听heads deep into the woods with professional tree climber, expert tree rigger, and rope safety specialist , who has听forged a career traveling around the world climbing trees. In this video, Etherington shares his secrets to building the perfect rope swing.

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There鈥檚 an old saying: 鈥淚f you don鈥檛 know a knot, tie a lot.鈥�

It鈥檚 funny advice, really.听Outdoor sports enthusiasts should know lots of , but we should know how to tie them correctly听every time. As Clifford W. Ashley, author of the famous 1944 , wrote, 鈥淎听knot is never nearly right; it is either exactly right or it is hopelessly wrong.鈥�

As a climbing coach,听I am often surprised by how few knots some of my fellow outdoorspeople actually know how to tie. I鈥檝e watched other climbers struggle to remember how to tie bowlines to make anchors on trees. I鈥檝e seen tents blow away on Mount Rainier听because they weren鈥檛 lashed听down properly听and听hammocks collapse with people in them because they听were attached to trees with knots that weren鈥檛 load bearing.

Since most of us are听stuck at home looking for ways to pass the time, this is the perfect opportunity to get caught up on your knot knowledge.

Bowline

Common uses: Building climbing anchors around trees,听fastening a mooring line to a dock,听and hanging bear bags and tarps for camping

If there鈥檚 one knot to know, it鈥檚 the bowline. This is a quick and efficient way to tie听cord around an object. The biggest advantage of the bowline is that it鈥檚 easy to untie after听it鈥檚 loaded. If you听had bear bags for a group of ten听hanging off an overhand knot all night, it鈥檚听going to be hard to undo. (The weight from the bags would cinch the knot tight.)

To tie it:

Make a loop with the working end听of the rope (the part that鈥檚 being tied)听on top. Wrap the rope around an anchor, bring the working end up through the loop, wrap down and around the standing end of the rope (the end of the rope that鈥檚 not being used to tie the knot), then back down through the loop.听Since it鈥檚 so easy to undo,听it鈥檚 important to have a long enough tail left over鈥攁t least 12听inches鈥攕o it doesn鈥檛 come untied on its own.

Alpine Butterfly

Common uses: Attaching to a rope for mountaineering or glacier hiking,听fixing ropes and hauling,听and making听handles on handlines for hiking over technical terrain

This is one of the most popular knots for connecting to the middle of a rope, because it can be safely听loaded in any direction. Mountaineers will often clip into an alpine butterfly in the middle of their line with two locking carabiners when crossing a glacier on a rope听team. It鈥檚 also good for heavy loads, because it鈥檚 easy to untie, so big-wall climbers like to use it for fixed ropes and haul lines. If you need to set up a handline to help hikers up a short section of fourth-class rock, a听few alpine butterflies tied throughout the rope听make nice handles to grab.

To tie it:

Wrap a听rope around your hand twice.听Keep the first loop on your fingertips to separate it from the second loop. Pull the first loop toward you听and down, then thread it back up through both loops on the palm of your hand. Slide the knot off your hand, and cinch the ends tight.

Water Knot

Common uses: Making slings out of tubular webbing for climbing anchors,听repairing broken straps,听and tying webbing of similar sizes together

The water knot is often used to make slings for climbing anchors by tying a piece of tubular webbing into a loop. It could also be used to fix the webbing on a broken听backpack strap. And it鈥檚 a great solution if your shoelace breaks on the trail鈥攁ll you have to do is tie the broken ends back together. Need to tie听two short ropes into听a single long one? The water knot will do it. It鈥檚 simple to tie, and it holds well.

To tie it:

The water knot is essentially a retraced overhand knot. Tie a loose overhand in one end of webbing. Thread the other end in the reverse direction. Make sure it鈥檚 dressed neatly, without any twists in the webbing, and cinch it tight. For critical applications, like climbing anchors, make sure you leave long tails鈥攁t least six inches鈥攐n either side of the knot so it can鈥檛 come undone easily.

Prusik

Common uses: Fashioning ascending ropes, rescuing stuck climbers,听and backing up belay devices

The Prusik听is the most popular and versatile friction hitch. It鈥檚 tied with a Prusik loop鈥攎ade out of a smaller-diameter cord tied into a loop with a 鈥攚rapped around a larger-diameter rope. Unweighted, the Prusik can be pushed along a rope. Weighted, the Prusik听cinches听down on the rope it鈥檚 tied around and听anchors it in place. It鈥檚 sometimes used in mountaineering to ascend ropes in crevasse rescues. It鈥檚 also听commonly used in rock climbing as a backup for belay devices while rappelling or lowering another climber. The Prusik has a number of uses around a campsite: I鈥檝e used them to make adjustable-height听hanging tables that can be raised and lowered inside a big tent. They also help to adjust the tension of guylines, an ideal fix听when you need to keep your tent lashed down securely in blustery weather.

To tie it:

Wrap the loop around your main rope three times. Keep each pass around the rope inside the first wrap.听Make sure the double fisherman鈥檚听knot used to close the Prusik loop stays out of the way: for the first pass, use the end of the rope that鈥檚 opposite the double fisherman鈥檚 knot. These听wraps will form a barrel shape around the rope. Finish by pulling the rope back through itself. The Prusik hitch must be dressed well, so take a moment to get all the loops in order, and make it look nice.

Tensionless Hitch

Common uses: Anchoring ropes for ascending and rappelling, fixing handlines for hiking technical terrain, securing bear bags, and tying down tents

This hitch is superstrong compared to other knots, because it鈥檚 not really a knot at all. Usually, . But the tensionless hitch uses friction around a tree or post to hold a load, with a knot as a backup. This theoretically maintains the rope鈥檚 full strength and makes it very easy to untie after it鈥檚 been loaded. The biggest disadvantage of this hitch is that it requires a lot of rope.

To tie it:

Wrap a rope around a tree at least three times. Smaller-diameter ropes or smaller-diameter trees will require more wraps. Make sure there is sufficient slack in the working end of the rope, then tie an 听(a curved section of the rope) or a ,听and clip it to the standing end of the rope with a carabiner. If you don鈥檛 have a carabiner, you can also secure the working end of the rope by tying a bowline around the standing end. There should be some slack in the working end of the rope鈥攖hat鈥檚听why it鈥檚 called a tensionless hitch鈥攕o don鈥檛 worry about getting that tight. Let the friction around the tree do its job.

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I am wound tight right now. My nerves can build to teacup-poodle intensity in the chillest circumstances, and I can make coffee nervous the morning before a race. Right now, of course, is uncharted territory for even the steeliest nerves, with the coronavirus virtually shutting down the world. I have historically used gravity sports and long runs on singletrack to settle my overactive adrenal glands, but since those are off the table at the moment, I鈥檓 using the daily to relieve stress. They are a godsend.

I can鈥檛 overstate how satisfying it is to repeatedly hit something while sheltering in place. I am not a violent person, but I find myself really wanting to beat the shit out of this spiky little virus. Alas, no matter how much I try and personify COVID-19, using my nonexistent fighting skills to injure something as uncaring and invisible听as a virus is silly. Of course, whacking听long strands of polyester rope on the ground in my driveway is pretty silly as well. And maybe the absurdity of working out with these ropes is what makes it so satisfying in a world that feels existentially stressful.

Did I mention that these battle ropes are an incredible workout? The heft of the line delivers just enough resistance that I feel like it鈥檚 building muscle in my arms and core, yet it鈥檚 still maneuverable enough that the exercise is aerobic. I鈥檓 usually out of breath and actively sweating five minutes into a session without even noticing鈥攂ecause I鈥檓 so focused on getting my angries out. Plus, using the rope is low impact enough that I can just absolutely whale听on it and not stress about injuring myself (like I do when I swing kettlebells with tired arms).

There are a number of workouts with fun names like the wave, the slam, flies, grappler throws, and more, but I find myself drawn to circuits that focus on slamming movements, for obvious reasons. These ropes deliver all of these fitness and stress-relief benefits in an extremely simple, durable package.听

I struggled to write notes about the technical details of this piece of gear鈥攊t鈥檚 40 feet of rope, 1.5 inches in diameter, and the rubber capped ends help me maintain grip when my palms get sweaty. But feature-wise, there isn鈥檛 a whole lot going on. It鈥檚 just a heavy inanimate object that I can rhythmically smack on the ground, knowing that I鈥檓 getting a good workout.

I recognize that the $100 price tag may be too expensive听for some people right now, and this gear听takes up too much real estate and is听too loud to use in an apartment. If you do have the means and the space for these battle ropes, though, and if you鈥檙e looking for an easy way to let off听some rage that doesn鈥檛 involve punching holes in your walls, this simple piece of gear works wonders for stress management.听

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Quality climbing equipment is built to last and keep you safe. But with time and use, even the most bomber piece of gear can become a safety hazard. The key to getting the most out of your kit is consistent inspection. We听spoke to American Mountain Guides Association鈥揷ertified rock guide 听for his tips on knowing听when it鈥檚 time to replace your gear.

Ropes

There are a few obvious signs that your rope is unsafe to use. First, look at the sheath鈥攖he outer material. Feel for any inconsistencies, like flat sections (which signal that the core is weak), frays, discoloration, or soft spots. Ideally, you should do this scan each time you flake your rope before a climb. If these marks reveal the core, the interior听strands underneath the sheath,听then that section is no longer safe to climb on. But if these spots appear toward the ends, it鈥檚 safe to and still climb on the rest of the rope, Bradford explains. Just be sure you know how long it is for rappels and long routes.

Smaller,听superficial marks, such as tiny chafes to the sheath, can be caused by drag. A听rope听is likely safe to use unless it鈥檚 soft and can be pinched into a sharp angle (a sound rope should bend in a smooth U shape), Bradford says, which would reflect damage to the core.

Judging integrity becomes harder when there are no visible marks or signs to indicate wear. 鈥淚f a rope isn鈥檛 showing obvious signs [of wear], there are other things to look for. Consider questions like: When did you buy this rope? What has been its life span? How was it stored?鈥欌�� Bradford says. 鈥淪ometimes the rope will show all other signs of being in fine condition, but that can still raise yellow flags for me.听An older rope鈥攅ven one that is stored properly鈥攊s not going to live up to all of its intended strength specifications. It鈥檚 not going to have the qualities that it originally had.鈥� This could present a safety risk, Bradford听says.

