalfe said that the significance was deeply personal鈥攕he endured a decade of climbing, which required dizzying logistics, physical fitness, plenty of cash, and personal grit.

鈥淵es, it鈥檚 cool to say, 鈥業’m the first U.S. woman to do it,鈥欌�� she said, 鈥渂ut I recognize I did it guided, using supplemental oxygen. I鈥檓 just proud of this goal because it was important to me.鈥�

Metcalfe said she learned plenty of lessons during her 8,000-meter quest, but the biggest takeaway was the importance of being motivated by internal, and not external, forces. She told 国产吃瓜黑料听she climbed Shishapangma for herself, and not because she sought attention from news outlets or social media followers. She believes this led her to make smarter and safer decisions during her climbs.

Metcalfe also believes her feeling of accomplishment will endure, knowing that she completed a goal for herself and not for others.

鈥淚n two weeks, no one’s going to care. If that external motivation, that fame, was driving me, it would fade,鈥� she said. 鈥淲hen it鈥檚 internal motivation, when you’re proud of yourself for what you did, nobody can take that away from you.鈥�

Want more of 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 in-depth coverage of adventure stories like this one?听.

The post A Year After the Shishapangma Tragedy, Climber Tracee Metcalfe Returned to Set a Record. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On October 17, professional ski mountaineers Christina “Lusti” Lustenberger and Guillaume “Gee” Pierrel sunk their ice tools into the shoulder of New Zealand’s highest peak, 12,218-foot Aoraki, also called Mount Cook. They ascended the mountain under darkness, climbing over snow, rock, and ice beneath the aurora australis. Clicking into their skis atop their new line at 8 A.M., they spied the full moon and prepared to drop into their third big-mountain ski descent in just four days.

“We went on a bit of a rampage,” said Pierrel.

The line they descended, which they named Hunter’s Moon, after the Kiwi name for the full moon, was the most dangerous and demanding that either had skied. “Every single turn we made on that face had a serious consequence, because of the exposure,” Lusti told 国产吃瓜黑料.听

Lusti and Pierrel met on a North Face team trip in Chamonix this year, and quickly developed a strong ski partnership. Pierrel is an IFMGA guide known for skiing steep and technical descents in his home of Chamonix, but he’s also descended lines in the Himalayas and the Andes. In 2021, he skied a first descent from the summit of Gasherbrum II in Pakistan in alpine style with no supplemental oxygen.

Lusti, meanwhile, has scored several noteworthy accomplishments in 2024, including the first descent of Pakistan’s Great Trango Tower with Jim Morrison and Chantel Astorga on May 9. But the duo’s New Zealand rampage marked new territory for them both.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

Lusti first spotted Hunter’s Moon when she entered the Southern Alps on September 28. When Pierrel arrived on October 1, she decided to partner up with him to tackle a few lines.

New Zealand’s Southern Alps is home to famously fickle weather. The range is extremely close to the ocean and storms blow in quickly and often without warning. Lusti and Pierrel had spent the week prior skiing from a hut near Aoraki, but high winds and blowing snow kept them from being able to access their biggest objectives. During that time, they connected with Kiwi skiers Sam Smoothy and Will Rountreei, local legends who have been quietly ticking away extreme skiing in the range for the last few years. Together, the four athletes skied the Bowie Couloir, another line on Aoraki. Smoothy and Rountree’s efforts have brought attention to skiing in the Mount Cook Range, and Lusti and Pierrel credit the New Zealanders for piquing their interest.

“Sam and Will have shed some light on the steep skiing in this range,” said Pierrel. “They’re bringing a new vision to New Zealand and we got on that train.”

