Climbing Aconcagua
A Jeff Shea Adventure in 1993
Aconcagua Notebook
January 20, 1993
Mendoza, Argentina

One of the most basic and telling observations that can be made about the human race is their penchant for taking huge tracts of land and claiming it as their own, giving it a name and drawing imaginary lines around it over which they will pit their lives.

Recently it struck me about how limited we are in our thinking. Granted, our need to survive requires us to focus ourselves, yet I momentarily glimpsed the world outside the context of language, custom, rules and even my own way of thought. It later occurred to me that it seemed like what the Taoist philosophers call the Great Tao.

~~~

Mendoza at 7:30 p.m. is hot, light outside, tree-lined, lazy and a fine place for me to sit and have a cold glass of mineral water with carbonation “Villavicencio” – really delicious. Rick arrived yesterday without one bag, which has put us out considerably. Instead of going to Puente del Inca today, we will wait for it to arrive tomorrow at 3:35 p.m. at the airport. Dad finally found out it was in a cargo warehouse in Orlando, Florida and the airlines should now be making up for their mistakes as I write.

~~~
1/21/93 Mendoza

The plan is to leave at 4 p.m. from the airport, with or without Rick’s pack. It has caused us tremendous inconvenience to have one delayed bag. Already it has cost us hundreds of dollars. Last night my sleep was troubled. The room was stuffy, even with the balcony doors wide open and my bed next to it. Trucks and cars roared by beneath the balcony until hours passed my bedtime at 1 a.m. After all the details of preparation have become a thing of the past, there is still the mountain itself to face, no small bit of effort. It impresses me how dangerous going that high can be: don’t get lost, don’t extend your limits of acclimatization, don’t get caught in a storm, tie your tent down to survive the high winds. The summit day is what really seems to present the most danger.

Three Americans that just climbed it described it as a party. There are hundreds of people. Frankly, I would prefer if there were only a few. When my brothers and I camp in Stanislaus forest we often see no other person in a day, the fishing is excellent, a remedy for the soul. I was told yesterday that the English were going to build a tower 40 meters high in order to bring the mountain to 7000 meters! Ridiculous!

~~~

1/22/93 Friday 12:35 a.m. Penitentes

More anecdotes from my book 1.
Eating monkey (Kisangani), termites (Nigeria).
Entering Iran embassy, reaction seeing Tehran girls in house.
Sugar can juice Egypt, Pakistan.
Poor food in India, but good orange, hot milk.
Sweet potato growing in New Guinea, the computer study showing it’s most efficient.
Brushing maggots off monkeys, Kinshasa.
Clay tea cups India – throw away.
Good food in Syria.
Ride in back of truck to Arequipa.
Hailstorm in Mendoza diameter size of handball (but not spherical)
How Kelly & I got together.
The man & woman fighting when I first arrived in New Guinea.
Face tattoos in Solomon Islands.
Custom of showing newlyweds’ sheets in Kiribati – or chicken blood would be used.
Entering Chad no visa – story of my problems there as a result of the baggage fiasco.

Rick’s mood improved tremendously after he got his bag. We had a nice dinner here, talked awhile with an interesting Argentine man, and generally had a lot of good laughs.

~~~

I was told by a Peruvian, Martin, in Santiago that the word Titicaca in Quechua means “puma a acecharse? Or “Puma about to leap (on its game),” and that when satellite pictures were taken of the lake, it looked like that! Considering the size of the lake, it is remarkable!
~~~

It seems that the preparation for this moment has been mentally challenging. I am ready now to experience and welcome the physically challenge.

A thought of natural philosophy: A hunter has always to be ready to act quickly and directly, therefore he must foresee his opportunities and be brave.

January 24, 1993 7 a.m. Plaza de Mulas 4250m

My resting pulse is 68. At sea level it was 50 before I left for this trip. I am surprised it is not higher. I attribute this to clean living, because when I was in the Himalayas it was much higher as I remember – more like 120 or 105 (??), though I can’t remember the circumstances under which my pulse was taken.
Last night I waited till 10 p.m. to call Joy as I’d told her if I could call I would call about 5 p.m. her time. I miss her. She is really my little Joy (i.e., joy).

Last night we were at the lodge (where I tried to call). They had a fiesta in which everyone was invited to eat. It was a treat. When we left the people, properly inebriated at 4370m, were forming a dancing train to some rather upbeat Latin rhythms. The music reminded me distinctly of Zairian music. I always wonder, did Latin music come from there (or did Zairian music come from the Caribbean, etc.)

Today we are going to try a carry to Nido de Condores and come back down to sleep here. It is supposed to be a 5hr walk but our packs weigh about 55lbs + water so it could take us considerably longer. We have been debating quite a bit over how far we should go and how quickly the weather is fine here but the sky is filled with clouds and they blow constantly over the mountain at a very high speed. I am acutely aware of the dangers of climbing this mountain, and I want to take every precaution to augment problems.

More anecdotes for my book (2)
The hiking in Stanislaus.
Story of being left behind at Banos Morales.
64 Pushups on Mt. K. + Mt K II 19,600’ (3”)
Shivering man to whom we gave clothes in Burundi
Women of the Trobriand Islands who fly at night.
Ed and stories of witchcraft cause death + bone tipped arrow human bone.
No garlic/onions Nigeria – children of Jos – Leprosy
Ghana – beans & fried banana steamed in banana leaves.
Mali, Mopti – open sewers
Ivory Coast – check points, stolen bread, I finally got angry. Three women clapping their hands.
Pakistan police station New Guinea butterfly
Zairians Music New Guinea snakes
African women New Guinea blue weevil
Mono & Lillie New Britain Spiders
Mt. Merapi/Vulcanologist Plaza de Mulas Refugio – two for one, free
Mt. Wilhelm. meals.

Last night we got lost on the way back from the hotel. My feet went in the river. We retraced our steps and found the right trail and made it back. I am taking aspirin and Diamox (everyone is keen on this) to combat the altitude.

Sunday January 24, 1993 6 p.m. Plaza de Mulas 4250m

We just did an 8 hour 45 minute round trip to Nido de Condores (5560m) with about 50-55lbs. on our backs. When we got there, we put nearly everything we brought in a duffle bag. Rick had carried and we put it in the most secure place we could find. WE secured it and camouflaged it by putting rocks on and around it. Nido is located on a ridge. IT was cold and windy.

We were told that fro Nido upwards, it is very windy and cold. One American told us that about fifty people summited yesterday. We were also told that today’s weather was the best in the last four days. Two Argentineans said they made it fro the Plaza de Mulas to Nido in 2 ½ hours with a lighter load. IT took us 6 ¼ hours! They said they made the summit from Nido in 7 hours 50 minutes. I think we will make an attempt from Berlin. Today may be our hardest day besides summit day.

When we got to Nido Inferior (or Penitentes), Rick proposed that we leave our bags there, but I wanted to go up to Nido proper. It took us 38 minutes. During that time I had a slight pain in my chest. I asked myself if it was serious and I decided I could go the little extra bit higher. I think it may have been caused by my salami lunch and constricting of my chest by my down parka (which I’d just put on) and the pack chest strap. Later a local man said his friends went down because of a pain in their lungs, being afraid of pulmonary edema. I asked if they had it and he said no, but the first sign is a pain in your chest. I asked if it is in the heart (too) and he said yes. Prior to that I’d been really breathing hard. I’ll have to acclimatize more and watch myself.

So far are we had acclimatized as follows.

Mendoza
Penitentes 2800m
Plaza Ancha 3600m
Plaza Mules 4250m
-Nido -> Playa Mules (Up arrow) 5560 -> 4250m (sleep).

January 25, 1993 Plaza de Mulas Refuges 4370m 3:25 p.m.

Rick wasn’t feeling well enough today so we decided to stay here and rest. I am trying to call Joy. It costs $9/minute. Two days ago was Chinese New Year. It would have been good to reach her for that, which is what we were hoping. She has so much tradition in her blood. I really love that girl. I can hear the radio connection – it is very poor.

I am taking a very light dose of Diamox, about 70mg. I have to pour out the powder because the capsules are 500mg each. The Americans we met in Mendoza said they had met an expert who said 63mg was enough. Apparently they had been doing research on lower doses and found that to be optimal.

I just talked to Joy…. She has been such a great friend to me. I feel like, and sometimes under adverse circumstances, she has supported me, even at times when, if she didn’t I could not have blamed her. A lot of the time I cannot but help drawing a comparison between her and my grandmother. They both surprise me by being positive about things I would have expected them to be negative – but not only that – it is in a way that makes me love them both so much. It is an internal graciousness that they carry inside it has something to do with modesty; it is something beyond being reasonable, it is much more than that, it is a divine spark.

As I sit, half-lay across this blanketed bench in this very cold room at the Hotel Refugio, there is a speaker a few feet away playing all sorts of uplifting music, including Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. It almost makes me feel like I am in the Alps. Now a guy put on Louis Armstrong (a contrast to say the least.)

I have been learning a lot from Rick. For one thing that climbers are crazy. Even the best die. The mountains are bigger than we are. It seems either you are lucky or it is a matter of attrition. The risks seem too great. Besides that outburst I want to record the things that I’ve been learning so as not to forget them.

1) Tying a tent fly for wind-
- use a bowline to tie cord to fly grommets
- use a taut line hitch to tie the other end around a rock
- use a [omitted] to tie two pieces of cord together (easier to undo than a square knot)
- better to tie long cord at a low angle to a rock than a short cord to a rock close to the tent, better stability in the wind.

2) Sun protection –
- use zinc oxide (or lahiasan) for nose, etc.
- use a nose guard (clips onto glasses)
- make a hat with a cloth sewed onto the back to protect the neck (even ears and sides of face) from sun.

3) Cold protection –
- layering more important than bulk.
- they sell (REI?) “Toe heaters” which is a small light packet which when opened can be put into your shoes and will provide warmth for many hours.
- also sold are ___________ which can provide warmth.
- est. 5000 – 6000 calories a day in cold climates.

4) Food
- REI sells tops that go on (normally black) film canisters (bottoms) which turn them into spice canisters with holes in the top and a removable cap over the hole.
- Make bags separately for meals rather than dump it all together and try to sort out how many meals you have. Example, one bag for dinner will include entrée, drink and desert.

5) Toilet –
REI sells toilet paper without the cardboard for compost use.

6) Altitude –
- Aspirin thins the blood. He takes 6 or 7 daily.
- Caffeine may improve performance.

The day before yesterday, I discovered that my new $835 80-200 2.8 ED lens doesn’t work properly. Either it got too much impact when I tossed my daypack across a stream or when I may have smashed it against a rock. The focusing band is jammed in manual focus. This is a real disappointment. I could still use it, but it is such a liability – to focus it requires a lot of strength. I may not have brought it up the hill. Anyway, most important is having my 24mm and 28-85mm, but it still gives me a sense of loss. I would have loved to use it in people pictures if I still get time to tour Uruguay/Paraguay at all.

This morning it was all sun but now heavy cloud fronts are moving in all around. My judgment tells me we’ll have a storm within the next two days. I figure we’ll have summit weather in four days. My plan is to go to Nido tomorrow, Berlin (full load) next day and rest one day at Berlin hoping for a summit day four days from now. I plan to go the normal route but will make an effort on the Polish glacier afterwards, time, weather, stamina and desire permitting. I would be ecstatic to have a full week to travel in Uruguay/Paraguay and climb Mirador National (Uruguay’s highest hill.)

The sun is shining strongly through the window onto the blanket and this writing pad. It is very homey. I am very glad to have this day to write. I miss writing. I have been thinking (dangerous!) now and then about writing. I have been concentrating on the phrase “writer’s voice” which seems a key for me. I know I have a “voice” of my own which only occasionally bursts like sun through the clouds onto this notebook. When my mind is in the right frame it comes forth. Then, I love my writing. But it seems that it peters out after a short time. I should cultivate that voice. I need a focus. IT is like the question “Who am I?” It is why I get upset with people who cast aspirations on my character. I am tired of being misunderstood and misinterpreted. I want to be able to express myself in a way to have the desired outcome.