As a general rule of thumb, you should replace your rope听after a significant fall and inspect it for inconsistencies after a fall of any size. Climbers use the听 ratio to rate severity: the higher the number, the more likely there will be damage to the rope. Since every fall can vary, I asked Bradford听to get more specific. 鈥淔alls that would lead me to really inspect the rope are any kind that caused significant abrasion. If you take a fall and suddenly realize that there鈥檚 an abrasion that wasn鈥檛 there before, and you feel those soft spots, then听the fall probably did some type of internal damage, and you may want to consider chopping that rope.鈥�

But a big whipper isn鈥檛 the only sign that your rope should be replaced. 鈥淚f it was a particularly hard or short fall that really rattled you, as the climber or the belayer, that鈥檚 a really good time to inspect and make sure none of that damage was incurred,鈥� he says. If the rope was damaged, Bradford then weighs whether to cut the end off or retire the whole rope.听

If you mainly use your rope in the gym, it will likely have听a longer life span. 鈥淚f all you鈥檙e doing is top roping, and it has no obvious abrasions that are starting to really wear down the sheath, there鈥檚 just no reason it can鈥檛 go all the way up to the manufacturer鈥檚 recommended timeline for moderate use,鈥� he says.听

Also consider general wear and tear: Bradford says that if you use your rope more than three to four times a week, you should retire it within a year. Replace one that鈥檚 mainly used on the weekends after one and a half to two years. If you only use it occasionally, consider getting a new one after three to five years, since the rope鈥檚 organic material can deteriorate over time.

Carabiners and Quickdraws

When I was racking up for a climb years ago, I asked my friend for an extra locking carabiner. He tossed it to me, but it soared over my head and fell to a rock ledge below us with a metallic ping. Though we couldn鈥檛 see any visible marks, we knew it was five years old听and assumed the drop could have caused interior damage.听We decided to retire it. After talking to Bradford, I learned鈥攖o my surprise鈥攖hat it听was most likely still safe to climb on.听

鈥淢icrofractures are far less of a problem, both in real research that鈥檚 been done as well as in my own professional opinion. And they鈥檙e somewhat a ghost of the past,鈥� he says.听That鈥檚 because of the difference between aluminum and steel, he explains: 鈥淎luminum is a soft metal. And almost all of the [metal] equipment that we use now that is not permanent hardware, [like bolts] on a climb or in a gym, is aluminum, because it鈥檚 easy to use and lightweight. It also accepts damage really well.听Steel doesn鈥檛 bend as much,听it doesn鈥檛 react as well to impact. When steel hits a rock, it can crack much more.鈥澨齀t鈥檚 important to remember that steel carabiners听still exist, and each drop should warrant a thorough inspection.

No matter the material, look for any visible cracks or deformities in the shape of the carabiner. If the gate cannot open and close correctly, or if it appears to be bent or damaged, do not use it. The same applies to locking versions: if the mechanism can鈥檛 function correctly, then put the carabiner out of commission.听

What about that old box of 鈥檅iners听that鈥檚 been sitting in your basement? 鈥淐arabiners and metal objects like buckles have no set life span in an environment they are recommended for, where they鈥檙e just sitting. Theoretically, you could use a Chouinard听piece听that鈥檚 40 years old, if it鈥檚 been sitting in a duffel听bag in a dry environment out of the sun,鈥� he explains.听

When inspecting your quickdraws, take a look at the dogbones鈥攖he webbing that connects the two carabiners. Check them like you would a rope or harness, since the material is similar (nylon or polyethylene). The life of this connector is largely dependent on the elements it鈥檚 exposed to: rock abrasion, precipitation or moisture, and the sun, Bradford says. Watch for fraying听or cuts that would weaken the strength of the draw. Some companies 听to signal when it鈥檚 time for a replacement.听

Harnesses

Much like climbing rope,听harnesses should be examined frequently. Check for frays in the fabric or tears in the stitching, especially if you spot these signs on the belay loop. Are there any cuts or rips in the general construction, such as in the waist belt or leg loops? Do any buckles appear to be damaged or cracked? If yes, then it鈥檚 time to replace it.听

If there are no visible signs of wear, take into account how often you use your harness. If you climb in it every day, consider retiring it after a year to two years. 鈥淭he longest I鈥檝e ever kept a harness is two years,鈥� Bradford says. He rotates through a quiver听both at the gym and while guiding to spread out their life spans.听

Less frequent usage, such as on most weekends, means it should last about five years, Bradford听says. Like the nylon in ropes, the fabric can deteriorate with time and exposure to the elements. A harness that is听stored properly (away from the sun, in a cool, dry environment) will have a longer life span.

Helmets

Helmets generally last longer than ropes and harnesses. You should retire yours听if it suffers any severe damage, such as a big impact on the wall or听significant rockfall that compromises its integrity. Most will collect small dings and scratches from general use. But big depressions or dents in the shell mean it鈥檚 time to get a new one. If it hasn鈥檛 been majorly damaged, consider replacing it after听five to听eight years, Bradford says, depending on how often you use it.听

When Bradford inspects his clients鈥� headgear, he asks himself: Does the buckle function properly? Is the webbing inside the helmet visible and able to be inspected for inconsistencies?听If a client has an older model,听and he鈥檚 taking them into the mountains where rockfall, gear fall, and personal danger听is more likely, then he will have them use a different helmet鈥攈e鈥檚 not willing to risk their safety when he can provide them with a newer model that has likely taken less impact.听

Shoes

Compared to the rest of the gear on this list,听climbing shoes are the least crucial to your safety on the rock. But with frequent use, the rubber soles will wear out and become ineffective. Look at the rubber鈥檚 edge: Is it round, smooth, or dull? Is the sole slippery as a whole? If the answer to either of these questions is yes, it鈥檚 likely time to replace them. The good thing about climbing shoes is they can often be resoled for a fee by sending them back to the manufacturer or to an independent resoler. 鈥淚t鈥檚 way better to spend 60 bucks on a resole than another $180 on a new pair of TC Pros,鈥� Bradford says.

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When it comes to activities that require gear to get started, climbing generally isn鈥檛 the most expensive outdoor听sport鈥攂ut it鈥檚 also not the cheapest. Putting together a full gym kit, with shoes, chalk, a chalk bag, harness, belay device, and locking carabiner, can easily amount听to over $200.

Decathlon is trying to make the outdoors more accessible with its听affordable听gear. The French company operates its own in-house brands,听such as Quechua (hiking and camping), 听(paddle sports), and 听(climbing and mountaineering). The Simond line touts for $45, for $55, and a for $70. While some of these products aren鈥檛 jaw-droppingly inexpensive, their prices are lower听than those of most听name brands. There鈥檚 a difference between low-cost and cheap, though, so I decided to test out the gear鈥檚 technical chops.

For this test, I focused primarily on Decathlon鈥檚 least expensive options, to find听budget-friendly beginner climbing gear. I tested these products for a month, climbing three to four times a week both indoors and out,听bouldering, top-roping, and lead-climbing.听

Shoes ($45)

Simond鈥檚听baseline shoe, the , has a price you won鈥檛 find anywhere else except in some extreme sales (and even then, sizes are often limited). Other shoes for beginners, like ,听retail听from $80 to $100.听The price and simple build of this canvas shoe had me skeptical, but after a month of testing, I was pleasantly surprised by its performance.

Climbing Shoes Rock has a flat footbed, which is ideal for beginners, because the shape听doesn鈥檛 force your foot into an uncomfortable arched position听like a more down-turned shoe would. I found the rubber tread sticky enough to trust my feet on slab climbs. The toe box is snug听and gave听me control to pull on overhung听or vertical moves鈥攖hough only to a point, as it won鈥檛 give you the same results on roofs听as an aggressive听shoe will. The lace-up design works well if you want a bit more adjustment听with fit (as opposed to听), so you can keep it relaxed on easier climbs or crank down on a tough route.

For a shoe with some extra comfort and higher ankle support, the is also a solid option. It鈥檚 still very reasonably priced, at $65,听but it has more padding at the heel and tongue听and comes up higher on the ankle than the Rock does, which makes heel hooks more stable. It took a few sessions听wearing the Rock+ to get comfortable in my foot placement (which is normal for most new climbing shoes), but once I did, the shoe excelled at sticking to small nubs,听smearing on granite slab, and handling听basic heel and toe hooking indoors and outdoors. The Rock+ uses rubber, which is known for its durability and is听the same rubber found听in most Tenaya shoes. Simond doesn鈥檛 specify the type of rubber in the Rock shoe.听I only started to really notice limitations on both shoes once I got into the V4 and V5听range, doing awkward heel hooks.

The bottom line for all climbing shoes: finding the right pair听depends on your foot shape and how tight of a fit you want. I recommend trying on several sizes and types, including men鈥檚 and women鈥檚, regardless of your gender. For more information on this topic, check out our听101 video听on how to buy your first pair of shoes.

听

Harness ($55)

Simond鈥檚 most basic harness, the , sells for $45, but I would recommend its听听for $55, which is just a couple bucks cheaper than a comparable harness, like . That $10听makes a difference鈥攊t鈥檚 fully adjustable, has two tie-in points in the front, and four gear loops, whereas the Easy 3 uses a single tie-in loop and only has two gear loops. The extra loops are only听important if you plan on climbing outdoors, because you鈥檒l most likely be carrying more gear (draws, protection, runners, webbing, etc.), but the single tie-in loop is the big kicker here; it makes the harness less comfortable, because the leg straps have to go all the way up to the waist belt听as opposed to leg straps that are connected by webbing, and will wear down quicker, because the single tie-in loop has to handle both belaying and tying in, so I suspect it will wear听down twice as fast.