Once the snow stopped falling and their weather window opened, Lusti and Pierrel took full advantage of clear conditions. They first climbed and skied the glaciated southeast face of 9,853-foot Mount Dixon. They named their route the 鈥淢ullet Direct,鈥� in honor of the alpinist Mike Gardner, an inspiration to both Lusti and Pierrel. Then, just two days later, they skied the cracked-up east face of 10,856-foot Mount Vancouver. The pair named that first descent 鈥淯ncle Pete,鈥� for Lusti’s uncle, who died a few days later鈥攂ut not before he saw photos of the line they dedicated to him.

On October 17, the duo began climbing Aoraki to ski by far the most demanding line either skier had ever attempted. Lusti and Pierrel climbed the rarely-repeated Jones route on the mountain’s east face, a sustained 55-degree series of ice and rock runnels that ascends from the mouth of the Caroline Glacier to the shoulder of the peak. “Our vision was always to descend this intricate ramp system further skier’s right,” Lusti said. “We started their descent at 9:15 A.M. in unforgiving icy snow conditions. Committed to the exposure, one turn at a time, we pushed each other out of our comfort zones.”

The icy surface required the utmost precision and attention, but Lusti and Pierrel were able to link turns down the entire face, save for one short section of glacier ice near the top that was too firm for their edges. They made a short rappel to navigate that section.

The ramp they skied looked improbable from the glacier floor, and even climbing up the pair of skiers could barely make out that it was skiable. Pierrel had spotted the exit ramp during an aborted attempt on the Jones route the week prior, which allowed the duo to escape the line cleanly on skis without needing to rappel. They backed off on the earlier attempt because the strong winds ripped the snow off the face, leaving bare ice.

But when the storm subsided, the gap of nice weather was longer than Lusti and Pierrel anticipated. That amount of time let them get acquainted with the snow quality and boosted their confidence when the time came to climb and ski Aoraki. “Going back-to-back with the lines like that allowed us to build a really intimate relationship with the snow conditions,” Lusti said. “We were so in tune with how the snow was changing that we were able to step out further each day into steep and dangerous terrain.” By the time the duo听dropped in on Hunter’s Moon, they were able to anticipate some of the surprises the mountain threw at them.

New Zealand’s finicky snowpack added to the descent’s difficulty. Strong winds off the Tasman Sea create an transform the snowpack into an inconsistent and patchy surface. In any one descent, skiers are likely to encounter n茅v茅 ice, refrozen surfaces, and loose, dry powder. “You need to be extremely calculated from turn to turn, constantly anticipating the conditions ahead of you鈥攁nd whether or not you can surmount them with your edges,” Lusti said. ” You’re basically just clinging for your life at every turn.” That intimate knowledge of the snowpack proved paramount to the safety of the descent.

But equally important was the trust that the two built in the process. Lusti was holding the weight of the loss, but Pierrel helped her focus and be present in the mountains. “Having a partner like Gee who trusted what we were doing and who had a complete focus in the vision we were trying to accomplish allowed me to feel confident and push away my distractions,” Lusti said. Reflecting on Hunter’s Moon in particular, Lusti said she was grateful to have such a brilliant partner who pushed her forward when she needed it and was willing to be pushed by her in return.

Pierrel told 国产吃瓜黑料 that he felt lucky to be accompanying Lusti on the peak.听“I’ve been skiing with the best athletes in Chamonix, and Christina was so impressive,” Pierrel said. He described her making turns on tiny ribbons of ice while he was using his ice axe to help him slide down.

To push the envelope of what’s possible in ski mountaineering, the stars have to align. Skiers听need the right snow, the right partner, the right motivation, and even the right luck. “On that day we went, under the full moon, we had this incredible night sky,” Lusti said. “That’s when hard times’ silver linings appear. We were able to find such an incredible flow within our partnership and put down lines that were really special for the people in our community.” Under the full moon, the southern lights, and a sky full of stars, Lusti and Pierrel were in exactly the right place to make skiing history.