~~~

Sitting above P. de Mulas waiting for the sun to illuminate P. de Mulas 7:30 p.m. …

The mountain in my eyes is tremendously beautiful. Rock stratified vertically, thousands of crests and columns, grey, red, yellow, black, brown, tan, all in bands across it’s face. Wisps of clouds, curtains of nebulae foray in and about the columns, sunlight heightens the depth of color. Fingers of snow perch in crevices on the windswept panorama.
~~~
Back in the lodge…. 8:20 p.m.

I just spoke with some guys who tried the Polish Glacier. They said the winds were relentless for a week and so they bagged it (abandoned it) and went up the normal route. They said that Alex Lowe just did it in four hours but most people are taking 12 hours and some so long as 16. They said it had “opened up” and upon questioning did that mean crevasses, they said yes but the only sank up to their waists (!)

[Ed: why are mountaineers so eager to die?] [I think if I had the will I could be pretty good at it.]

They said the Direct Route was better than the Traditional Route. The Direct goes to the Right. To gain the ridge they said (they heard) that you (Full Page Diagram page 28) have to climb a couple of patches (70’ nope O.K.) of 65-70º ice. But it was “no problem,” save the bad weather. Most of the glacier was 30º good neve.

Then another American piped in that to gain the ridge one climber had to do some class 5 moves up rotten rock. The other Americans (who had started on the Polish G.) rebutted that the guy they talked to had one hand on the rock and an axe digging in with the other (mostly this is hearsay.) The traditional route requires a traverse over to the Piedra Bandera (They called this “flat rock” but I think it means striped rock.º It seemed like the route required several pitches of 40-45º ice, pitches meaning you could use 70’ rope.

I just had a dinner of delicious pork ribs with pan-boiled potatoes, salad of green peppers, tomatoes and red cabbage, bread, tang (orange drink). When the chef asked the table close to me if they wanted more I said, “I do.” She said to go get it. Later he asked them again are you sure you don’t want more? He said “do you?” I said yes, so I went to the kitchen and they gave me a big slab of ribs and another potato. I saved a lot of the last helping for Rick. I feel like a million bucks the more I eat and drink. The left (along with a lukewarm cup of Walnut coffee I made) I am feeling is elating and reassuring.

These Americans just told me that the French Doctor who died probably died form edema. Also, he was 60 and his group was going down and he decided to go it alone to summit. They said some people took 12 hours in full conditions to summit. Others (in better weather) took 7 ½ hours round trip Berlin – glacier- summit - Berlin.

Wed 1/27/93 Nido de Condores

When we arrived here last night I felt like I was going to die. The dinner I heretofore described gave me a sleepless night, gas in my stomach. I was half-shot by daybreak to begin with. I felt OK during our walk. We spent three hours debating at camp Canada whether to move up. I finally suggested “let’s just go.” Later I wanted to stop at Nido Inferior but Rick suggested we go the extra little bit to Nido.

By the time we set up the tent, I was completely zonked. I had a headache, gas in my stomach, I was tired. It was a godsend for me that Rick volunteered to make the supper. First we had Kippers and crackers (herring = kippers). It felt fortifying. Later we had wild rice, soup, butter and chunky harm all mixed together. The more food I poured into my stomach, the less room there was for gas, and I burped many times and gradually felt better. It was lights off about 9:30 p.m. and I slept well, so glad to be in my warm bag, in a war tent.

The hot food kept me toasty warm all night. I woke up about 3 times to pee. We have increased our Diamox dosage from about 70mg twice a day to 250mg twice a day. This is based on talking to various climbers that have made it to the summit. As of last night I was feeling I didn’t even want to climb this mountain but at this moment I a feeling so what cheered. There is some dispute as to what our altitude here is.

Most American literature states we are at 17,300’ but the predominance of Argentine literature places us at about 18,300’. My resting pulse today is about 63 beats per minute. I am very surprised by this. My recollections from the Himalayas was that it was 100+ at altitude. Right now I feel a little lazy but really quite fresh warm and good. Earlier before the hot soup I was beginning to feel chilled, but then I said to myself. “I’ve got all this gear, why not put it on?” I think I may have a tendency to test myself rather than pamper myself. So I put on some fleece pants and down booties and I begun to warm up right away. I have a hard time keeping myself resting as long as I am feeling good. For one thing, I am concerned that the relatively good weather won’t hold out. They say that storms here take 5 days to die out or move on. I am hoping we can summit between Friday and Sunday. I can’t help but feel that I will be very happy if I summit and come down with 5 or 6 days to bomb over to Uruguay and still catch my plane in Paraguay.

I am seriously considering that even if I am in a position to, I may wait to completely abandon any plans to hike up Mt. McKinley with Fred. After talking with Rick somehow it all begins to seem sort of silly to pursue the Seven Summits. What leads me to this conclusion? It seems all too much of the motivation of people is to gain glory. They either want to talk about it or be talked about. Or, is this just the altitude and lack of comfort talking? I don’t think it is. What really concerns me is the objective dangers: edema, avalanche, crevasses, dangerous weather, hypothermia, freezing, getting lost, falling, etc. Rick told me stories about men at the top of their field who died in crevasses, etc. I could be putting myself in great danger. And for what? There are thousands of treks and trekking peaks if I desire to see breathtaking scenery. There are so many things I want to do and see – I do not know if it is worth it to risk losing a lovely life for an artificial glory. I do not intent to demean the achievements of so many who have tested fate, I merely mean to say my life is very important to me. I can never help but believe that I have some important influence to make. As much as I am disillusioned with my race of humans, I suppose I am a humanist after all, only, that I hold the belief that what is right for the land, the animals, and our home Earth in general is right for mankind. I want so much to hold onto my life at least until my destiny is accomplished, that until I fulfill at least most of what I really want to do. By my own accounting, I have barely begun my work. I am not averse to taking risks, provided they are reasonable. Traveling presents risk, but they can be minimized. I am scared to death by thoughts of edemas which are immeasurable and can sneak up on you. There is so much study I want to do, travel, photographs to take, loving, shaving, being with family. I don’t want to take undue risks. I will decide later about what to do or not to do. Perhaps I will feel better after I, and if I, make a successful summit attempt. Sometimes all this waiting is agony. Just sitting, waiting. Sometimes, it is more agony anticipating fatigue & discomfort than the reality itself.

From my tent window, I can see camp Berlin or rather the vicinity of camp Berlin. I know the summit is far, far off from there.

January 29, 1993 Aconcagua Summit Day

I hardly felt like getting up! The sleeping pills do not do much anyway to keep me asleep. Spent the night at around 20,000’ of elevation. It is cold as hell here. Originally we were going to get up very early, but were abused against it by the Argentine in the next tent. He is the same guy who gave me some toilet paper in Camp Canada. (Rick says, you never ‘lend’ toilet paper – you give it away). He is some sort of a guide. Even though the British started at 5:30 a.m., he says it is too cold until about 8:30 a.m. or 9 a.m. Early, I woke up and start melting snow so we have breakfast and water. Rick gets up first and I say I need 10 minutes more. I’m groggy. Eventually I drag myself up and slowly put on my clothing. When it is necessary to relieve myself, I have to rush out the back door behind a rocky divider and freeze my tail off until I’m done. What a great view though.

Shortly before 8:30 a.m. Fred from Lake Tahoe took off saying we’d soon catch up. The next time we saw him we were 100’ from the top & he was coming down. About 8:30 we were off. I left a few moments before Rick & Glade (a 53 year-old semi-retired Lawyer from Reno who started running marathons at age 42 and ran a 2:57 his first race & later ran a 2:33!). Apparently, Rick had to go back again once he’d started and get his pack because his system of buckling everything to his waist wasn’t working. I was unaware and plodded up and around to where I’d been two days earlier.

From there I could see the rocks behind which I was told lay Camp Independencia. By the time I was across the first snowfield and starting up the switchbacks, Glade, then Rick were right around me. We reached Independencia after 1 hr. 40 mins. Rick was psyched up and commented that we were making terrific progress. Camp Independencia is at 21,500’ or 20,300’ I am not sure, but after the Canaleta I wouldn’t be surprised if it was at the lower end of the spectrum. (Rick’s literature said it was at 21,500’.) Rick tends to be rather jovial and called for a song for which Glade did the obligation & rasped out a few lines. I was focusing all my concentration on the climb ahead and I wasn’t overjoyed with their cheer! I put my small water bottle & a can of tuna out of my pack, the water bottle having been all but emptied and the can of tuna I figured I didn’t need (later, on my return it was missing).

After a short rest we started up. The ridge alone Independencia has a name referring to the wind. I wasn’t much into picture taking on the way up but there were 5 or 6 climbers coming up to the ridge & it was rather picturesque—you could see the wind forcing their bodies to crouch and spitting up snow. We too experienced the same gusts when we reached the ridge. From there it was pretty much of a sideways traverse to the base of the Canaleta, a journey of 45 minutes or so; at first one reached a rock, a momentary shelter from the wind which blasts you on this first portion. In fact, by the time I reached the rock I was a little concerned that the wind was so cold it might either suck all my warmth from me and render me cold or even hypothermic, not to mention a slight concern with the possibility of frostbite, my hands till now wrapped only in my gortex ski gloves (actually they do a fine job.) (Other than seam sealing, they seem about as good as they can be – if they were seam sealed maybe I’d consider them as real protectors.)