The climbing and mountaineering harness has an extra double-backed buckle on the waistband, which makes it more adjustable than the Easy 3. With the climbing听harness on, I didn鈥檛 notice any place where it dug in or felt uncomfortable while听hanging in it for several minutes. It also gets bonus points for plastic buckles (compared to less user-friendly G hooks on harnesses like the Black Diamond Momentum) on the bungee straps, which come in handy if you need to use the bathroom.听

Chalk Bag ($17)

If you鈥檙e looking for a simple, compressible chalk bag, look no further than . The听stiff rim and large opening make听it easy for your hand to get into听during precarious rests on long routes, and the drawstring closure is easy to open and close with one hand. There鈥檚 also a small elastic strap on the side for a chalk brush. The Diamond isn鈥檛 Simond鈥檚 , and there are听chalk bags from other brands with similar price points, but for a quality chalk bag,听anything under $20 is a good deal in my book.

I鈥檇 recommend pairing this bag with a chalk ball, like the 听($5), especially in a gym setting, where there are a lot of climbers in a closed space. Chalk bags can easily be stepped on or knocked over, and using a ball goes a long way to make sure your chalk actually stays put.听Plus, I鈥檝e found that using a ball gives your hands a nice coat without over-chalking. It鈥檚听easy to apply, has a comfortable consistency, and works as it should.听

听

Belay Device and Carabiner ($20 and $10)

Simond鈥檚 hardware prices aren鈥檛 drastically different from听brands you can find at retailers like REI or Backcountry. There are equivalents that are more expensive, but the difference is minimal鈥攇enerally $10.听

There鈥檚 nothing groundbreaking about Decathlon鈥檚 belay device or locking carabiners, but there鈥檚 also nothing wrong with them. Its听听clips and screws shut easily and is听just as strong as most other carabiners,听with a tested breaking strength of 25 kilonewtons听on the major axis (the average locking carabiner has a strength of 21 to 27 kilonewtons). The doesn鈥檛 have a guide mode, so it wouldn鈥檛 be my choice听for multi-pitch climbs, but you don鈥檛 need this feature for the gym or single-pitch sport routes. It also doesn鈥檛 have an auto-locking feature, like the ,听so if your climber is hangdogging,听it becomes a little tedious. Otherwise, the device is easy to use and smoothly handles the rope.

听

Optional Item: Rope ($70 for 35 Meters)

If you plan on lead climbing in a gym, many places require you to bring your own rope. First听check the height of your gym鈥檚 wall. Indoors, you generally don鈥檛 need a rope exceeding 40 meters听in length (unless your go-to gym is somewhere like , in Edinburgh, Scotland, or the , in Salt Lake City, which feature walls 21 to 30 meters high, in which case you鈥檇 need a 50-to-60-meter rope). I wouldn鈥檛 go shorter than 30 to 35 meters as a general rule of thumb. A 70-meter rope for indoor climbing would be excessive.

You鈥檇 be hard-pressed to find a 35-meter gym rope for less than this . The dynamic rope is rated for up to 听(most gym ropes are rated between six听and ten听falls)听and gives a comfortable catch. My climbing partner took a ten-foot fall, and the rope was springy enough to absorb the impact, making the fall easy for both climber and belayer.听The rope鈥檚 static elongation (6.3 percent) is slightly lower than other comparable ropes, like the Black Diamond 9.9-millimeter rope (7.6 percent)鈥攖hat means听you lose less ground after taking a break at a bolt or on top rope, but it also might result in a less cushy fall.听My one minor issue with Simond ropes is their tendency to get twisted and knotted during the first three to four uses. On the first use, even after flaking the rope twice, the rope knotted itself midclimb. After 10 to 15 climbs, the rope started to get less twisted, but it鈥檚 something to be mindful of;听maybe run it through a carabiner or belay device a few times to help it untwist.听As a bonus, the 35-meter rope fits perfectly into the ($4), so you can听bring it听to the gym without the hassle of a lugging a huge bag.

The Bottom Line

Decathlon鈥檚 climbing line performed well across the board. After taking the kit lead climbing and top-rope climbing in the gym, sport climbing outdoors on sandstone and granite, and bouldering in Yosemite, I don鈥檛 have any major complaints that would lead me to discourage others from purchasing the gear. I was impressed with some features of its听shoes and harness, especially for the low price. If money isn鈥檛 an object, and you want the absolute best, Decathlon鈥檚 starter kit听isn鈥檛 for you. However, if you鈥檙e new to climbing or don鈥檛 want to shell out a ton of money, Decathlon鈥檚 collection is a solid place to start.

The post We Got This Gym Climbing Kit for Under $150 appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

It was one of those weekends when everything went right. The weather was perfect鈥攕unny, not a cloud in the sky, and just cool enough to make the approach tolerable in a T-shirt, without sweating. The two climbers started to hike in with what they felt were very light backpacks, each wondering if they had, in fact, brought everything they needed.

The hike in seemed to fly by, and felt almost flat. The climbers were able to keep up a conversation the entire time, neither of them out of breath, and while talking, discovered听that they agreed on almost everything, from politics to the best album by their favorite group (which they also shared).

They arrived at a good spot to camp two hours before sunset, with enough time to take a quick dip in the alpine lake, which was refreshingly cool, but not cold enough to be painful, as alpine lakes often are. They set up their tent, which was incredibly clean even though it had been used several times in the previous weeks. The zippers slid up and down like a knife through butter, and no bugs got into the tent during the setup, because there were no holes in the mesh. Also, there were no insects in the area.

The first climber pulled two beers out of their pack, ready to turn around and surprise the second climber, but found the second climber also holding two surprise beers鈥攖he exact same ones!

鈥淪hould we drink all of them?鈥� the first climber asked.

鈥淚 don鈥檛 see why not,鈥� the second climber said. Just as they cracked open their cans, which had somehow stayed cold during the hike in, a marmot approached, carrying a pizza box on its back. The marmot stopped about ten feet away from the climbers, arched its back and slid the pizza box off, and left.

The climbers warily approached the pizza box, but found the pizza to be still warm. They threw up their hands and laughed, clinked their beer cans together, and ate the pizza, which was conveniently the perfect amount, and did not leave them with leftovers, to tempt bears and other critters in the area.

Just then, a bear appeared, 250 feet away across the lake. The climbers froze as the bear spotted them and stood up on its hind legs.

鈥淥h shit,鈥� the first climber said. The bear stared for just a second, then waved with one of its front paws, like a neighbor out mowing the lawn.

鈥淲hat should we do?鈥� the first climber asked.

鈥淲ave back, I guess,鈥� the second climber said. They did, and the bear went back to its business, then disappeared.

After they finished the pizza and beers, the climbers went to bed, both sleeping exactly nine hours and having very positive, lucid dreams.

In the morning, they rolled out of the tent refreshed and excited, and found two large, warm breakfast burritos next to their stove. They looked at each other, shrugged, and ate the burritos. They听drank the French press of coffee that had also听been left next to the stove. Then they realized there was a privy about 150 feet from their camp, something they had seen no mention of during their research of the climb. They both used the stunningly immaculate and aesthetically pleasing privy for very satisfying and efficient bowel movements, assuring that neither of them would have to poop while climbing.

They packed up and walked to the base of the climb, only three minutes of easy hiking from their campsite. Just as they arrived at the base, a climber was pulling rappel ropes from the last rap station.

鈥淗ey there,鈥� the climber said. 鈥淚鈥檓 the first ascensionist of this route, and every once in a while, I like to rappel the route and make sure it鈥檚 nice and clean. I pulled out a couple of small loose blocks, but other than that, the route is in perfect shape. Looks like you two are going to have perfect weather today.鈥�

The first ascensionist was right鈥攋ust like the day before, there wasn鈥檛 a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was perfect for climbing鈥攏ot too hot in the sun, and not too cool, with a barely noticeable breeze.

The climbers began the climb, both offering to let the other lead the first pitch, and then agreeing that it really didn鈥檛 matter, as the entire route was supposed to be great.

The climb was great鈥�12 pitches of engaging, well-protected climbing, alternating 95 feet of splitter handcrack with 95 feet of exposed face climbing. Each climber used exactly the entire rack on each pitch, with three pieces of gear left over to build a secure anchor at the top. The rope never tangled, and each climber felt as if they had gotten lucky and led the best six pitches of the route. Both of their climbing shoes, which had as of late begun to smell like rotting raccoon carcasses, didn鈥檛 even smell. They also both remembered to bring chalk, but used it very sparingly.

On the summit, they found two almond croissants, two cups of coffee, and a puppy. The first climber, who had been thinking about adopting a puppy for months now, was elated, and popped the calm little dog in their pack, with its head sticking out of the top. The climbers rappelled the route, and their ropes never got stuck or tangled, and no rocks were dislodged.

They arrived back at their tent with the puppy an hour before sunset, and despite the fact that there had been no clouds or precipitation in the area, a double rainbow appeared behind the peak. In a patch of snow near their tent, they found four beers, which must have been left there by the first ascensionist, they assumed. But since the first ascensionist was nowhere to be seen, they figured the beers were fair game.

The marmot from the听night before came by with tacos and fresh guacamole, which the climbers ate as they watched the perfect sunset, and then went to bed. Just like the night before, they both slept nine hours, and no one farted.

In the morning, just as the climbers were starting to pack up, a helicopter landed next to the lake. The pilot jumped out, jogged over, and invited the climbers along for a ride back to the trailhead. They should take their time, the pilot said, but whenever they were ready, they could jump in the helicopter, where the pilot even had a puppy-sized headset for the dog. So, they did.

Back at the trailhead, they each found five dollars.

Brendan Leonard鈥檚 new book, Bears Don鈥檛 Care About Your Problems: More Funny Shit in the Woods from Semi-Rad.com, is .

The post The Greatest Alpine Climbing Trip of All Time appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Two heads are better than one, the saying goes. Our friends at Backcountry took that advice to heart when creating their听new climbing collection, teaming up with brands like Black Diamond, Edelweiss, Metolius, and others听to develop a special line of gear. Backcountry also added exclusive in-house apparel to the mix. After a few weeks of testing, here are our takeaways on four key pieces.