The post Christina Lustenberger and Gee Pierrel鈥檚 Latest First Descent Gives Us Chills appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

After hours of bushwhacking through dense Canadian alder trees, Langdon Ernest-Beck was catatonic. That was before he lost his helmet in the scrub. Ernest-Beck, 23, and his climbing partner Ben Spiers, also 23, had ridden their bicycles 1450 miles across 9 days north from Seattle, WA, to Tatla Lake, where the road ended. Then they听started walking toward their destination: 13,186-foot Mount Waddington in British Columbia.

The duo had spent the prior five days hiking through harsh shrubbery toward Mount Waddington and still had not yet seen a view of the peak. 鈥淎s far as the hellish bushwhack, we were not prepared,鈥� Ernest-Beck said. 鈥淚t was definitely the most brutal thing I鈥檝e ever experienced.鈥�

Mount Waddington is one of the most imposing and difficult-to-reach big peaks in North America. It’s not only the tallest mountain in the Coast Range, it鈥檚 also the highest peak that stands entirely within the boundaries of British Columbia. Waddington is so far off the beaten path that it 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 even exist on a map until 1925 when it was first spotted (by a non-indigenous person) in the distance by听a local couple named Don and Phyliss Munday. They called it 鈥淢ystery Mountain.鈥� The few people who do choose to climb Waddington each year are often flown in by helicopter.

Riding a bike to the peak and then scaling it felt like a suitable challenge for Ernest-Beck. In 2023, he navigated the Cascade Range from the seat of his bicycle听along with his friend and mentor Jeff Hashimoto. The two rode across hundreds of miles of trails, highways and forest roads to reach and then ascend Washington State鈥檚 100 tallest peaks. Then, they climbed them all. After completing such a massive adventure, the question inevitably arises: what鈥檚 next?

Mount Waddington felt like the perfect challenge. 鈥淢y first-ever introduction into bigger mountains and mountaineering was in a course I did while I was in high school in the Waddington Range,鈥� Ernest-Beck said. 鈥淚 always had it in the back of my head that I wanted to go back there.鈥�

Motivated by his concern for the climate, Ernest-Beck has been looking for ways to lower his carbon footprint while pursuing big climbing objectives.鈥淚 think climbing in general can be seen as a selfish pursuit, so being able to do it in a way that鈥檚 environmentally responsible is nice,鈥� he said.

The bike trip alone was a major adventure. When the two charted the journey prior to the trip, they estimated they would need to听pedal 1,450 total miles from their homes in Central Washington to Waddington and back. The return trip would take them across Vancouver Island.

The two began planning their expedition in May. Then, they departed their homes in Ellensburg, Washington on June 25 and began riding toward the peak. But they hit their first big snag just three days later in Bellingham, Washington before crossing the U.S. border with Canada. Ernest-Beck had mailed all his climbing gear to a remote post office in B.C. to save听weight on his bicycle. But he received a tracking notification that his equipment was stuck in customs thousands of miles away near Ontario.

鈥淚t was like the second day of the trip,鈥� he said. 鈥淚 called my mom and told her to pick out everything that was left in my closet. She drove up to Bellingham and handed me the clothing. Then I borrowed some ice tools and crampons from some friends.鈥� Ernest-Beck made it to Canada with enough gear鈥攈e just had to carry it all the way there.

Once across the border, the pair braved the Trans-Canada highway, pedaling north until they reached Tatla Lake where they spent the 4th of July. 鈥淚t took us ten days to bike up there,鈥� Ernest-Beck said. 鈥淎nd even when we got to the ranch where we left our bikes, we were kind of in the middle of nowhere鈥攂ut we felt even more remote than we were because it had taken us so long to arrive.鈥�

The route from Tatla Lake to the base of Mount Waddington traversed 55 miles, but there was no established trail. For nearly a week, Ernest-Beck and Speirs hacked and scratched their way through an immense jungle of Canadian wilderness while lugging around 100 pounds of food and equipment.听On the听fifth day of bushwhacking, Ernest-Beck lost his helmet. The setback听nearly broke them.