Rick & Glade went ahead. I was fiddling with trying to put on my mountain pants. At first I put the wrong leg on first! I felt foolish. I couldn’t button them where I’d had the button put in. I was frustrated. Eventually I got them on. Rick & Glade were across the snowfield by the time I arrived there. I made my way across with my ski poles but without my crampons. Granted it wasn’t so steep, but as someone said, if you fall you could break a leg. (Maybe worse then that.) The snowfield fell away to grand and fell awfully far away. Someone had mentioned something about the hotel being at the end of the line. From the near end of the snowfield, I saw the lodge way in the distance below, I mean, way in the distance.

I inched across the snowfield. My boots had collected mud on their bottoms, which I suppose was frozen as well, therefore, instead of a good grip, it tended to make for a rounded bottom, quite slippery. My foot gave way once or twice, and I had to maintain my balance. Once on the other side, I half-hid my crampons between some rocks on the trail and then I continued, this is where the Canaleta begins. Of course there are no signs saying ‘This is the Canaleta’ but you know you are there when you start to go upwards in loose ground. This continues for a couple of hours. Having developed a fear of exhaustion from having raced to Piedra Blanca yesterday, and seeing what a few moments over-exertion can do. I went slowly so as not to tire myself. I kept looking up and saw the progress of Glade and Rick. Rick was stopping & I thought at one point he was waiting for me but then I realized he was just plain tired. After a lot of this upward motion in which, if your feet were placed improperly you would slide back. I finally resolved myself to counting steps. Some of my steps were only a few inches. At ;east O was warm. The Canaleta curved up to the left. I could see once about ½ way up, the ridge where it appeared people were traversing to do left to the top. I resolved 1000 steps to get to the top at the point where I reached the ridge I all but caught up with Rick & Glade. The ridge separates the Canaleta from the South Face. The idea to me of climbing the South Face is unbelievable. That is, it would but mind-bending-ly hard. As Rick later put it, he had developed a new respect for that achievement. Across the traverse I met up with Rick & Glade for a moment.

I stopped because I really had to urinate. This was a major chore. Even though my mountain pants & Denali pants essentially are designed to go together, tight together they make for a very cumbersome pair, for the Denali pants have no zippers in front &require pulling them to the side. Since these ride underneath the mountain pants, I had to unsnap them too. Maybe there is a better, more sensible way to do all this, but believe me at the time it was a difficulty 10 times greater than it sounds. For another factor is you can’t take off your gloves or your hands will freeze. With the gloves on you can’t feel the buttons, etc.

So in frustration, I left the right side of my bibs undone (the shoulder strap and the button. Another thought on my mind was the weather. I could imagine I should get so far, within 3000 feet of the top and the weather should move in. I had talked with an Argentine at Piedra Blanca who said he was 50 meters from the top of the Canaleta and he had to turn back because he was too tired!!! I can’t imagine doing that. After all that work!! Anyway, there were clouds covering the view of the South Face and the occasional clouds moving quickly in the sky in our vicinity.

I could tell I was in the vicinity of the top because there were people just standing around on what appeared to be a bluff. They would not appear so relaxed unless they were on top. The trail continued to traverse left, then up, finally it went right. I could tell I was nearing the top. A few more steps and I could see the top of the well known silver cross. There was Glade and Rick resting. Rick was flat on his back. In addition to normal bring-alongs, Rick had hauled his pack—they weigh about 7 lbs., a good 5 lbs. more than my day pack.

There was a strange looking plastic figure of a man – It looked different then the notation the Dutch team made regarding a ‘crystal globe.’ – not far from the cross. The silver cross was more upright than I’d seen in pictures. It had many decals on it from around the world. It stands about 2 1/2 feet height, it’s base surrounded by stones. We took mutual pictures. Glade didn’t have a camera so we took a few shots of him to send him. He took a picture of Rick & I arm in arm over the cross. I got them to take a photo of me hugging the cross. That, by the way, was the first thing I did when I’d reached the top. I sort of fell on the cross and wrapped my arms around it, so glad to covet it at last!

After the started down, I stayed on top awhile longer. I took out the salve tin Joy had given me. I dropped in a crack between the rocks at the back of the cross then I shoved a small rock in the crevice to keep it there. It should remain there a long time, probably until it rusts and turns to dust. Then, in the book lying between the rocks, I wrote a few lines. To Joy my most lovely and beautiful wife & to Gammy who taught me to care &Love.” I took a photograph of the book & of the book and cross. I also managed a few scenery shots before I’d left to top, during this whole time. It wasn’t till later that I realized the configuration of the traverse and the South Face when I later saw a picture of it.

I thought coming down would be easier. I never have been down a trail that was so hard to come down in my life. I had to stop and rest on my ski poles every ten or twenty steps. I was surprised at how slow the descent was, in fact it made me wonder how I could have come up as fast as I did (relatively speaking). By the way, our total ascent time was (8:30 a.m.– 2:30 p.m.) 5 hours 50 minutes from Piedra Blanaca.

I was now in a picture taking mode although I didn’t take a lot, I retrieved my crampons and put them on for my walk across the snow field. I thought I might as well enjoy the security. I wore the crampons clear down past Independencia. My can of tuna (as I mentioned beforehand) was missing at the camp. I never saw any sign of the dead French doctor, for which I was thankful. There was a tent there and I wondered if they put his body in that tent. Apparently there had bee n a question of who would pay to haul him down. I heard mention that it required 8 men for the job. Later, I heard that they had already moved him down.

They must have passed him by us somewhere on the mountain. Prior to getting to Independencia on the way up the mountain, I had braced myself for the sight. Someone had told me that he was sprawled out virtually on the trail, the plastic bags ripped by the wind exposing his bloated stomach and part of his face! It sounded gruesome.

Apparently, there was some debate over whether he’d died of a heart attack (*generally proposed) or acute pulmonary edema. Though I’d not seen her, I was told his wife was across the room the first night I was at the lodge.

After the snowfield below Independencia I took off my crampons and I walked slowly downhill back to camp. I think I came in about an hour after Rick did.

I went immediately into my sleeping bag and slept. Rick woke me to give me some soup or noodles. He was good about doing more than his share of the mutual work. I was a goner for the rest of the night. I woke up and went to the toilet. Rick suggested he’d invite Fred over for the balance of dinner. We couldn’t finish. I told him I didn’t mind but I was in no spirit to socialize. Basically, I was wasted by the effects of the altitude. So instead he went to talk to Fred. Apparently Fred wasn’t feeling too well. One thing about this mountain is that it is so easy to climb so high so fast, that most people probably don’t get acclimated properly before summiting.

It was a miserable night. The wind was worse than any other night. The tent was flapping loudly. The cold penetrated everywhere. There was ice on the inside of the tent and the outside of my sleeping bag. I took a sleeping pill at 11:30 p.m. and woke up at midnight! The doctor had said they were mild but that is too mild!! I didn’t sleep to well. Ever since the meal the night before our ascent, I’d been feeling greasy in my stomach and I had had excess gas in my stomach which was only relieved by burping which often didn’t happen. Next climb I’ll bring alka-seltzer.

The next morning, we broke camp, went to Nido, repacked all the bags with the supplies we’d left there, walked across the snowfield to Lower Nido (I wore crampons for ease), and upon reaching Playa de Mulas hauled our loads over to the lodge. Going up the grande to the lodge was like Canaleta II.

I had planned to take a helicopter out to save time, but the helicopter we’d seen taking off in Playa de Mulas was not going to return until Tuesday. I stayed up late making arrangements for mules, eating , visiting with people at the lodge guarda paique station and writing in the scrapbook.

Fred, Rick and I shared a room. As it turned out, it was fortunate the helicopter wasn’t available because the next day’s walk out was amongst the best days I’ve had in recent memory!

Jan 30, 1992 6:48 P.M.

Yesterday we summated at about 2:30 p.m. in the afternoon. I came up the last little ridge and I practically fell on and hugged the silver cross. Now I am sitting in a canvas hut in Playa de Mulas. Unfortunately the last helicopter until Tuesday left just in our sight as we walked down the hill and came into sight of Plaza de Mulas. What timing! Later, I hope to describe yesterday’s ordeal, but right now I am engrossed with the task of getting to the bus station in Mendoza by 6:30 p.m. tomorrow. The purpose of this is to arrive the next morning in Uruguay. The best laid plans of mice and men. Somehow I will get there even if I have to walk it out.

Last night I had a horrible sleep. The wind flapped the next incessantly. It was freezing cold. I had a headache to the point that if I turned, sat up or did anything, it hurt.

I should feel jubilant now, but I have years to feel satisfaction over climbing the peak. I have learned something on this adventure and that is how magnificent are my achievements. When I think of what others have done it expands my imagination well beyond its limits. To think how can people climb this mountain’s south face!! How can people endure the discomfort & risks involved in climbing 8,000-meter peaks? There is a high level of endurance & discomfort involved in high altitude climbing but the greatest involved in this perform technical super-feats at these extreme places. It is a comfort to me to have climbed this mountain, and I would respect anyone who has reached the summit, but it is an average feat.

The day before yesterday we broke camp at Nido and moved up to Piedra Blanca, about 40 minutes up trail from Berlin. The trip to Berlin took 1hr 40 minutes more or less.