Backcountry and听Black Diamond Stone Garden Crag 30 Pack ($130)

I鈥檝e been a fan of ($190) since it came on the market a few years ago. The haul-bag-style construction affords cavernous, no-fuss storage space for my rack, shoes, and rope, yet the front compartment and its smaller inner pockets lend organization for my keys, phone, headlamp, and sunscreen. In its collaboration with Black Diamond, Backcountry took the Creek and, in many ways, made it better with its user-friendly . But there are some things I miss from the original.

First, the pros:听The outer compartment is now on the side of the pack, and听though slightly smaller, it still has as much functional space as I need for accessories I want to keep separate and out of the main body. And kudos for the addition of a dedicated shoe pocket on the bottom; if I have听heavy gear in the main compartment, my kicks get squished when I put the听bag down, but it鈥檚 nice to have them quarantined from the rest of my equipment鈥攅specially at the end of the day when they鈥檙e a bit ripe. One of my favorite features on the Creek is its vertical side zipper, which makes pulling out buried gear much easier. Backcountry didn鈥檛 mess with this too much, but the brand lengthened it into a J zipper, so I can splay the whole pack open and more easily see and access what鈥檚听inside. A small change, but a smart one. What stays the same (thankfully) is the drawcord cinch top, which adds a bit of capacity to accommodate loads larger than the Stone Garden鈥檚 listed 30 liters, and the rope-securing strap over the top.

As for gripes, I would love a more amply padded hipbelt. I have no problems with the Creek鈥檚, but the Stone Garden鈥檚 is more minimalist鈥�just two lightly padded wings with a thin strip of webbing鈥攁nd it digs uncomfortably into my waist if I鈥檓 carrying a lot. (The hook-and-loop closure, as opposed to buckles, is also a bit fussy.) Load lifters on the shoulder straps would听be nice, though to be fair, the Creek 35 doesn鈥檛 have these either. And a thicker back panel between me and poking听carabiners and other hardware wouldn鈥檛 go unappreciated.

Those are minor inconveniences, and overall the Stone Garden gets a thumbs-up from me, particularly on trips to the crag that involve short to midlength approaches. It鈥檚 much the same as one of my favorite climbing packs, with a few intelligent improvements. Not to mention it costs 60 bucks less than the most comparably sized Creek. 鈥擶ill Egensteiner, senior gear editor

Backcountry and听Edelweiss Echo Climbing Rope ($100 and up)

There have been times on lead routes when I鈥檝e longed for a thinner, slinkier rope that didn鈥檛 feel like I was tugging on a thick jib sheet every time I clipped. Backcountry and Edelweiss found the panacea with , a 9.6-millimeter dry-treated rope that鈥檚 a reliable option for the crag and the gym.

After testing the 60-meter version ($160) of the Echo, it pleasantly surprised me. I fully expected a long break-in period, but it felt send ready听after a couple of top-rope laps at the gym. It weighs in at just under eight pounds, which isn鈥檛 ultralight听but also isn鈥檛 heavy. And I didn鈥檛 run into any problems when packing it. Unlike the stiff ropes that seem to twist and coil on their own terms, the Echo flaked into my burrito bag with ease, and coiling it was never a headache. I love the feel of a broken-in cord (minus the grime that coats your hands after one belay), and after only a handful of sessions, the Echo felt fluid and familiar鈥攍ike a rope I鈥檝e used for months on end.

The Echo also has a dry-treated sheath, which is what you want when Mother Nature throws you a wet curveball. Climbing in foul weather is never ideal, but I鈥檝e gone through my fair share of surprise sufferfest-type conditions, like听belaying my partner from above in a wet storm (in which pulling the soggy听line felt like hauling up concrete bags)听and rainy rappels where a dry-treated rope like the Echo would have been a game changer. I can鈥檛 say I鈥檝e drenched this rope or taken gigantic whippers on it, but I trust that it would handle well in those conditions鈥攁nd better than the standard sport ropes I鈥檝e abused for years on the wall. 鈥擩eremy Rellosa, reviews editor

Backcountry Steort Climbing Pants ($80)

My main requirement with climbing pants is that they don鈥檛 get in the way. And in that regard, succeeds. Backcountry says it built the pair in a regular fit, and the Steort听is definitely a bit looser than my other climbing pants听but not so much that it听swishes around as I鈥檓 making my way up the rock. That looseness may even help the breathability, since the Steort isn鈥檛 Saran Wrap tight around my legs, providing more room for sweat to evaporate. I haven鈥檛 had to use them yet, but there are cinch cords at the cuffs to keep them snug and out of the way.

As for the fabric, it鈥檚 so light that I assumed the Steort听wouldn鈥檛 be very durable. But it鈥檚 actually a burly Cordura-nylon blend, and despite a spring spent pulling myself up over scratchy conglomerate and welded tuff at the crags near 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 home of Santa Fe, the pants have yet to show signs of wear. And that nylon鈥攑lus a touch of spandex鈥攂oosts stretch for high stepping plus gives them a quick dry time, which one of our female editors found out when she unexpectedly had to wade across a river. (She was wearing 听pant, made with the same material.)

Another thing I prize in climbing pants is one zippered pocket. (Call me paranoid, but I like to keep my wallet on me even when I鈥檓 tied in, though others might want to keep their phone there for a glory pic from the chains.) The Steort has one high on the right leg, though it鈥檚 awkwardly positioned, making it somewhat onerous to adjust the leg loop on my harness so it doesn鈥檛 pinch the wallet against my thigh. But once I cinch everything up, both stay put, and I forget about them when climbing.

The best praise I can give is this: these pants are plenty capable but still oh-so comfortable. Even after a day spent baking and sweating in the sun, I don鈥檛 want to take them off. 鈥擶.E.

Backcountry Coral Bells Tech Tank ($50)

The beauty of the is its simplicity. With a听high neck and slight A-frame cut, it hugs my body in all the right places and then flares out at the hips, keeping it both flattering and loose enough for good airflow. Crisscross听straps add a touch of style in the back, but beyond that, this is a听no-frills workhorse that鈥檚听tough enough to stand up to snags on rough conglomerate rock.

The Coral Bells has now become my favorite shirt for the gym, the crag, and everything in between (read: hiking, short runs, the farmers鈥� market, and sometimes even the office), and luckily the Polygiene anti-odor treatment means I can wear it all the time, washed or not. I recently packed this as the lone tank on an unexpectedly warm weekend climbing trip in northern New Mexico. Though I came back covered in sweat and dirt, with hair reeking of campfire smoke, I can confirm that the anti-odor fabric treatment successfully warded off stink.

My only complaint? Although I love the purple hue of the eggplant color (the Coral Bells also comes in basic black and a light sage), the nylon-modal-spandex blend doesn鈥檛 just show sweat stains鈥攊t screams them. But the top听dries quickly, and besides, that鈥檚 a small price to pay for a functional, comfortable, and flattering top that gets me compliments at every crag. 鈥擜bigail Wise, online managing editor

The post Testing Backcountry’s New Climbing Gear Collection appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

When Conrad Anker gives you ice-climbing advice, you listen. We鈥檙e in Hyalite Canyon, outside of Bozeman, Montana, one of the premier听ice-climbing destinations in the country, and he鈥檚 guiding me on one of the many routes scattered over a few miles of cliff. But even as I struggle to maintain听my strength through a 60-foot-tall, mildly overhanging single-pitch ice climb, these routes are child鈥檚 play for Anker, the 56-year-old who became the face of mountaineering after听discovering George Mallory鈥檚 body on Mount Everest in 1999. Since听then, he鈥檚 climbed the world鈥檚 tallest peak three times,听taken part in听countless National Geographic听expeditions, and was the subject of a 2015 feature film听by his climbing partner, Jimmy Chin, about their summit of Meru.听

There鈥檚 also the massive list of big-mountain climbing routes he鈥檚 put up in Patagonia, the Himalayas, Alaska, Antarctica, Yosemite, and Canada. 鈥淓stablishing new routes is my publicly accepted stab at graffiti听and immortality,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 recognize the ego in that, but it鈥檚 true.鈥�

Anker was sponsored by the North Face at 21听and showed no signs of slowing down in the years after. But听in 2016, at the age of 54, he had 听while attempting to summit Lunag Ri, the tallest unclimbed mountain in Nepal. It hit, sudden and painful, as he was moving up a mixed-ice route behind the lead climber. After it passed, though, he still听had to rappel down and hike out to advanced base camp with a numb lip and aching left arm before being helicoptered out to a hospital in Kathmandu for surgery.

This heart attack听had Anker reassessing his work and life. Before nearly dying on Lunag Ri, Anker听had a superhuman ability for staying healthy鈥攈is worst injuries during more than three decades of climbing听were听a dislocated thumb and an infected听tick bite. 鈥淚鈥檇 get a cold every 18 months. That鈥檚 about it,鈥� he听says.听

After Lunag Ri, Anker heeded his doctor鈥檚 advice and moved away from expedition climbing. Last year听he stepped down as captain of the North Face鈥檚 expedition听team after 26 years in the role; the title is now held by ski mountaineer听Hilaree Nelson. Anker also limits his time at high elevation; he was supposed to manage a trip to the Himalayas in April听but eventually turned it down. Basically, Anker has been ordered to take it easy鈥攁 tricky task for one of the听most famous mountain climbers in the world. 鈥淚鈥檓 like a dog who doesn鈥檛 know better,鈥� he says while we take a break from the wall at Hyalite Canyon. 鈥淚鈥檓 always amped. Total ADHD. But the heart is the one muscle that can鈥檛 fail. So, it鈥檚 about realizing where you are in life and knowing your limits.鈥�

But it鈥檚 hard to pin down听Anker鈥檚 limits. On the afternoon in Hyalite Canyon, he spends most of his time听belaying and helping several climbers who won the chance to hang with Anker through his new sponsor, Dove Men+Care. But at some point, he gets antsy and starts traversing along the bottom of the wall, lightly tapping the axes into the ice and gently poking his crampons for purchase. Eventually, he ropes in and starts climbing routes, sending them gracefully听with only one ax.