鈥淲e had started that day in the alpine and dropped into a valley called Pocket Valley, which is kind of the path to the base of the Scimitar Glacier,鈥� he said. 鈥淲e鈥檇 gotten back into this really thick slide alder and vine maple and at some point during that bushwhack, my helmet was ripped off my pack without me noticing.鈥�

Ernest-Beck tried to retrace his steps to find the helmet, but ended up walking in circles. It seemed like the loss was a big enough disaster for them to turn back. 鈥淭hat was the worst night of the trip,鈥� Ernest-Beck said.

Unsure of what to do, Ernest-Beck messaged his former climbing partner Jeff Hashimoto on his satellite phone and asked for advice. Hashimoto, 52, told the pair to get some sleep and take their journey one step at a time. If it felt unsafe to keep going without a helmet, he said, then they could always just turn around. 鈥淭hat was the best thing someone could鈥檝e said,鈥� Ernest-Beck said.

They slept 12 hours that night, and the next morning the duo felt mentally and physically recharged. They decided to push ahead. After another few hours of climbing they were able to see above the treeline. 鈥淭he first time we got into the alpine and had a view, it 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 take long for us to get super stoked again,鈥� Ernest-Beck said. After so many days and miles of bushwhacking through tangled wilderness, the pair were beyond relieved to begin their trek over Granite Pass, across the span of several glaciers, and into the Waddington Range itself.

After the days of hiking through dense foliage to reach the 9,900-foot Waddington-Combatant col, the climb to the summit felt straightforward by comparison.听鈥淚t took just under 30 hours,鈥� Ernest-Beck said. 鈥淲e got so lucky with the conditions.鈥� Waddington is notorious for its fickle weather鈥攖he peak is regularly hit by storms off the Pacific Ocean that freeze the summit in rime ice. But when the duo reached the top, the ice was mostly melted, and the听pair were able to save time climbing the peak with a running belay, not stopping to pitch out sections.

The crux of the ascent occurred when the two had to chart听a route across an intimidating bergschrund, a crevasse between the glacier and the base of the rock face, to get to the base of their intended route to the summit: the Angel Couloir. 鈥淲e spent four hours in the middle of the night walking up and down it, trying to cross, getting into it and starting a pitch to the other side,鈥� Ernest-Beck said.

After an hour of searching, they found a small cave in the ice. Speirs led a pitch into an ice chimney, shoving his body through an opening of solid water-ice to one side, and softer snow ice on the other. Eventually, they got through. 鈥淏en was like, 鈥極h, I see the stars!鈥�…After that, everything else was pretty smooth.鈥�

Ernest-Beck has been to the top of all the tallest peaks in Washington State. He knows a good view. Even he thought the scenery atop Waddington was听special. 鈥淵ou鈥檙e close to the ocean,鈥� he said. 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 see water, but you can see where the fjords coming in are. Huge glaciers as far as you can see. It鈥檚 probably the best summit view I鈥檝e had. Zero sign of people.鈥�

Well, maybe not zero. Several weeks after their ascent, the two learned that they weren’t alone on Mount Waddington that day. 鈥淎 party actually gained the summit two or three hours after us,鈥� Ernest-Beck said with a laugh. 鈥淭hey had gotten flown into a glacier on the south side of the mountain. One of the guys reached out to me afterwards and was like, 鈥榊eah, we could hear you on the summit.鈥� I guess as we were hooting and hollering when we made it. We had no idea anyone else was there. I guess we weren鈥檛 that remote after all!鈥�

The post A Human-Powered 国产吃瓜黑料 to Canada’s High Peaks Is Anything But Easy appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Michael Gardner died in a fall on Jannu East (7,468m), in Nepal鈥檚 Kangchenjunga region, on October 7. The 32-year-old was attempting a new route with longtime friend and climbing partner Sam Hennessey up the imposing North Face, one of the great unclimbed faces of the world. This was the duo鈥檚 fourth trip to Jannu East and third attempt at the North Face, having turned around in 2022 when their shelter was shredded by ice fall and in 2023 without good overall conditions for a proper bid.