2/1/93 Montevideo Uruguay 8:34 p.m.
Corner of Avenida 18 de Julio y Ejido (downtown)

I admit I am tickled to be here. I am laying down in an area in front of a building, plaza-like, propped up on a step-like border to a flowerbed. It is energy, cool breezy humid air – it is so thick I feel I could cut it with a knife. Evening sets in.

They believe in late hours, possibly because it gets dark so late, still quite light now. I am thrilled as I said to be here. I felt so comfortable that I even took a self-portrait with my new Nikon. Feeling self-satisfied? Well… yes- I remember the words of the Swiss Climber of Ama Dablam – life is twice as valuable after climbing a peak. I feel so safe. After sleepless nights, cold, ice inside the tent and on my sleeping bag.

All of a sudden, life is so easy. I can breathe without effort, I can move with pain. There is no fear of a mysterious edema lurking over my head. The highest peak in the world outside of Asia… it is just a lark, but it sounds impressive – and the South Face is impressive. It is the first view I ever saw in a photograph last year. Again I said I would write about summit day, and I will, but first I will ramble until that urge is satisfied.

I find it so thrilling to so thrilling to be here. It is country number 79 that I’ve visited, or according to the Traveler’s Country Club, place #99. One more to go in any event before some milestone is reached. Again, another lark, but somehow in folly there is meaning! I feel so free, it is unreal. I love to satisfy the wanderlust. I somehow, shameful as it may be, find myself amazing when I travel, it in truth is nothing more than satisfying my needs one after another, yet I find it remarkable nonetheless that I can take care of myself. I guess that’s it, it sounds funny but that is the point to which I’ve distilled my idea.

I am leaning on my left elbow that is cushioned by my 17-year old rain poncho, in its internal pouch with my newly bought wind pants. To show you how irrational (my) happiness is, even this little bit of synchronicity gives me great satisfaction – I just strapped it on the bottom of my oh-so-useful day pack. Thence it just happened to be there to abet me in this mysterious pursuit of writing. I am wearing my favorite black sweat bottoms, any favorite poly-pro gray sox liners, my tennis, and my red capilene mid-weight short sleeve shirt, and to top off this sundae is my blue visor.

You know, I shouldn’t even be here. I arrived at the bus terminal in Mendoza within an hour of departure but there were no places on the bus. Damn am I persistent. I patiently said I’d wait and see. After the young man behind the desk had his full of satisfying quips of telling me there were no places, he finally asked the guy who was on the bus if they had room. At the very last moment they took my money and gave me a seat in place #1 and I mounted the modern steed for a 21 hour bus ride- it was contrary to what one might think –very very enjoyable.

My major concern was that I smelled so bad; particularly my sox, and feet that I didn’t want to offend anyone. Honestly it smelled so bad it was quite noticeable when I took my shoes off, which I had to do because it was hot.

Everyone was so friendly on the bus that the ride was more fun than a chore. There were eight girls and eight boys who were traveling as a folkloric dance troupe to Uruguay to perform (all expenses paid). The “director(a)” was a woman of the ripe old age of 21. They performed for me outside the breakfasting place today. A very amiable maintenance engineer talked with me late into the night and for much for day (we arrived about 4 p.m.) He had a few stories which I found amusing – no, funny.

I asked him if there was a (big) difference between the Argentineans and the Uruguayans. He said not really, but there was the exception of the “Porteños.” What is that?? A “Porteño”, he explained, was a person from Argentina’s Capital Buenos Aires. He assumed all sorts of stuffy attitudes to illustrate the problem with the Portenos. He then told me the yarn, “El major negocios en el mundo es comprar un Porteno por lo que vale y vender lo por lo que cree lo que vale.” That is, the best business in the world is to buy a Porteño for what he was worth and to sell him for what he thinks he is worth and sell him for what he thinks he is worth!” Later today he told me a story of the “Gallegos,” claiming them to the Spaniards that settled here. He related one Gallego said to another, “Do you like a woman with big tits?” (Hereupon he made an [inappropriate] gesture.) The other exclaimed, “No, what impresses me is if she has more than two of them!”

Last night (and today to some extent) the conversations and joking went all around. The people are very amiable. I’ve never had a bus trip where they had dinner served, drinks, cookies, etc., with, in essence, stewardesses.

I am beginning to view things as fate. Still I try as hard as I can to manipulate situations to be where I think they ought to be or want them to be. But as I said or I should clarity, when things don’t go my way, they are beyond my control. Fate is such a strong factor, shouldn’t we merely reflect that what has passed is an experience (that had to be. Reality is so strong, it cannot be denied.

Try as I (we) might, it still follows what will be will be and yet we can change what will happen, only we can’t predict what will happen. It is foolish to believe in the validity of predictions.

On the walk through the Playa Ancha yesterday, I had one of the greatest experiences of my life. What was that, you may ask. The answer: Walking through the Playa Ancha. For a place to have had such a bad reputation prior to my visits, it certainly impressed me. The walk out was pure heaven. I left at 7:39 a.m. from the lodge (Rick and Fred dozing) and immediately began setting up the tripod and taking pictures. I think it took about 5 rolls of pictures yesterday – about 150-180 shots. I had a “field day.” A whole day to walk and think and take photographs.

Everything appeared ultra beautiful (another reason why I must be so high.) I couldn’t get enough of the landscape, changing so beautifully. You take multicolored and shaped rocks, add small green plants, purple and yellow flowers, red pods and a meandering river, flattening into shallow offshoots then regrouping, many frozen ones with ice crystal, imagine the permutations of beauty!

Then the grandmaster performer, the sun, steps in and casts ever changing shadow and light in its stoic unmoving illumination of a revealing earth. The end of the trail brought the vision I’d sort of forgotten, the first view I ever had of Aconcagua, the South Face from the (?) Vacas Valley. Green everywhere in the foreground, the ice cliffs presenting a formidable spectacular, and a chill blue canopy, the sky sitting upon the whole of the scene. The weight of the sky do unimaginably great and yet it appears to be weightless in its heavenly push. The air was so dry and I began with a tight sore throat, then my throat became so dry I would near-choke when I tried to swallow. I rationed my liter of water for the 24-mile walk. Even better than I’d planned, almost immediately upon my arrival at the road a man approached me and, as I tried to ignore him – thinking I was imaging his intent stare – he appearing almost angry, accosted me and said- “are you going to Uruguay??” (What a question to ask a total stranger!!) He had expected me some time before. It was Ricardo, the owner of Aconcagua express. A (gleaming – in my dreams) blue minivan awaited me. He rode back to the “guarda parque” tent with the driver, his girlfriend and I and we disboarded.

The driver, his (the driver’s) girlfriend and I went to Penitentes where I dropped off Rick’s bag and picked up one I’d left. The day went like clockwork. I arrived about 3:30 p.m., about 8 hours after I’d left. The hike was 6 hours but the photography added another two hours.

Freedom is not caring what others think. Even better yet, not being in a position that you should care what they think. That is not a negative but rather a “very positive.” Really! What a freedom to be yourself. The funny truth (the delightful truth) is that it seems to attract people like this.

Speaking of which, I was amazed today when one of the young lads, Radamis, (of o-so fame, to be explained later) told an older woman that I’d climbed Aconcagua, she approached me (me being unaware) and kissed my cheek, then wanted her picture taken with me, exclaiming it wasn’t very often someone (she know of) climbs the mountain. After enjoying the celebrity life for all of five minutes I now know why people love it – because things are happening so fast around them that they don’t have (time) to think. This is a real luxury!

Know what? I am completely exhausted – and I still haven’t begun to describe summit day.

A person starts to become better when they humble themselves; a person starts to deteriorate when they begin to elevate themselves in their own minds. We are flesh and blood. We are not so great nor so small. We are, yet we are merely toys of fate, truly responsible for so little and truly victims of so much, we truly have so little to be proud of yet again so little to be ashamed of.

Maybe I never will write the summit day this evening. It is almost 10 p.m. I really want to call Joy and get a good night’s sleep. The city is a warmer San Francisco. Warmer and (note: important) cheaper. It is really cheaper here. You can tell the people are “economically” depressed. I drove around for two hours (it seemed) with a taxi driver for about $11 (although I tipped him 15,000 pesos), about $4 more. (75% of the tip he asked for his waiting time). When I told him I’d climbed the mountain he smiled, said nothing. I asked him why he smiled. Later he commented, “That is why I smiled, to see someone having the fruits (of life), it was smile of pleasure.”

Waiting in line at the Antel International, I am next number up. They have seating or a bench for a few but many more customers standing up. When I fell asleep sitting on my windbreaker pocket (what with an eyeshade and visor on) a uniformed woman informed me it was a “public place” and I shouldn’t sit on the floor and shouldn’t sleep. I rebutted I wasn’t sleeping, but I was waiting.

Wouldn’t it be more humane of them to get a few wooden boxes for people to sit on?? Honestly, some people’s convoluted ideas of what “society” is sicken me. I looked at my South American handbook upside down. The date read 1661 (instead of 1991.) I thought “how appropriate.” It might as well be 1661. (The) Trouble with “man’s” nature is they always tend toward thinking they are at the apex of development instead of realizing they are as far back on the curve as one’s scope would have them realize. (?!)

Tuesday 2/2/93 Montevideo