I watch him听work his way up the toughest route on the wall. It took every ounce of strength I had to send it a few minutes earlier, but Anker looks weightless, like the feat takes听no effort at all. When asked how people can learn to climb like him, Anker smiles. 鈥淚 managed a nordic center in Utah in the eighties,听and we had European听skiers training at the center quite a bit,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey could tell if a skier was American just by seeing them ski, because American skiers are always breathing heavy. They aren鈥檛 working efficiently.鈥�听The key to climbing, Anker tells me, whether it鈥檚 Everest or Hyalite Canyon, is efficiency of movement,听only moving as much as you have to.

Instead of swinging axes into the ice or kicking his toes into the wall, Anker sets the tip of his axes on tiny ledges and slowly and carefully places his crampons into crevices. Rather than big and dramatic movements, his are small and effortless. 鈥�Everest is basically hiking up a ski slope,鈥� Anker says. 鈥淏ut with a 2,000-pound elephant on your chest and head. You can鈥檛 waste any motions. You have to orient your body for max efficiency.鈥�

This climbing efficiently comes from knowing the medium inside and out, according to Anker. 鈥淚 know I can climb this route with just one ax, without much effort, because I鈥檝e climbed it without ropes half a dozen times this season alone. I know exactly what it takes,鈥� he听says. Developing that kind of familiarity begins at the climbing gym. He and his family have a lifetime membership to one in Bozeman, where he continues to train a few nights a week. 鈥淭hat鈥檚 where I go to relax, and they鈥檙e great spaces to get in that repetition you need to start climbing efficiently. It鈥檚 where you start learning the balance you need to keep from having to work so hard on the wall,鈥� he says. 听

Balance and efficiency. I expect Anker to go into a philosophical tangent about mindfulness, because it seems like the next logical step, but he shrugs off听the concept. 鈥淪ometimes I鈥檒l try to count to 20, but that鈥檚 about it. I should probably get better at that stuff,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 guess I do it in the climbing gym. Focus, breathing, that sort of thing.鈥�

Later that afternoon, while drinking beers in his office, Anker talks about the next phase of听his life, now that he鈥檚 not leading expeditions to the world鈥檚 toughest peaks. As vice president of the , a training ground for Sherpas and climbers at the base of Everest, he鈥檚 looking forward to听the grand opening of the new headquarters in June. He might write a book. He听hopes to serve as a mentor for the next generation of climbers. But mostly, he wants to make sure his climbing career serves some greater purpose.

鈥淚 want to be the eyes and ears of the mountains now,鈥� says Anker, who鈥檚 an outspoken member of听, a nonprofit advocating for听climate protections.听鈥淭he change I鈥檝e seen in the mountains is huge. The Khumbu听Icefall on Everest [a glacier near Base Camp] doesn鈥檛 look like it did 20 years ago.听The diminishing snowpack and melting ice tell you exactly what鈥檚 going on in the world.鈥�

When I ask him if there鈥檚 anything he feels like he鈥檚 left on the table in terms of mountain climbing,听he doesn鈥檛 seem听worried. 鈥淚 have plenty of 鈥榥o successes鈥� I could look back on, but I don鈥檛 want to live life in reverse. And I might not be leading expeditions anymore, but I鈥檓 still climbing. I鈥檓 still outside,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 might be on the injured reserves, but I鈥檓 having as much fun as anyone.鈥�

The post Conrad Anker Is Not Done Climbing appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The rope yawned alongside the knife-edge ridge like a giant smiley face. Tied to its end, one hundred feet away to my right, the world鈥檚 premier alpinist, Alex Lowe, was spreadeagled between slender pinnacles of granite. The opposing outward force of Alex鈥檚 hands and feet pressing against the grainy rock created just enough friction to hold him in place. He had been moving fast, but he now appeared stuck, stymied by a crux move harder than anything yet encountered on the nearly 6,000-foot wall we had climbed to get to this point.

A few minutes earlier, Alex had passed up a spot where I thought he could have placed a piece of protection, an anchor in the rock that would have made the fall he was now staring down a lot less dangerous. Why didn鈥檛 he place that piece? I wondered. Did he not see it? If it had been my other climbing partner, Jared Ogden, I would have yelled, 鈥淗ey, get something in,鈥� but I hadn鈥檛 said anything because Alex and I weren鈥檛 getting along, and I was afraid he鈥檇 think, once again, that I was bossing him around. There was also a distinct possibility that he was deliberately making the pitch more dangerous because it was faster not to stop and dink around with gear. I had figured that he鈥檇 find a way to anchor his rope when the climbing got hard, but that didn鈥檛 happen; the drooping strand of orange cord between him and our belay was attached to nothing.

Jared, roosting beside me with a leg on each side of the narrow ridge, held Alex鈥檚 rope in his belay plate. He looked at me, wide-eyed, and his expression said it all: Alex is pushing it a touch too far. The ridge was like the back of a Stegosaurus, with rocky pinnacles protruding like horns from its spine. On both sides, sheer rock walls dropped almost vertically. The virgin west summit of Great Trango Tower, 20,260 feet above sea level, loomed only 75 feet above Alex鈥檚 head. I was a stone鈥檚 throw away from a place I had been dreaming about for half of my life, since that fateful day I first learned of this magnificent monolith in the Wellesley Free Library.

I willed myself not to calculate how far Alex would fall if he slipped, whether his rope would cut on the sharp spine of the ridge if he fell off the other side, or how we could possibly get him down if he was critically injured this high up on the mountain. It鈥檚 Alex Lowe out there, Mark, I said silently to myself. He won鈥檛 blow this. But the cramp in the left side of my chest clamped even tighter. I knew that Alex had already taken three big falls on the route so far, that he had been knocked unconscious by rockfall on pitch 13, that only one day earlier he had been so ill we weren鈥檛 sure if he would be joining us on this bid for the summit. Alex, despite the hype that surrounded him, was human, just like Jared and me. And if he inched too far out on that limb, and it broke off, there was a decent chance he was taking all of us with him.

custom-built for such superhuman feats. His upper body was triangular, bulging arms hanging from broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. His outsize, scar-covered hands often sported 鈥済obies鈥� and 鈥渇lappers,鈥� climber鈥恠peak for the cuts and flaps of skin you get from stuffing your paws into rough-sided cracks. His barrel chest housed a set of lungs that could have sped him through the Tour de France had he chosen to ride bikes instead of climb mountains. In 1993, he was invited by the Russian Mountaineering Federation to take part in a kamikaze-style climbing competition on a 23,000鈥恌oot peak in Central Asia called Khan Tengri. The field included many of the best mountaineers in Russia. Alex didn鈥檛 just win; he crushed the previous best time by more than four hours鈥攁 record that still stands today.

In March of 1999, a few months before we left for Trango, the cover of 国产吃瓜黑料 magazine featured Alex, with his craggy jaw and blue steel eyes twinkling beneath bushy brown eyebrows, standing astride a virgin spike of rock in Antarctica. The caption read: 鈥淭he World鈥檚 Best Climber.鈥� It was a moniker he scoffed at, famously saying around the same time, 鈥淭he best climber in the world is the one having the most fun.鈥� His enthusiasm and love for climbing could be contagious鈥攊f you could keep up with him. He more or less held his climbing partners to the same standards he set for himself, so if you weren鈥檛 getting up at 4 a.m., downing a pot of jet-black coffee, and then cranking off pyramids of 400 pull-ups before breakfast, you might find climbing with him a bit intimidating.

Alex wasn鈥檛 going to back down, so he pushed off with his right arm and leg, unhitching himself from the crucifix-like stem and falling toward the pinnacle on his left. His body swung through the thin air, and just as gravity began to exert its inexorable pull, his right hand slapped onto a crystalline knob. At the same moment, he threw his right leg around the backside of the pinnacle. His body sagged, but Alex dug in with his right heel, straightened up, and stayed stuck on.

With no actual holds on which to stand or pull himself up this are虃te, he began a complex dance of intricate oppositional movement: one hand gripped the edge while the other slapped around the corner, fingertips groping blindly for the tiniest crease or edge. He smeared his toes against any slight depressions or nubs, countering the pulling forces of his arms. A well-placed heel hooked around the are虃te gained him enough purchase to reposition his hands a few feet higher. He scummed whatever square inch of his body he could鈥攃alf, hip, forearm鈥攁gainst the rock. Alex had simian intuition and this 鈥渂ody English,鈥� as climbers call it, allowed him to grip a smidge less forcefully, thus saving precious kilojoules of energy. In any setting this would have ranked among one of the more impressive pieces of climbing I had ever seen. Here, at 20,000 feet, in cold, wintry conditions, after weeks of strenuous climbing, I was witnessing a masterpiece. He was now less than a body length away from easy ground, and I allowed myself to exhale. But then, on what would have been his last flurry of sublimely played notes, a string broke.

A tiny trickle of water, dripping from a dollop of snow sitting atop the pinnacle, had soaked the last few feet of the are虃te. Alex kept reaching over his head, but his fingers couldn鈥檛 find a grip on the wet rock. He shot a quick glance between his legs, and all he could see was a bulging rock 20 feet below. It stuck out enough that he鈥檇 hit it, but it wasn鈥檛 big enough to stop him. He鈥檇 bounce and then fly off the back side of the ridge. 鈥淚鈥檓 downclimbing,鈥� he yelled, his body quivering as he slid down the are虃te. In place of the precision he normally employed while dancing up his pitches was a desperate, uncontrolled, all-out grovel to keep himself from falling. The world鈥檚 best climber was coming unglued.

Jared braced a leg against the block in front of him to catch the fall that now appeared imminent, as Alex, clutching a golf ball-size crystal of quartz with his left hand, looked backward over his right shoulder, gauging the distance to the other pinnacle. 鈥淲atch me,鈥� he yelled, swinging his right leg backward like a martial artist winding up for a roundhouse kick. Gravity took over as his body hinged outward like a barn door. His leg found nothing but air. For a split second he was facing outward, away from the rock, looking right at us. Then he peeled off and went airborne.