The details of Gardner鈥檚 fatal fall are not yet clear, but Climbing confirmed that Hennessey has successfully descended. Partway through his descent, he intersected with a French team who was also retreating from an attempt on the North Face, and the group rappelled the final 700 meters together. A search via drone and on foot was not successful, but did locate some of Gardner鈥檚 personal equipment below the face.

Hennessey and Gardner had racked up an otherworldly list of standard-shattering ascents over their seven-year partnership. They were truly redefining fast and light alpinism, climbing Alaskan testpieces in fractional time (often in ski boots with skis on their backs to descend); but perhaps most importantly they were doing so quietly, with overflowing, contagious joy.

Mike is survived by his mother, Colleen, and sister, Megan. His father, George Gardner, was a storied Exum mountain guide who died from a fall while soloing the Grand Teton in 2008 when Mike was 16. Mike was beloved by all in his orbit, including fellow guides, clients, and athletes who were fortunate to call him 鈥渇riend.鈥�

 

View this post on Instagram

 

The word 鈥渓egend鈥� gets thrown around too much in our alpine-climbing circles. But if Mike Gardner 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 earn it, then no one has. His style was all his own: a bushy mustache capping a wiry frame, usually clad in blue jeans and a pearl-snap shirt (often sleeveless), driving a beater truck and riding his skateboard everywhere from Ridgway, CO, to Nepal. Stories of Mike are the canon of barely believable (but nonetheless true) mythology: After just a one-hour introductory seminar, Mike nearly broke the U.S. breath-hold record, clocking roughly eight and half minutes; and made the Arc鈥檛eryx athlete team鈥檚 radar when, as a safety guide for one of their ski photo shoots, he offered to help, donning the athlete鈥檚 jacket and hucking a backflip for the camera to everyone鈥檚 astonishment.

Mike was a reluctant climbing 鈥減rofessional,鈥� who, prior to signing with Arc鈥檛eryx, 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 have an Instagram page nor a knack for self-marketing. 鈥淗e wanted a guarantee that he could maintain his authenticity while pursuing climbing as a career,鈥� Athlete Team Manager Justin Sweeny said. 鈥淚 reassured him he could. And we started to build what was the most unique athlete relationship I have ever been a part of. 鈥� Mike鈥檚 legacy lives on through all the people he touched and his soul rests easy in the land of the giants.鈥�

 

View this post on Instagram

 

I met Mike shortly thereafter at the Ouray Ice Fest in 2020. He hung around cragging and chatting with a genuine ease and openness, deflecting inquiries about himself and achievements toward his recent passion of skijoring (a competitive winter sport where skiers are towed by horses, dogs, or motor vehicles around a track), but the profoundness of his nascent achievements quickly shone through his quiet humility. 鈥淐limbed the Infinite Spur in ski boots and skied off the summit? Repeated Light Traveler in 31 hours?? Who is this guy?!鈥� I asked myself and then the internet the next morning. The first Google result: a 2010 Powder Magazine article naming him as one of the 鈥淏est [20] Skiers in the World Under 18.鈥�

He and Sam Hennessey continued ticking big alpine routes at a voracious pace, particularly in the Alaska Range. Teaming up with Adam Fabrikant, they sprinted from Kahiltna Basecamp up the Cassin Ridge听and in a single 64-hour push, walking across the tundra and catching the bus back to Talkeetna. New routes on Denali鈥檚 Isis Face, (also in ski boots, carrying skis), and the 听with Rob Smith, nothing seemed to stop them. In 2022, also with Rob, they climbed Denali鈥檚 route in 17 hours 10 minutes. It was Mike and Sam鈥檚 second route up Denali鈥檚 gigantic South Face, having made the second ascent of Light Traveler in 2018. This spring, the duo made the of the same face with Eric Haferman.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

It is a rote temptation to reduce a climber to a list of their ascents, and if there is one thing for sure it鈥檚 that doing so here leaves out a number of days Mike considered remarkable purely for the company he kept, whether adventuring locally in the Tetons or in the Himalaya. Nevertheless, it is an undeniable truth that Mike was among the greatest alpinists of our time, pushing the limits beyond what most of us could even conceive as possible.