What a ball it is to write (and to drink café con leche even though I’ve given up coffee). There is something almost “hidden” about this city and this country. Not intended to demean it by saying this, but it is sort of like it is just tucked away down here in South America. I would guess very few people around the world really have a very strong impression of what Uruguay is like. It is not as prosperous as Argentina. The people almost seem “resigned” – another view is that they are (more) humble and pleasant, down to earth, intelligent folks.

It is already 11 a.m. I woke just before 9 a.m. It took me a couple of hours to organize my wash, gear, etc., shave, dress, pack for the day. I don’t really know where I am going. My general itinerary is as follows. 1) Take photographs – finish a roll of color, then I think I will “do” the city and it’s people in “black and white.” 2) I think I’ll check out of here tomorrow and head north (towards Paraguay). 3) Find out about buses today for tomorrow. 4) Walk to the “old city” 5) try to get out to the highest point in Uruguay. (Mirador National or Pan de Azucan or ? in any event it is only about 1,700’ high and you can drive to the top! Probably.) – Which reminds me, I should get a map. My book says there is a good one available.

Montevideo, Uruguay 2/2/93 11 p.m. dinner

My notebook is tattered from rubbing and the sweat of my back. I ran 45 minutes to what I think was Mirador National – the highest point in Uruguay. On the way back to Montevideo I began thinking strange thoughts while looking at the sky.

Sky Tender
I am a sky tender
My sole job is to tend the sky
I am the Shepherd of the Clouds
I never have to oppose their will
For they always move as they should.

Night after night I watch the moon
I never worry as it wanes,
And it never disappoints me when it waxes again

…(and now I continue)…

It is remarkable that this my only job.
For I can exert no will over my flock.
I can only watch, accept and
Understand them better.

The sun, the moon, the blue palette of day
And the star studded (obscurer?) of night
I can only say the more I watch
The more mysterious it appears.

Yet I need to do nothing
For all is in order.
Invisible wind, gusty hues

(and morrow I try again…)

The animals roam feely in my field
I charge them nothing for the use.

(And another morrow I try again.)

Peregrine falcons, hawks, eagles, condors,
Dragonflies, hummingbirds, bats,
Flying fish, seagulls, cranes, the
Great migrating ones. All using the byways, none with names.

Of late I have seen men in flying
Machines, great silver and white,
Mechanical birds, roaring,
Spewing forth,

At first I decried what I saw,
But having no power over my domain
Only to watch, accept and understand,
I realized that all is as it should be.
I tend to the sky,
The never-changing, always-changing
Field.
From the land I see billows of
Smoke.
Choking, locomotives, red haze.

My first impulse was to stop the change,
But as I sit in objectivity,
Now I only notice the beauty
And the timelessness
I see only the balance and the innocence
Of man’s interplay with nature.
No more no less
Than bustling beehives,
And the honeycomb left behind
Are rumbling cities
And the byproducts of his trafficking
There are still rows and dimensions
Of clouds in the heavens
Uncountable beauties
As it will always be
Silver flock, splendid rainbows,
Crystal bright clarity
What a delightful job have I.

Puerto Iguacu, Argentina 2/4/93 1120 p.m.

I feel completely exhausted. I guess I have had a long day. I saw as much as I could of the Argentine side of the Iguazu Falls. It is truly a splendid place, amongst a handful of exquisite places I’ve seen in my life.

Asuncion, Paraguay 2/5/93 440 p.m.

This is the end of the line for me in South America this trip. I haven’t had so much time to write the last few days, have I? It appears so far this trip has been a complete success, having satisfied all of the objectives I set out to do. This is my 80th nation visited. Somehow that number seems like a lot to me. Alas, according to the Travelers Century Club rule, it is #100. (Gabon, Russia and Poland having been in airport waiting rooms only. [Ed: Note, in later years, I traveled across Russia and Poland and spent time in Libreville, Gabon.]

Tomorrow I have to be at the airport at 345 p.m., so I have about 24 hours to be “at large.” I may go to a little ways out from Asuncion, as it is famous for lace tablecloths and what not.

Thursday March 11, 1993 San Francisco Veronica came over last night. She is beautiful…but she wears so much make-up and refuses to do nudes. Clothes and make up, they are like barriers. I think some women feel naked without their make up. Amy said, “I feel more naked without my makeup than I do without my clothes.” She put on a look like a wet poodle. It is almost as if, if a woman does not give up these barriers, I cannot photograph her, because I can’t get to her core, cannot get to her essence. It is the difference between a snapshot and art. Don’t mind me, really. Of course, art can be had from anything. But I am more fascinated by the bare, naked soul, by the nude woman, than by the hidden. Then the exploration begins, not ends.April 17, 1993 Kona, Hawaii Baggage Claim Area

Not a good flight, nor a good morning. Basically I am depressed because I am tired, but on the plane I wasn’t happy. I had to get up at 5 a.m. to pack. I read the magazines on the plane to heighten my sense of paranoia about our world. What I read (the news) made me feel ill. For one thing, Los Angeles facing possible riots, another article was about how grandparents allegedly molested their grandchildren, but when I read how the children were interrogated, it made me sick. I got the impression that the suspicious parents actually planted the ideas in their heads. And every page led to one negative or another for me because it was media hype, or advertising hype, corporate hype, all of it made me sick.Which is a good starting point for this entry. I am feeling overloaded with the human being, period. They are everywhere, clawing, clutching, stomping, crying, demanding. We are overrunning the earth. On one hand, I want to isolate myself from others, on the other hand I love to be sociable.Here is the crux – I want to be in a society of gentle people, of open-minded, good people. For example, American society is chock-full of people with strange ideas about sex. Some are bad – with intent to do harm – others are bad – with intent to do good. I am strongly influenced by the (now deceased) author of Sexual Freedom, who purports sex to be amoral, neither good nor bad. Everywhere I see signs of people who, in my opinion, are misguided into worrying about many, in reality, harmless aspects of sexuality.The things to worry about are diseases. They pose a real threat. But wouldn’t the world be wonderful if sexual desire was considered like taste in food? If no one batted an eyebrow over who did what and who wanted what. Instead, our media is a tabloid of preoccupation with sexual matters. Much of our perceptions must be learned rather in-born. The way I look at it, at the basic level, if a people harm no one and do not force anyone, what they do is not my business. When I speak of harm, I speak of physical harm, not some intangible harm, which a third party imagines occurs (and attacks “the perpetrator).”

For example, one law, which irritates me, is the statutory rape law. That is because it doesn’t matter if the girl is willing or not. It appears so unnatural to forbid what is so delightful. To me, it is as if things are backwards. Those who are following innocent and harmless urges are at the mercy of busy-bodies. These moralists are of the same vein as those religious crusaders who led the Inquisition, who slaughtered Central and South American Indians, etc. Irony is too gentle a word. Somehow, the word “immorality” has become connected to sexuality. Somehow “morality” has become associated with denunciation of natural function.

It seems the human world has become perverse. I have to admit that I live in it, and thus tacitly do not disapprove of it strongly. Consequently, I feel ineffectual with regards to my own life. I feel a poor master of my fate. Yet I believe it is not too late to change my life. Even if I enjoyed a few years of “sensible” living I believe I would feel a great satisfaction. Like a habitually hungry man who just finished a good meal. What do I mean by “sensible?” I can examine this.

For a generality, I would say ‘to live in the here and now’ instead of living for tomorrow or for avoidance of some imagined future calamity. It is easy enough to spend a lifetime living for tomorrow, huddle against a phantom storm that never comes.

For a specific, laying on a beach such as this, naked to the elements and writing and playing. In every way, to avoid the trappings of our society. Our customs remind me of “the Emperor’s New Clothes,” the story in which everyone was afraid to say the obvious (that the “new clothes” didn’t exist and the Emperor was naked)!

In the case of our society, there are many “obvious” facts, for which, as a whole, we religiously practice denial. One of which is that nudity is perfectly natural, if anything it is the natural thing and we should all have the right to be naked in any public place. Two is that sex is perfectly enjoyable and normal and that we should not criticize another for their preference. Older men often like younger women, even, and in many cases especially, those below the legal age. That women like sex and it does not make them good or bad whether they indulge frequently. Some women are called “whores” who “give it up easily.” Etc. These notions are anti-productive, and heaven knows there are too many of them (such notions, that is).

April 18, 1993 Uncle Billy’s restaurant, Hilo 7:47 p.m.

A most interesting day. Awoke 6 a.m., breakfast. Bought food for the road and drove out of Kona at 7:35 a.m. Took coast road (19) by mistake instead of inland road (190) so drove through Waimea and back to saddle road losing little time. Drove to the ObservatoryVisitor Center, where I parked. I got a ride to the trailhead.

I started out. It was supposed to be 5 ½ hours. In fact, started at 10:45 a.m. arrived at 2:15 p.m. more or less at summit 13,796’. I ran the road, a slow trot really with my daypack once I got on the road where trail met. Took photos of cinder cones, clouds. Didn’t get to look in observatory. A docent with the Observatory Visitors Center, Don, gave me a ride down (to my car). Below are the things I learned:

I The Observatories

Scientist are trying to get a telescope big enough and good enough to see THE EDGE of the universe, the light of which has been traveling for 15 billion years. Mauna Kea has the largest telescope in the world, made with 36 interlocking pieces of “meniscus” glass , hexagonal in shape, to form a single mirror of 33 feet in diameter. I think he said he Russians tried pouring a single piece of glass 26 feet in diameter but since “glass” is a liquid, it lost its shape. Now, says Don, we give the Russians credit — “they’re doing well in astronomy” — but during the cold war we said “It’s a piece of shit.” The Japanese are pouring a single piece of glass 27’ feet in diameter, but they will have a pad on which it will rest which will be controlled by computer. “The best way I can describe it is, it’s a bra.”