Six months earlier, I had been reminiscing with a buddy from college about our few triumphs and far more numerous mishaps as fledgling alpinists, in the front lobby of a warehouse turned corporate headquarters in San Francisco鈥檚 Mission District. John Climaco and I had met at Middlebury College in Vermont after my brightly colored climbing rope鈥攃onspicuously displayed in the doorway of my dorm room鈥攃aught his eye. Climaco, a far more experienced climber, took me under his wing and introduced me to ice climbing and mountaineering.

Climaco had called me a few weeks earlier with the news that he had just scored his dream job producing websites for an Internet startup called Quokka that was hoping to be a Bloomberg-type terminal for sports. Quokka, he said, had deep pockets and was seeking other trips to feature on its website. 鈥淧erhaps you have an expedition you鈥檇 like to pitch?鈥� he had said.

Climaco brought me to a glass-walled conference room with exposed pipes crisscrossing the ceiling and introduced me to his boss, Brian Terkelsen. In 1993 Terkelsen had co-founded the with Survivor mastermind Mark Burnett. The two had spent years developing reality-TV formulas that centered on relationship dynamics. I didn鈥檛 realize it at the time, but Terkelsen was sizing me up as a potential character in what he deemed essentially another type of reality TV show. But that鈥檚 not what he told me at the time. Quokka, as Terkelsen explained, was aiming to use the Internet to cover sports in a whole new way. Instead of turning on the TV and digesting whatever the producers had decided to show you, Quokka would put viewers in the driver鈥檚 seat, allowing them to feel as though they were inside that NASCAR or aboard the sailboat voyaging nonstop around the world. Gail Bronson, an analyst with IPO Monitor in nearby Palo Alto, called Quokka 鈥渟ports on steroids.鈥�

Terkelsen said they would send us to San Francisco State to get our VO2 max and body fat index measured. Up on Great Trango, we鈥檇 wear heart rate and oxygen-saturation monitors. This data, along with anything else they could think of, would be a click away on the site. I nodded as he tossed out terms I鈥檇 never heard before, like 鈥渂iometrics,鈥� 鈥渄igital-media assets,鈥� and 鈥渞eal-time data.鈥� As we worked our way up the wall, he said, we鈥檇 document the action with pictures and videos and 鈥渄ispatches鈥� we鈥檇 write on tiny laptops in the portaledge at night. All this 鈥渃ontent鈥� would be beamed down to technicians in base camp who would collate it and upload it via satellite to the World Wide Web. We would show, in the most visceral way, in 鈥渘ear real time鈥� what it feels like to climb one of the biggest cliffs on earth. Most important, Quokka would foot most of the bill for the expedition and pay the climbing team a talent fee.

San Francisco in the late nineties was a heady place, the center of the dot-com bubble. Climaco, who had passed up law school to get in on the action, was offered a stake in the company in the form of shares he could cash in at Quokka鈥檚 IPO. He was hoping to follow in the footsteps of a classmate from Middlebury who had gotten in on the ground floor at Yahoo. When Yahoo went public in April of 1996, James became a twenty-something-year-old instant multimillionaire. Many young bucks wanted to get the IPO done and cash out. There were plenty of dot-coms in that sense like Quokka, but Quokka was a signal of something else, too. This dot-com whirlwind would play a part in transforming the way climbers engaged, not only with one another but also with the pursuit itself.

It wasn鈥檛 only the tech sector booming in the midnineties. By 1996 the North Face had grown into the world鈥檚 largest outdoor clothing and equipment company.

Within two years of founding the North Face, the Tompkinses sold their interest in the company for $50,000. It was then bought and sold a dozen times before it was acquired by an investment group in 1994 for $62 million. It fell to the new CEO, Bill Simon, to prep the North Face to go public, and he had a radical idea. Typically, when a clothing company needed photos for an ad campaign, it hired models, went somewhere scenic, and did a photo shoot. Instead Simon used a substantial portion of the company鈥檚 marketing budget to fund a team of professional climbers and skiers. He recruited a dozen of the world鈥檚 leading rock climbers, alpinists, and extreme skiers, including Alex Lowe. Greg Child, an Australian expat who climbed the North Ridge of K2 in 1990, was offered a contract worth $75,000 a year, plus benefits and stock options. 鈥淔or the first time in my life, I had a real salary, and my job description was to climb my ass off and travel the world putting up first ascents,鈥� says Greg.

The North Face had just made professional climbing a plausible career鈥攐ne that allowed this handful of 鈥渁thletes鈥� (a then novel term for people living on the fringes of respectability) to earn a decent living. Almost immediately after its inception, Simon sent the Dream Team鈥擫owe, Child, Californians Conrad Anker and Lynn Hill, plus a handful of others鈥攁ccompanied by outdoor photographer Chris Noble, on expedition to an alpine version of Yosemite Valley in Kyrgyzstan called the Aksu.

While the Dream Team made headlines, I was living the more traditional climber鈥檚 existence鈥攕quatting illegally in a cave in Yosemite National Park. I loosely associated with the ragtag community of Chongo Nation climbers who bridged the Stonemasters and Stone Monkeys eras. When we weren鈥檛 out climbing, we鈥檇 congregate to drink malt liquor and swap spray at a worn-out fiberglass picnic table outside the deli in Yosemite Village. In the late fall of 1995, a few of us huddled around a dog-eared copy of Climbing magazine. We took out our frustration of being nobodies on the 鈥渟ellouts鈥� who graced the magazine鈥檚 pages.

鈥淗ow the heck do you get in on this gravy train?鈥� one friend asked, after turning the page to a story about the North Face Dream Team and their recent expedition to the Aksu.

鈥淣o idea,鈥� I replied. I had no job, and the 24-ounce container of Old English in my hand had been purchased with the proceeds from collecting nickel refund soda cans that morning. My day had started with a half-eaten 鈥渓odge breakfast鈥濃�攕ome scrambled eggs and crusts of toast鈥攖hat some tourists had forgotten to bus from their table in the cafeteria.

The North Face climbing team would probably have remained nothing more than a pipe dream for me were it not for the one guy sitting at the table that day who actually had the balls to step up and shout that he was worthy of being sponsored. Warren Hollinger was a disciple of the self-help guru Tony Robbins, and he was the most charismatic and unapologetic self-promoter I鈥檇 ever met. While I was sitting in my cave plotting where I could find my next 24 cans鈥攁 case was the maximum they鈥檇 take at the recycling center鈥擶arren was on the phone selling Conrad Anker, one of the founders of the Dream Team, on the idea of the North Face supporting our upcoming expedition to Polar Sun Spire on Baffin Island.

Conrad threw us a bone. They couldn鈥檛 give us any cash, but the North Face would supply us with state-of-the-art Gore-Tex jackets and bibs for our climb. Thanks to Warren, I now had my foot in the door with one of the biggest sponsors in the outdoor industry.

I applied for a permit to climb the northwest face of Great Trango in the fall of 1998. Jared and I had talked about inviting Greg and Alex but decided we鈥檇 have more fun if it was just the two of us. I took point on the application, and in the blank where it asked for the expedition leader, I put my name.

In the past four years, Jared and I had both been successful on every big climb we had attempted. The North Face had promoted us to the A Team. We were now pulling down a modest salary from 鈥渢he firm,鈥� and between other small sponsorships, writing gigs for Climbing magazine, and slideshow tours, I was making a modest living as a 鈥減ro鈥� climber. I had 鈥渟old out,鈥� but after years of dirtbagging and banging nails in Colorado, I was deeply in love with my new job. I had no boss, I made my own hours, and I climbed all the time.

So I was crushed when the North Face rejected my first official expedition proposal as a member of the A Team鈥攖o give Jared and me $12,000 so we could attempt the unclimbed northwest face of Great Trango Tower. We had thought it was a sure thing.

鈥淲hat do you think about inviting Alex?鈥� I asked Jared one day. It went without saying that our sponsorship prospects would be significantly improved if we added the Mutant to our team. Jared agreed we might as well, since the trip evidently wasn鈥檛 happening otherwise.

I called Alex, and he signed on without hesitation. 鈥淚鈥檝e always wanted to go to ,鈥� he said. What he didn鈥檛 say, but I knew he was thinking, was What took you guys so long to invite me? With Alex Lowe on the roster, we refloated our sponsorship proposal to the North Face. This time the answer was a resounding yes. Then Climaco called to tell me about Quokka.

We arrived in base camp on June 22, 1999, following a train of 148 Balti porters who carried close to five tons of food and equipment. Our team included two climber-cinematographers, Mike Graber and his assistant, Jim Surette. These guys had been hired by NBC Sports to make an hour-long documentary about our climb for a new expedition television series sponsored by the North Face and hosted by Sting.

Our camp was situated on the back side of a lateral moraine bordering the eastern edge of the Trango Glacier. In every direction, our camp was surrounded with towering granite walls, which had the effect of making us feel like tiny specks of dust in a grand, unforgiving universe. Of all the walls that surrounded us, the northwest face of Great Trango, the one we had come to climb, was by far the most intimidating.

The entire bottom half of the wall, roughly the same height as El Capitan, was a crackless, homogenous, water-polished slab. We stared at it for hours with a pair of high-powered binoculars but saw no obvious line of weakness. The slab, we soon realized, was a bowling alley for loose rock, a kind of gutter that collected every errant stone that came loose from the acres of storm-lashed wall that hung above it.

Shortly after arriving in base camp, I awoke in the middle of the night to a roar that sounded like a 747 taking off nearby. Seconds later, a hurricane-strength blast of wind flattened my tent, pressing me facedown into my sleeping pad. I knew it was an avalanche, and that if I stayed where I was, I鈥檇 be buried alive. So I desperately fought my way out of the flapping nylon. The rushing air was laden with slush, which shellacked me from head to toe. I couldn鈥檛 see anything and there was nowhere to run, so I crawled back into my tent and huddled in the fetal position. A minute later, an eerie silence fell over camp. The debris鈥攖elevision, refrigerator, and car-size chunks of ice that had peeled off a hanging glacier鈥攈ad stopped five hundred yards short of camp. Trango was saying hello.