On a day of sport climbing on Anvil Island during this summer鈥檚 Arc鈥檛eryx Climbing Academy, in between carefree whippers and ocean dips, Mike told us of his planned tattoo once he and Sam completed 鈥渢he Jeast鈥� (Jannu East): a fierce mapache.

Mapache Style (Raccoon Style)

adjective | ma路pa鈥嬄穋he style

1. the style of alpine climbing in which you embody the spirit of existing on the fringe

Push into the dark forgotten corners.
Sustain on what you have.
Scrappy to the bitter end.
Life on the fringe. Eat trash, live fast. Mapache for life.

 

View this post on Instagram

 

The post Leading American Alpinist Michael Gardner Killed in Nepal appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Earlier this month, 68-year-old Mick Fowler and 74-year-old Victor Saunders pulled themselves onto the airy summit of Yawash Sar (20,532), becoming the first known people to stand atop the Pakistani peak. The two took a photo, frowned a bit at the mass of clouds blocking their view, and then turned around, descended the peak, and went home.

鈥淲e went to Pakistan, saw a mountain, climbed to the top, and came down,鈥� Fowler joked. 鈥淣othing much else to it, you know.鈥�

Take the understatement with a grain of salt. The feat involved a weeks-long expedition into the Karakoram鈥攖he notoriously rugged range that borders the Himalaya and contains K2, the world鈥檚 second-highest peak鈥攁nd seven days spent living on the side of the mountain.

On their best nights, the two slept in a tent wedged onto narrow shelves of rock and snow. On their worst, they slept sitting upright in their harnesses, with their legs dangling off the side of the cliff and tent draped over their heads for shelter. In between, they kicked steps and swung their ice tools up narrow ribbons of ice and walls of crumbling rock.

They had no map, no guidebook, and almost no route information鈥攁side from what they鈥檇 managed to glean through their binoculars in the days before the climb.

Saunders and Fowler are used to such discomforts: both men are veteran alpinists, each with their own long resume decorated with first ascents and remote expeditions. But they鈥檙e also well past the age where most mountaineers hang up their boots.

Fowler is a cancer survivor, and Saunders is firmly in his mid seventies. So, what鈥檚 the secret? The two spoke to 国产吃瓜黑料 about their recent ascent, their long friendship, and their guidelines for living a long, adventurous life.

OUTSIDE: You two have been climbing partners for almost 50 years now. How did that friendship begin?听

Fowler: Ha, well, when we first met, we 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 quite get along. I described Victor as an irritating little squirt, and he described me as an arrogant twat. So, I鈥檇 say it got off to a pretty good start. But we had a week in Scotland together doing some good winter climbs in 1979 and that鈥檚 when we began to appreciate each other more and formed a friendship that has lasted nearly 50 years.

Saunders: I found I felt more comfortable with Mick on more serious ground than I felt with a lot of climbers on easier ground. I think we instilled a lot of confidence in each other from the get-go.

Fowler: Yes, and Victor is an exceptionally confident chap. It鈥檚 quite difficult to ruffle his feathers. Which is a very valuable trait in a climbing partner.

What about Yawash Sar struck you as a peak worth climbing?听

Fowler: We鈥檇 probably first discussed it more than 10 years ago. There was a very small photograph of the mountain that had appeared in the American Alpine Journal taken by a Polish chap back in 2011. We both discussed it as a possible objective, but all sorts of things happened between 2011 and 2024鈥攎y health, the pandemic. All sorts of things.