He said there are eleven telescopes in all on the mountain. None on Moana Loa because it is active – blew in 1987. Why Hawaii as opposed to Mt. Shasta, for e.g.? One, the air rushing over the mountain makes it clean to see! Two, there is a sort of climatic inversion – see the clouds (they’re like a pancake below the mountain). This mountain has 60-70% clearer nights than similar mountains around the world. Three, lack of ambient light from surrounding cities.

The large American telescope was designed to see THE EDGE, but can’t. The Japanese telescope purportedly will be able to see the edge. I mention my wife is Chinese. [Ed. Note, since divorced.] The Chinese were the first astronomers. They were making star charts in 2400 B.C. He attended a docent’s convention in London. Chinese docents from the National Museum told him this. The ancient Chinese made “canvas” fine to six kilometers long (!) And presumably took them across the ocean. Which may explain where the Eskimos, Aztecs, Quechuas, et. al., came from.

II The Mountain

He asked if I’d seen the adze quarry. Indeed I had but said no because at first I didn’t realize what I’d seen. When I saw it I’d said I must be nearing the road because it looks like they dumped a pile of rocks there, the grey hard rock standing out against the backdrop of dusty bleach brown tan and red lava. But as I walked by it I’d said “Oh it’s just natural rock. In retrospect, it appeared chipped and hewn, much as tailings might appear from an “adze quarry.”

We drove down to a radio telescope. It is part of what is called the Very Large Basin Array and it is controlled from New Mexico. (Prev. note: the large American scope is having a twin built next to it. In essence, they will operate simultaneously as a sort of monstrous binocular!) When we drove on a newly graded road, he commented, “Those bastards (the Smithsonian, with whom he is affiliated) just built this road. It is over glacial ice age moraine. The mountain should be left intact. The mountain itself is like a temple.” He described how the Hawaiians had virtually manicured the island over time due to their curiosity, turning over every stone.

He and a Hawaiian man and a Brazilian woman, all getting doctoral and postdoctoral degree at University of Hawaii were on the mountain one day when they all heard an Ehu, an ancient Hawaiian flute. They weren’t drinking or smoking, but they all heard it. They looked up and saw a cave above a rock ledge. Climbing up the rock they looked inside and saw skeletons sitting up! They were ancient. They did not go farther. The skeletons had been wrapped in ti leaves. In their tradition, the bodies would be brought to one place and then when they were skeletons, they would be wrapped in ti leaves as a preservative. The leaves had since decomposed leaving a yellow tint to the bones. The Hawaiian man said it smells like ti leaves in here. “They must have been important personages,” I said. “Tell me about it,” he emphasized my point.

They have not announced the discovery. He wants to make certain that the governmental bodies having jurisdiction over the mountain have protection in place as an archaeological reserve (?), and for mystical reasons.

They all have been changed by the experience. He’s not quite sure if it’s the right thing to bring it out at this time. As a result, he has set about to entirely rewrite his thesis on culturation vs. acculturation. That is culturation, the developing of one’s own culture or adherence to; or acculturation, the absorbance of another culture while dissolving one’s own. At least this is my definition after listening to him speak.

III Culturation vs. Aculturation Politization

His experience as a Chicano growing up in L.A. Grandmother washed his mouth out with soap when he insisted on speaking English like a Chicano. They sent him to an Irish Catholic school that was founded by sisters who fled the potato famine. Sang Irish songs and thought he was Irish.

He saw the Chicano culture dissolving. The “politization” process dissolving the culture. Same is happening in Hawaii. He came to Hawaii because he was a marathon runner in the 70’s and wanted a place to train (and to study). His first degree was in psychology, but later returned to school and degreed in Speech Communication. Got a Masters in Public Health. His angle is that the loss of culture has a direct negative health consequence on the indigenous Hawaiians. Some of the 35,000 natives living on Hawaii have been acculturated and have bought into the western mode, but others ask the question, ‘why can’t I live on the beach? Why do I have to work?’ Interestingly, he says on the original island, there were no fences. There were walls built and these were built by the order of the ¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬_________, who were the ruling class(?) When the Europeans put up fences, they said, ‘What is this? This is preventing me from crossing from here to over there, preventing me from reaching¬___________ (Hawaiian word).’

He kept emphasizing the native Hawaiians fascination with things. He demonstrated this as we walked to his car once back at the observatory visitors center. There was a chip of wood on the ground. He stopped looked down, said “What’s this?” Picked it up, turned it over, put it in his pocket, proceeded on. “Now he’s got a new friend,” said Don. That is what they were like.

These comments moved me. It seems he believes he can make an argument from a public health standpoint that it is a return to health to return to culture. He stressed that amongst his own culture, people ignored their roots and he would tell them to pay attention to them. His grandmother was Hopi Indian. He has Aztec blood, Mexican blood, German.

I am fascinated by the concept that support could be won through an argument of public health that one’s culture should be allowed to thrive. Back to my previous argument for nudity. (Someone is going to point out the risks of “melanoma.”)

From my own standpoint, what I desire is for the world’s cultures to retain their roots. Since governments are oppressing this and creating a negative process, it could be the solution is to get government to buy into freedom of every aspect of culture through an argument for health. That means tear down the fences, give back the lands, stop companies from polluting into those lands, revoke legislation over these people, allow self government, and even in light of the obvious reality of revolutionary technological and ideological changes we are faced with, allow formation of new ideological countries where every person can flock to the ideology of their choice, no matter what that may be. The rules will be set out, so perfect democracy will be revised. Rather than trying to maintain an ongoing democracy that must somehow change with the whim of the masses, have a multitude of cultures to choose from. These units I envision would be much smaller than the governmental entities we currently have. They might be under a world federal government, a federation in the ultimate sense of the autonomy of the world states it oversaw.

I propose that what we have now is simply unmanageable. There are too many diverse interests to live happily under one roof. Why not create much smaller states for the satisfaction of everyone? For example, albeit simplistic, have one state for nudists and one for people who do not like it. And, one division of nudists who don’t smoke, one for people who either smoke or don’t care. One state for people who don’t believe in use of narcotics for recreation and one for people who do or don’t care either way. The concept of “majority rules” should be rethought, or perhaps revoked or revamped. It’s O.K. when you need to decide to have spaghetti or meat loaf for dinner, but if each party is willing to propose what they want to eat, why force on them what the majority wants? Another word for it is “oppression.”

Don said, “Listen to the Wind. The Indians say that when you’re having trouble it is because you are not listening to the wind.”

I rode off the clear mountain into the clouds.

Photos. The Saddle Road towards Hilo. Upper Waiakea Forest Reserve caught my eye. It was misty, ferns, small trees growing out of a landscape of lava formations. I set tripod up on top of trunk of car, crawling out of back seat. More on land. Drove back again later to redo shot of fern at f3.5-5.6 to decide later if its better with background a blur. Kept top down whole way to Hilo, even though interior got a bit wet from mist.

Called Joy from Uncle Benny’s Hotel. (Merrie Monarch Festival held here.) She went for breakfast to Bolinas with Jock and Maya. I checked into hotel, had a mediocre meal while listening to a horrible band of two Hawaiian guys and a drum machine. After dinner, even though tired, I considered a choice between going upstairs to bed and writing or venturing forth to find a beach to sleep on. I couldn’t stand the thought of ending a fabulous day without trying the latter. So I drove down to Kapalana Black Sand Beach and east on the coast looking for a way down to the beach without a flashlight. Turned in several locations before backtracking to a trash can with a path, after getting confirmation from a runner that it was possible to get down that way and bumming some matches off a fisherman. At first I thought I had the beach to myself, but saw a dim light of fire in the way down.

Didn’t sleep well but still enjoyed the experience. I slept completely naked for a while but eventually got a wee bit chilled. While naked I slumbered envisioning how it might have been as a native to be free from unnecessary appurtenances, and fearing for a storm or worse yet a tidal wave or a lava flow. There was something wonderful about trying this. The temperature was perfect, no sand flies to irritate.

I imagined for all I knew I could wake up and see cannibals’ skulls on sticks all over the beach. It drizzled a bit in the night. I considered leaving but ended up staying as the precipitation didn’t last long and was light. When it started I discovered two other inhabitants looking after their tent and plastic over-tarp, respectively.

In the morning, before 6 a.m., I woke. Definitely a black sand beach. I took a morning dip in the ocean. A group of women, almost all quite fat came down in their wrap-arounds and took them off and frolicked in the waves naked for sometime. There have been a succession of nude bathers coming and leaving since then, but no unclothed beautiful women, the women are unshapely. It is still lovely to have them happily sunning themselves. (Now 9:37am)