With our ropes finally fixed to the top of the slab, it was time to launch our bid for the summit. We packed 20 days鈥� worth of provisions into six urethane-coated haul bags. After a soul-destroying, hernia-inducing day of hauling the six 鈥減igs鈥� up the El Cap-size slab, we collapsed on the ledge at the base of the headwall.

We had been working on the upper headwall for a few days when Alex opened up the minicomputer one evening and it was dead. 鈥淭hank god,鈥� I said. 鈥淣ow we don鈥檛 have to type dispatches anymore.鈥� That little computer had come to embody everything I hated about Quokka, and I had dreamed about smashing it to smithereens with my wall hammer.

I hated Quokka and everything it represented鈥攖he voyeurism, the posing, the hype. Most of all, I hated them for driving a wedge between us. It had all sounded great back in San Francisco, but I had been naive about how it would feel to climb with this many strings attached. It was time to pull the plug on this puppet show.

鈥淗ey, guys,鈥� I finally said. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 want to be here. I want to go home.鈥�

鈥淢e too,鈥� said Alex, without hesitation.

We were about to call down to base camp to tell them we were bailing, when the rainfly stopped flapping for a few seconds. 鈥淒id you hear that?鈥� I asked. Auditory hallucinations are common when you鈥檙e stuck in a tent for days on end, so I figured it was just my imagination. Then a voice became distinct. Alex unzipped the door, and about a hundred feet away stood a man wearing a blue warm-up suit and an old-fashioned orange helmet. A Russian team had arrived to attempt the same face, but we had a two-week head start, so we never thought we鈥檇 see them up on the wall.

That night, we all sat in a circle on a flat spot outside our portaledge, passing around a small tin cup, which the Russians kept filling with grain alcohol. The mood was warm and jovial, like a bunch of old friends telling stories at their local pub. I looked across the circle at Alex and Jared, both of whom were beaming鈥攊t didn鈥檛 take much grain alcohol to get a buzz at this altitude.

The plan to bail was never mentioned again.

On July 24, we set off up the ropes we had fixed on the upper headwall. It felt good to be committing to the final leg of the climb after festering on the ledge for the past 11 days. If all went according to plan, we鈥檇 be on the summit in a week.

Later that evening, we set up our first hanging portaledge camp at 18,450 feet. As the sun set, we stared out the door of the rainfly at the towers lining the west side of the Trango Glacier鈥擴li Biaho, the Cat鈥檚 Ears, Shipton Spire, and the Mystery Phallus鈥攚hile they slowly darkened into jagged silhouettes haloed by a rising moon. We sat quietly鈥擜lex and I sharing the top bunk, Jared down below鈥� letting the magic of life in the vertical realm wash over us.

鈥淵ou know, I want to spend more time at home with the family,鈥� said Alex. His sons, Max, Sam, and Isaac, were ten, seven, and three. I knew how he was feeling because I now had a six鈥恗onth鈥恛ld son of my own. Alex loved his family, and he felt guilty about spending so much time away from them. And so did I. We wanted it all鈥攖o climb big first ascents and be stand-up family men in the gaps between expeditions.

鈥淚鈥檝e been thinking about a new career, one that doesn鈥檛 require so much travel,鈥� he continued. 鈥淚t鈥檚 one of the reasons I鈥檓 so psyched about this project. I think this could really be a good opportunity for all of us. I love writing, and I see this website as a way to showcase what I鈥檓 capable of outside of climbing.鈥� The Trango website had given Alex a powerful new conduit through which to connect with his legions of fans. He knew the Internet offered a whole new platform from which to inspire his followers to pursue their own dreams, and he was working hard to make sure he was leveraging this opportunity for all it was worth.

When I poked my head out the door of the ledge one morning, I saw long wispy mares鈥� tails blowing in from the south. We all knew, from hard experience, that these clouds were the leading edge of a storm front that was blowing in from the Indian Ocean. So while Alex made coffee, Jared and I loaded our packs with the essentials for a fast and light push for the summit鈥攕tove, sleeping bags, bivy sacks, pads, and a light rack of climbing gear. It was time to leave the portaledge, the pigs, and all the other detritus behind, and go full out for the summit.

Nine hours later, on a knife-edge ridge 75 feet below the summit, Alex missed the karate kick and barn-doored off the side of the mountain. He bounced once and then disappeared over the far side of the ridge.

The force of the fall jerked Jared violently, but he held on, and a few seconds later all was still and we couldn鈥檛 hear anything but wind and our own ragged breathing. Terrified, fearing the worst, Jared and I yelled Alex鈥檚 name into the void. There was no response. 鈥淲hat are we gonna do?鈥� asked Jared, reaching down and plucking the rope, which was jammed between two rocks and as taut as a bowstring. As I contemplated how I could traverse across the tensioned rope, I felt it come slack in my hand. 鈥淗e鈥檚 alive!鈥� yelled Jared, as he quickly reeled in rope. A few minutes later, Alex popped back up onto the ridge, threw both arms over his head, gave us a double thumbs鈥恥p, and yelled, 鈥�Yeah, boyzz!!鈥� at the top of his lungs.

To our amazement, Alex then proceeded to put himself back into the same exact position from which he had just fallen. Jared shot me a worried look but didn鈥檛 say anything. Seconds later, Alex was back on the are虃te. He slapped his way up to the wet hold, snagged it with his right hand, and pulled down on it with everything he had. This time, shakily, he pulled through.

鈥淭hat was fucking insane,鈥� I said to Jared, who just shook his head in disbelief. It was the boldest bit of climbing I鈥檇 ever seen.

These thoughts were quickly forgotten 30 minutes later, when the three of us were hugging and high-fiving on the summit in the twilight. 鈥淯h, guys,鈥� I said, interrupting the reverie, 鈥渋sn鈥檛 that the actual summit up there?鈥� The 15-foot-tall block was coated in a thin layer of ice, which meant it wasn鈥檛 possible for us to scale those last couple of body lengths.

鈥淚 think we鈥檙e close enough,鈥� said Alex. 鈥淟et鈥檚 get out of here.鈥�

I vowed to myself that this would be my last big climb. By the time we finally stumbled into base camp 24 hours later, I was already reconsidering the vow.

I鈥檇 been home from Pakistan for about a week when I called Chris Eng at the North Face. We exchanged a few pleasantries, but I couldn鈥檛 get him to open up and bro down like we always did. 鈥淪o what trips are you working on?鈥� I asked. Another long, awkward silence. 鈥淲ell,鈥� he said, 鈥渓ooks like our next big one is an expedition to the north face of Jannu.鈥�

鈥淯h . . . yeah,鈥� I replied. 鈥淚 know all about it, obviously, because it鈥檚 my trip. Jared and I have been planning it for years.鈥�

鈥淲ell, actually, it鈥檚 going to be Jared and Alex,鈥� he said.

I called Jared, who sheepishly admitted that he and Alex had been talking. They had decided to team up, and I was out. 鈥淣o hard feelings, right?鈥� he said. I couldn鈥檛 help but wonder if maybe this was more serious than just being uninvited on a trip. I couldn鈥檛 call Alex because he had already left for his next expedition to the South Face of Shishapangma, an 8,000-meter peak in Tibet. When we had parted ways at the airport, he had given me a hug. 鈥淲e鈥檙e good, right?鈥� I had said. 鈥淭otally,鈥� he replied.

The news broke about a month later on a website called MountainZone, a competitor of Quokka鈥檚 that was covering the Shishapangma expedition. Alex and a cameraman named Dave Bridges were missing.

It was October 5, 1999鈥攁 month and a half since we had returned from Great Trango. They had been acclimatizing on the lower apron of the South Face with Conrad Anker when they spotted a small avalanche break loose about 6,000 feet above them. It appeared benign at first, but the face was loaded with snow from a recent storm, and the avalanche quickly propagated. As it barreled toward them, Conrad ran sideways. Alex ran down. Bridges followed Alex. Right before the avalanche struck, Conrad dove onto his chest, burying the pick of his ice ax as deeply as he could into the snow. When the blast hit, the lights went out. Conrad doesn鈥檛 know what happened next, but when he came to, he was only lightly buried about a hundred feet from where he had self-arrested. Blood dripped from a wound on his head. The snow, warmed from the kinetic energy of its particles colliding on its slide down the mountain, instantly set up like quick-set cement. Conrad walked across its surface looking for his friends鈥攂ut there was no trace of them.

I was with my wife and nine-month-old son when we got the call. I said to Lauren, 鈥淥kay, he鈥檚 missing. But it鈥檚 Alex Lowe. He鈥檚 probably stuck in a crevasse or wandering around dazed and confused on some glacier. He鈥檒l be back.鈥� But as the days stretched into weeks and then into months, and the call that he鈥檇 been found never came, it slowly sank in that Alex was gone.

Looking back almost two decades, it鈥檚 hard for me to separate the drama with Alex from the experience as a whole of working for Quokka. The intent was to let people experience, in a whole new way, what it鈥檚 like to pioneer a first ascent in the Karakoram. It was a worthy goal, I suppose, one we all believed in at the beginning. But in the end, the expedition turned into something more like an episode of Survivor. We banded together when necessary, but we weren鈥檛 a team. And for this reason, among many others, the Quokka experiment was a failure鈥攁nd a mistake.

I can鈥檛 speak for the others, but I know that my own awareness of being on a stage鈥攁 stage on which I was competing for the limelight with 鈥渢he world鈥檚 best climber鈥� (whether I wanted to or not)鈥攑recluded the Zen I had always found in climbing. The act of trying to share what makes climbing such a singular experience had robbed it of its essence and sucked all the joy out of a climb I had dreamed about.

From 听by Mark Synnott, to be published on March 5th by Dutton, an imprint of Penguin Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC. Copyright 漏 2019 by Mark Synnott

The post An Expedition at the Dawn of the Climbing ‘Gravy Train’ appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

On November 9, 2018, a dog named Mera became the first of her kind to reach the summit of Baruntse, a 23,389-foot peak in Nepal鈥檚 Himalayas, located just south of Mount Everest. The peak, often overlooked as it lies in the shadow of some of the tallest mountains in the world, is a steep, challenging climb in its own right. Other than a brief human-aided zip line down a short section of fixed line, Mera made the ascent completely unsupported.