Saunders: Aside from that photo, we 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 actually see the route until we got into base camp. Until that moment, we鈥檇 seen the picture, but we 诲颈诲苍鈥檛 know what it would really look like. We were both pleased to see that it looked shapely and steep.

Fower: We have a list of criteria before we climb a mountain. Ideally, it should have a wonderful unclimbed line that goes straight to the summit. It should be in an area neither of us have been to before, and in an area that鈥檚 culturally interesting. The climbing has got to be challenging for us but not too hard. Yawash Sar ticked a lot of the boxes.

When you mention your health, you mean your brush with cancer, which I understand was pretty brutal. How has that impacted your climbing?听

Fowler: Ah, well, we were about to go on a trip a few years ago, and the doctor told me I had cancer of the anus, which is not what you want, really. So I did radiotherapy and chemotherapy and eventually the removal of my anus and rectum.

It鈥檚 not recommended, cancer. All that left me with a colostomy bag. Most people would think that鈥檚 the main problem, but for me the bigger problem was that I was too thin for the surgery to be convenient. So they had to remove all the fat from my buttocks and do plastic surgery, and that left me with no padding whatsoever.

That makes things like sitting down really uncomfortable. And then with the colostomy bag, the trouble is that on these big alpine climbs, you have your harness on all day and lots of layers of clothes. So it鈥檚 not so easy to maneuver when you start to have some output into the bag. But that鈥檚 just life, you know.

Saunders: On the other hand, in a tent, he doesn鈥檛 have to go out to take a poo. So there I am, having to hang on outside the tent in terrible conditions, tied onto the mountain somehow, doing my business off the side of the cliff, and Mick just laughs at me. He says 鈥淎h, you should get one of these things, it鈥檚 much more convenient.鈥� We spend a lot of time laughing it. We鈥檙e really just a couple of four-year-olds at heart, you see.

What was the biggest unexpected challenge of the climb?听

Saunders: No bivouac sites. [Bivouacking means 鈥渁d-hoc camping,鈥� typically on the side of a mountain.] There wasn鈥檛 any climbing that was outrageously difficult, but there were very few places to put a tent.

Fowler: Most of the time, we managed to arrange rocks in a vaguely flat way so we could pitch a tent over them. But we had one bivouac that was especially uncomfortable. It was a sitting bivouac, which was my worst nightmare, given the surgery I鈥檇 had. And it was very windy and the ledge we were sitting on was icy and slippery so we kept sliding off.

Saunders: We used the tent fabric without the poles and hung it over ourselves like a sack. It was a very cold night with just enough wind that, without the sack, we would have had hypothermia. I don鈥檛 think either of us slept more than a half-hour or so.

Many of the alpinists we interview for 国产吃瓜黑料 are in their thirties,听 forties, or even younger. What鈥檚 your advice for staying in the game so long and continuing adventures late into life?听

Fowler: For me, it鈥檚 been very important to make time in my life to do what I love, which is to go mountaineering and go climbing. A happy father and happy husband is one who鈥檚 had his fill of mountaineering. But within that, I鈥檓 very careful with my choice of objectives and with my choice of climbing partners.

Choose a reliable, safe climbing partner like Victor, and more than anything, carry on having a good time and living the life. I think we鈥檝e also always chosen routes that are going to give us the most pleasure. We鈥檙e not looking to climb things just because they鈥檙e the hardest鈥攖hat doesn鈥檛 come into it at all.

Saunders: You grow up, you get less arrogant with age.

Fowler: I do?

Saunders: Yes, everyone does. Even Mick. You get the hard edges knocked off of you as you go through life. And you start to prioritize enjoyment, and the people you鈥檙e climbing with.

Fowler: I would also say that I don鈥檛 think this partnership is going to end anytime soon. We already have more plans.

Editor鈥檚 Note: The interview has been edited for brevity and clarity.

The post After 50 Years of Friendship, These Alpinists Just Bagged (Another) Unclimbed Peak appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.