~~~

Night of April 19, 1993
Death in the Lava Beds

As I neared the coastline on foot, I could see the black silhouette of a man back-dropped by the eerie red reflection of molten lava on steamy clouds that trailed into the black night. The molten earth was pouring into the ocean within feet from where he stood. I registered surprise. I had not thought the Park Service here at Volcano National Park on the Big Island of Hawaii allowed the public to get so close. I soon neared a sign hanging on a cord behind which people stood, reading “No public access beyond this point due to emergency conditions.” Then I realized the man I’d seen had gone beyond the warning sign.

I turned to a man to my left, “Did you see that guy out there?”

“I’ll be going out in a minute, if you want to come.”

“O.K.” Little did he or I know that he had less than an hour to live.

“What is your name?” he inquired of me.

“Jeff.”

“Mine is Nagar” he said. In a moment we were heading out on the black but hard semi-cooled lava, his friend Ken between us.

“Did you bring the ti leaves?”

“We have to go to a place where it is hot enough for them to burn.” Nagar’s confidence and apparent command of the situation bolstered me out onto the deck of treacherous earth.

Ken said, “It’s hot.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” replied Nagar enthusiastically, seeming to enjoy his upper-classmanship. “Let’s come over here first.”

“Are you sure it’s OK?” I stepped gingerly.

“No problem. Now see here where the red shows through the cracks, this is OK too. It’s hotter though. That’s about six inches under the surface. It is still cooling.”

Once out in the vicinity of the first river of molten lava, they laid some large leaves onto a cooled flat pool, but they weren’t tea leaves as I know them. [Ed. As I understand it, the ti, not tea, leaf was used for offerings.] I followed out to a vantage where the lava was like a streamlet, bright orange red, fantastic pouring onto the sand. The tide surged and there was a blast of steam obscuring our view. When it cleared again, Nagar shot more photographs. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen.

“Let’s try up there, ” Nagar chortled in obvious and unmitigated delight. They moved away and I stood where he’d stood and photographed the rivulet in awe. I came up behind them, becoming more confident to step. An even better view of the phenomenon was offered from their new location. Ken complained of the heat. “We’ll leave in just a few minutes. Walking will cool your shoes.” I stepped around Ken and set up my tripod on Nagar’s flank. “Let’s go over there. It is really beautiful.”

He called back to me. “Do you want us to wait for you, Jeff?”

“No” I replied, grateful for his thoughtfulness. “I’ll be alright.”

They trailed off above and away on the thick lava shelf. I was left to only the sounds of the ocean waves and the hissing of the steam rising out of the cauldron of magma and seawater. Caught up in the insanity, I became unafraid and contemplated how little real objective danger there was. Boy, was I wrong. After several shots, realizing that these fantastic images might not, by themselves, serve for art, I thought how startling it would look to have a female nude silhouetted against the hellfire from the guts of the earth. Realizing that it made no difference if I had clothing on or not in terms of my safety and that I could never get someone to pose for me out there, I stripped and filled a roll of silhouettes of myself using time exposures, feeling silly mostly because I found myself worried about what they might think if they noticed me. After all, the sheer power of the scene engulfed and destroyed any petty human vanities.

I saw their lights way far away, perhaps a football field’s distance across treacherous folds, twisted, aching pandemonium. I cautiously began. Ha! Little could I realize how vast was my foolishness, how fragile was this (covering over the) river of rock! Nagar flashed his flashlight rapidly to me. I didn’t know if that meant I was coming the right way or the wrong way. Tick, tock. When I arrived to them, Nagar was scurrying down to a little “beach” where a molten lava finger pushed its way from the east, and the tide surged occasionally into a rift between this finger and another block of magma on the west. Incredibly beautiful, awesome, photogenic, the magma cooled into black rifts in the red liquid, creating a banded changing molten mass, artistic parabolas moving, cooling, being supplanted by another new fire stream of red over it or to its side.

“This is the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen a lot but I’ve never seen anything as dynamic as this.” These words only fell like emptiness, vaporizing rather than echoing off this machine of beauty and death, intent on its purpose, an envoy from “Mama” (i.e, Pele, the goddess of the Volcano)!

The scene was at one end the same time ludicrous and profound. Nagar was daring to the point of sheer lunacy. He would set his tripod up and then a wave would surge through the rift in the lava and wash boiling water and molten fire onto the very spot where he had been standing, while he darted to the “safety” of higher ground, just feet away. He was the circus stuntman and the clown, the hero and the fool, the ace and the joker, all in one. Time and again when I yelled out that a wave was coming, he would say, “I see it,” then thank me for the warning. “It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he said. It seemed at times the surf might pour directly over the finger (of lava).

A congenial man wearing a sweatshirt that read “Cancun” wearing a cap came wandering down the hillside of black rock. He said he was from Millbrae, the town I grew up in south of San Francisco. We exchanged exclamatory statements. He had left his girlfriend back at the (“safety”) cones and explained, “She’s one unhappy girl.”

“She’ll be alright as long as you come back safely.”

Nagar enlisted Ken’s help. “Can you take a picture of me?” He would run up to a drip of lava several feet wide, hold his arms out towards Ken (as in here I am!), then run back. “That’s too hot. I could only stay there for a moment.”

He tried it again. Time moved on. Every new flow would renew his seemingly total enthusiasm. He downplayed every warning. He touted the upside of every question about danger. It was as if we were children in a sand box!

Above us a stream of magma broke out afresh. Ken and I and the man from Millbrae went to see it. It was curious. Although not moving fast enough to present any danger of being overrun by it, it was disconcerting, popping out of the top of the black like that. Nagar joined us. He got right up to the flow to photograph it, so close that when I tried to join him I couldn’t tolerate the heat. Heat waves of air titillated, making it difficult to focus the camera when standing downwind of it.

Nagar made a game of which of two flows of lava could reach the ledge to the beach first. When a new stream broke out on the finger on the beach, this drew Nagar’s attention down there again. I commented to Ken, “I wonder what it would feel like to have it suddenly surround us on all sides.” Ken’s imagination and fear overtook him. We both thought we heard the earth crackling not twenty feet from the new top flow.

“Nagar,” Ken said. “This doesn’t look too good. I am afraid it is surrounding us.”

He pointed in two, not four directions. Nagar picked up on that. “No, we’re alright.”

The man from Millbrae with the Cancun Sweatshirt had gone back. After a short time, Nagar said, “OK, now we’ll go back.” I committed myself to staying right behind them. This particular section of the flow gave me the creeps. The ocean surged, the steam hissed. Time stood still.

Nagar stopped to set up his tripod again. I went past him and, almost unconsciously, my feet kept me moving towards the (“safety” of the) cones. I looked back.

Nagar yelled to Ken. A red cloud rose up behind him. It was sinister, unreal, unkind. Nagar was about eighty feet from me, on higher ground; Ken was about half way between us, to my right. “Hey, this is incredible!” Almost as if sensing Ken’s obedience, Nagar said, “Hey Ken, you’ve got to get back up here. The whole ledge broke away! It’s incredible.”

Time came to a halt. I was looking at them, Ken partially silhouetted to the right. Nagar, the pied piper unwittingly turned demon, beckoning Ken to his death. I watched as Ken took just a step towards him. I was about to go over a little mound of dry lava. A flash of molten lava gurgled above the horizon of the black hill Nagar stood on, sparks flying, massive, perhaps twenty feet across, accompanied by a cracking sound, as if something bubbling had broken a crust. I turned and ran with all my might, helter-skelter over the mound and headlong into darkness.