鈥淚 am not aware of a dog actually summiting an expedition peak in Nepal,鈥� says Billi Bierling of , an organization that听documents climbing expeditions in Nepal. 鈥淚 just hope that she won鈥檛 get into trouble for having climbed Baruntse without a permit.鈥� According to Bierling, there have been a few cases of dogs at Everest Base Camp (17,600 feet) and some who鈥檝e followed teams through the Khumbu听Icefall up to Camp II听(21,300 feet), but this is perhaps the highest-recorded elevation ever reached by a dog anywhere in the world.

Mera, age unknown, is a 45-pound Nepalese听mutt who appears to be a cross between a Tibetan mastiff and a Himalayan sheepdog. She possesses an extraordinary听level of confidence relative to her small frame. Though slight, she鈥檚 lean, with muscles likely honed by years of travel over rough mountainous terrain in the Khumbu Valley. She has soft, close-cropped black fur, with legs and a snout dipped in golden yellow, small ears that flop forward, and kind eyes.听

Mera embedded with a team from the听, led by Seattle-based mountain guide , in the听tenth day of its听monthlong expedition.听The group had听seen her a few days before in the Nepalese town of Kare, but she seemed aloof. The team members were听descending from a successful summit of Mera Peak (21,247 feet), the first mountain they听had听climbed on their trip before heading to Baruntse, and were just above the fixed lines at around 17,500 feet听when Mera (you can see how the humans decided on her name) came bounding toward them. She passed about 30 climbers on the way up, all of whom could鈥檝e been persuaded to give her food or attention, but she crossed a glacier with a crevasse and beelined it for Wargowsky.

From that point on, the two were . He gave her a sleeping pad and jacket for a bed nest, and in return she fashioned herself into the ideal tent partner for three weeks: quiet, cuddly, agreeable, and with a small stomach.听鈥淥ne morning we got wind so bad it ripped the anchors off the tent, picked it up, and moved it a few feet,鈥� Wargowsky recalls. 鈥淪he just woke up, looked at me, and went back to sleep.鈥澨�

Mera very quickly became the team鈥檚 mascot.听

Because of the prevalence of rabies in Nepal鈥檚 street dogs, strays are generally . Mera, skittish around humans, was听eventually placated by head pats and pieces of meat. She followed Summit Climb鈥檚 Sherpas as they fixed ropes to听Baruntse鈥檚听camp one听(20,100 feet), climbing steep snow听to a section of easy rock scrambling. On the way down, however, she appeared spooked by the steepness and wouldn鈥檛 follow them back to base camp.

She spent two nights at camp one听out in the open, alone on the glacier. It was bitterly cold and winds were high. 鈥淚 was certain she was going to die up there,鈥� says Wargowsky. When the Sherpas went back up to fix the route to camp two, he asked them to bring her back down if she was still alive. But she鈥檇 survived听and decided to accompany the Sherpas as they worked their way up to 22,500 feet before going back to base camp.

鈥淚magine that听instead of crampons, you have claws,鈥� Wargowsky听says. 鈥淗er feet were bloodied. She had busted knuckles and broken toenails. It was hard to see.鈥�

At first it seemed like the Sherpas only tolerated Mera because Wargowsky liked her so much, but as they witnessed her climbing prowess, they began to treat her with reverence. 鈥淭hey鈥檇 never seen anything like this happen. They said she was a special dog, that she brought luck to the expedition,鈥� Wargowsky听says. 鈥淪ome even thought she was blessed.鈥�

The next day,听Wargowsky took his team up to camp one听to start the听summit bid. The route features steep ridgelines that drop thousands of feet off听either side. There are sections of vertical snow. To get down, climbers have to do a number of rappels. Wargowsky tied Mera up at camp so she couldn鈥檛 follow them back up the mountain, but the dog听chewed through the rope听and caught up with the team less than an hour after it had听left. 鈥淪he just tucked in right behind me,鈥� he says. 鈥淎nd it鈥檚 not like I could leave the clients to take her back, so it meant she was going with us.鈥�

It was early in the day, and the snow was firm en route听to camp one. Mera was up ahead of Wargowsky when she started to slip. He hung onto the fixed line with one hand and grabbed her with the other, saving her from what could鈥檝e been a 600-foot tumble. The team spent a听night at camp one听and then moved up to camp two. Usually teams stay there only briefly before launching their summit push, but bad weather kept the group听put for four days. Wargowsky let Mera split his meals of soup and pasta.

After the 60-to-70-mile-per-hour winds abated at Baruntse鈥檚听camp two听(21,000 feet), the team set out for the summit at 2 A.M. When the team听left, Mera was still sleeping. Wargowsky was relieved. Though she had shown strong climbing skills, he still didn鈥檛 want her following them. He鈥檇 already seen her slip once.

Mera slept until daybreak,听then ran off to find the team. She moved quickly over a moderately steep, glaciated section of the route, taking just two hours to cover what took the humans seven to complete. She seemed unbothered by the exposed ridgeline and听huge drop-offs, bounding ahead of the group and then running back as if annoyed by听its听slow pace. 鈥淚 have no clue if she鈥檇 been up there before, but she seemed very confident in what she was doing,鈥� Wargowsky says.

It turned into a clear, blue-sky day, but temperatures were cold, with strong gusts of around 30 to 40 mph and a windchill of minus 20 degrees. 鈥淚t was the coldest my feet have ever been,鈥� says Wargowsky. Those in his group听wore expensive 8,000-meter down suits and heavy double boots. They had crampons and carried ice axes, both giving them purchase and security in the firm snow and ice. Mera, who seems to , wore nothing. For reference, the to carry eight booties for each dog in order to offer abrasion protection from the snow and ice.

On the final ridge to the summit, Mera ran ahead of Wargowsky and the one client who was able to continue听and waited for them on top, tongue out and panting. 鈥淚鈥檇 never been on top of something like that with a dog. She was leaning up against me and wanting to be petted. It was pretty surreal.鈥� At an altitude where even humans in the best shape of their lives are slowed to a crawl, Mera could run.

Baruntse climbs are open to beginners, and most operators don鈥檛 require previous mountaineering experience. However, there are fixed ropes and altitude to navigate. Lakpa Rita Sherpa, a senior guide for Alpine Ascents International and one of 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 2013 国产吃瓜黑料rs of the Year, has guided the peak twice. 鈥淏aruntse is a pretty easy climb except for summit day,鈥� he says, comparing it in difficulty to Mount Rainier. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know how the dog got all the way to the summit. There are a few difficult sections, and from the mushroom ridge, you鈥檙e on a very exposed ridge for a couple of hours.鈥� He remembers a dog on Mount Everest who followed him to Camp II听and tried to go to Camp III听but didn鈥檛 have enough grip. He ended up becoming snow-blind, and a Sherpa carried him back to Base Camp.

If Mera could speak, she might credit that two-night open bivy as the key to her successful acclimatization. But dogs, like humans, are susceptible to altitude sickness: the extreme fatigue, headaches, and vomiting, as well as听killers like high-altitude pulmonary and cerebral edema. Wargowsky鈥檚 Baruntse team started with six听climbers, but only one was in good health to climb听on summit day. It鈥檚 a tough environment.

鈥淗er antecedents听certainly suggest a dog with the genetic disposition to succeed at high altitudes,鈥� says Martha Tissot Van Patot, a Colorado-based cardiovascular pulmonary physiologist who focuses on hypoxia and altitude research. Luckily for Mera, some species, including Tibetan mastiffs, adaptations for performance at elevation.

Still, everyone, and every dog, who climbs mountains knows that the summit is only the halfway point. In fact, most accidents happen on the descent. Certain Sherpas or guides might be comfortable descending unroped, but there were even sections that Wargowsky wanted to rappel听and that the Sherpas were clipping into the rope for. Yet听Mera went down on her own.听

There was only one instance in which听she appeared to be scared:听where the route descends a short vertical headwall (that she鈥檇 managed to climb up). The team鈥檚 lead听Sherpa tied a cordelette听around Mera and clipped it to the rope. She then half-ran, half-slid to Wargowsky before taking off ahead of the group down the ridge. 鈥淪he had a lot of faith in me and the Sherpas to help her, but she really didn鈥檛 need any help. She did everything on her own,鈥� Wargowsky says.

Mera became an instant celebrity. People came over from other camps to meet the dog who鈥檇 summited Baruntse. Some tried to discredit her, saying it was impossible. Luckily, the team had plenty of photographic evidence. Mera declined to comment for this piece, preferring instead that her accomplishment speak for itself. And听to be clear, no one forced Mera to climb this mountain. In fact, Mera鈥檚 feat made the climbers听very听anxious.

The walk back to Lukla, the mountain airport where climbers board Twin Otters to fly back to Kathmandu, takes a few days.听Stray dogs are not welcome inside teahouses, but Mera was (now per usual) an exception to the rule. She slept in Wargowsky鈥檚 bed, curled up at his feet. Kaji Sherpa, the expedition鈥檚 base-camp manager, would听order Mera her own entr茅e as he ate his own dal bhat.

鈥淏ack on the trail, walking toward home, it dawned on me:听we鈥檇 have to go back to Lukla and leave Mera on the street,鈥� Wargowsky says.听鈥淚 was sick about it. I told Kaji it was breaking my heart to think of leaving her. He said, 鈥楴o way, she鈥檚 special. She鈥檚 coming with me.鈥欌�� Mera couldn鈥檛 fly, so Kaji paid someone $100 to walk three days to Lukla to pick her up听and then three days back out with her to a village with bus service to Kathmandu.

On Christmas Day,听Kaji sent photos to Wargowsky. He鈥檚 renamed her Baru,听since she climbed Baruntse. Baru has put back on the weight she lost from the climb听and is happy and well-fed.

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