I heard Ken calling in desperation for his friend. “Nagar!” As quick as a thought could enter my mind and leave it again, I felt my survival on the line and decided I would run for my own life, that despite how well-meaning Ken’s call and hesitation for his own life were, it was foolishness because there was nothing he could do to help Nagar.

A massive explosion, ka-boom, confirmed my worst and instantaneous fears. I ran bodily into a depression in the lava, almost unseeingly, not having seen the spire of rock and lava, but knowing it’s terribleness instinctively. ‘Lavic’ shrapnel larger than a softball struck me in the bottom of my neck just off the side of the center of my spine and forced me to the ground, as a rain of rocks, some superheated, fell all around me, a smattering like hail on a windowpane. I thought and felt, “I’m dead.” And I felt a sinking feeling; a kind of shame and regret that I could expire this way, having lost my bout with chance after all, through my own hand. All this passed through me in a quick instant.

I had intuitively expected a series of rock showers and felt remorse at the thought of being pummeled, burned, buried to death, a victim helpless against nature’s rage.

My camera and tripod had fallen out of one hand, and my flashlight out of the other. I instantly made a decision not to try to find them and ran like a wild beast amongst the dark jagged lava rock, twisting my ankles, stumbling, lacerating my skin. Scattered bushes all around me were on fire.

Soon, I entered a confusion of flashlights. I just keep yelling, “Which way to the road?” over and again. The more level-headed pointed the way. In the dim light, I noticed that one eye was not seeing as well as the other, but I assessed it was only temporary and told myself not to worry.

“Which way to the cars? Is this the way to the cars?” The voice with the flashlight said it was. I was determined to distance myself from this place, afraid it was going to get worse. I knew Nagar could not have survived the blast.

I reached the cars. There was blood on the back of my neck. I drove until I was miles from the scene.

Epilogue

I was up half the night driving back and forth to the site, each time frightened beyond reason. I was happy to learn that, rather surprisingly, Ken escaped with only minor injuries. I was told boulders larger than a basketball landed almost to the road. The news said rocks were thrown a quarter of a mile. Some people who were injured told me that they were 400-500 yards away. Fortunately, there were few people there. I was told that if it had occurred during the busiest of times, when it was packed, hundreds would have died. The rangers and the Coast Guard scoured three miles of the coast looking for Nagar’s missing body.

Today my ankle is sprained in one leg and my calf muscle pulled in the other, and they are tightening up so that after sitting for a while I can almost not walk. My shoulder is sore and my back tightening. I had to remove particles of lava from my hands, arms and legs. I have scratches all over my lower legs and hands and on my arms and my back. I am incredibly lucky (and glad) to be alive.

Nagar’s body is still missing.

MAY 1993 DENALI

Denali Area Panorama Contemporaneous Journal (To be followed by a daily chronicle, written at the end of the climb)…May 24, 1993 Monday 7860’Fear. I have a weak stomach for being in situations where I do not have control for my safety. I think most who know me wouldn’t see that way. When I read the route description, I wonder why I really wanted to do this. There are a few descriptions which bother me. One is the crevasse and avalanche danger between 11,000’ and 14,300’ and 15,000’. The next is 45º snow and ice between 15,000’ and 16,000’. The third is coming up and down above Denali Pass, 30º hard ice. I wouldn’t mind so much if my partners wanted to place protection, but Fred doesn’t seem to want to rope up and place pickets on that portion. It is above 18,000’. I’ll be tired. One slip and death is a high probability. So I’m planning to stay within my limits. I will turn back before I get too far out there. Yet the problem is, I know myself. I’ll keep going till I’m already in a situation where it makes no sense to turn back.

FLYING INTO BASE CAMP

Besides all these fears, I’m feeling lazy. From here we’ll have to haul our 120-130 pound loads uphill. Yesterday we started out at about 7,100’, dropped to about 6,700’, then climbed to 7,700’, the length of travel being about 5 miles. Frankly, that portion wasn’t so bad. The weather was calm and sunny. My only problem was thirst. Today on, it will be 2 weeks of fear and exhaustion.
But in between those, there are grand views and the little comforts of rest and food and the warmth of my sleeping bag.May 24, 1993 10:35 p.m. 10,830’

Breaking Camp
I guess I’ve felt stronger than I would have expected. I know without a doubt eight hours of rest, plenty of fluids and the good dinners I am having play an important role in my feeling of wellbeing. The dinners I bought are great. They are not freeze-dried, but rather, they are made of cooked food (chili con carne, for e.g.) that is placed in a pouch of aluminum. It is the same principle as canned food. In addition to this, I use a pouch of instant rice and cook them both at the same time, then pour the meal over rice. It’s the best camping food I’ve found.
Also, chocolate covered espresso beans give me a lift in those situations where I’d rather sleep than fix a hot meal (and that hot meal is desperately needed).
So I am eating well, and I feel good. Better than yesterday, even though we traveled a lot harder today.
I just kept pushing and never really felt bad or anything.
I don’t feel as afraid as I did this morning.
Still, I am lucky for such good weather. We left at 1:15 p.m. today after the white-out lifted and traveled about 7 ½ hours arriving here about 8:45 p.m., an altitude gain of a little less than 3,000’. Not bad considering we’re each hauling 120-130 pounds.
And yet, my apprehension level is high. I suppose that is not out of character for me to feel that way and maybe it is a healthy feeling.
Actually I enjoyed the hike today, my sweat being cooled by mild artic breeze, the sun insuring I would not get too cold. Breathing hard for half hours at a time, while not effortless, was nonetheless painless. I guess I am very fortunate to be so healthy. (Still many are much healthier than I.)
Towards the end of the day however I did start getting cold. As the winds picked up, my hands, wrapped only in high weight fleece gloves, began to feel frozen. I yelled to stop and put on my Gortex gloves.
Now, I’ve had plenty of fluid and hot food. I’m ready to bed down for the night. It’s seven minutes before midnight and I am writing by natural light inside my tent.
I day-dreamed on the trail today of coming home early from a successful climb and using the saved time to go to China with Joy next month. I thought of riding to the Bell Temple on bicycles with Joy.
I love my little darling. I can picture her clearly, long black hair, beautiful complexion. I can see her smiling a beautiful smile.

Advanced Base Camp 14,520’
I am feeling all sorts of “crazy” feelings, but you can bet that if I am writing at all, it means I at least feel good enough to write. The whole question is: what am I doing here? How did I end up here with one pen in my hand and another inside my undershirt so that when and if this one freezes I’ll have another one to write with?
I have disturbing dreams: John Upshur, Sterling Lanier, ATS, August McCoy, Doug Williams, the whole staff at ATS. What they think of me. Have I let them down, am I only bolstering my own self-image while I go to and from work every day, only in my high dreams to have the spider web of intrigue and politics haunt me, to face the possibility of the horrible imaginings that people may have conjured up about me. My association with ATS can only in the most basic sense be motivated by some quite simple motivations. There are personal ones, the dutiful ones and the people ones. I have a duty to increase the value of the company, I seek to enrich myself and the stock holders of ATS and I want to enrich all the Employees who work there, for it is my belief that only through enriching everyone can one really have generated wealth. And lastly, the only way to achieve all of this is to provide a quality product and service to our customers.
So this is all very basic, very simple, nothing revolutionary, seemingly a quite good-natured philosophy towards running a company. How could anyone object? Yet in the reality of the situation, it has become so confusing, even quite ugly at times.
What is the way to “jump start” the wealth process? I believe first of all, foremost of all, it is to honor your commitments to people. How else can one achieve the desired result if one does not live it? That is, how can enrichment for everyone be possible if at first people do not get the sense that their efforts will be rewarded fairly? If there is not a basic sense of trust, there is a flaw in the system. So people must be dealt with honestly.
Only time may bear this out in my situation. That is if I make it off this mountain. As I said, so many disturbing images, a kaleidoscope of uncertainty… Upshur, crevasses, my own short comings, my own fear of the scaly heights which something is driving me on to.
In the long run, overcoming fear is one of the things that pulls me up the mountain. From 7,700’, 14,300’ seems ominous, the summit seems an impossibility. But as I will reside here for a week or so, I will see and hear of all the dangers, failures, assessments, successes, and I will gain a more objective perception of the risk of the next step, and so on, until I may find myself on a glorious and seemingly benign day, perhaps a clear and calm day, getting dressed in a tent at 17,200’ and taking that treacherous walk across 30º ice fields to Denali Pass. Two steps ahead seems dangerous, one step ahead seems worth the risk. Anything can happen, or not happen. Fate can spare the risk-taker or punish someone who has taken every precaution to avoid danger.
The paper I write on has a yellow and red hue, from the yellow of my tent and the red of my sleeping bag. I have the bag draped over my head so as to form a little private enclosure like my own little private, warm sunroom in which to write, a happy solace from the harsh freezing world outside. Fred and Sean are asleep in sleeping bags, the three of us stretched out parallel to one another. It is quiet, some distant murmuring gliding across the snowy white from others here to tackle the summit, the quiet breathing of my partners.
Admittedly, there is a wonderful sensation of altitude. I love a feeling of quiet community at 14,000’ such as a hiker’s refuge or a Nepalese Village high in the mountains. There is a stillness which at times pervades human activity, a gravity lent by the mountains, so majestic, whose ways are unaffected by men’s trampling in their domain.
Maybe I am drawn to the feeling of altitude. Yet to get here, I had to cross snow bridges with huge crevasses underneath! Is this insanity to do this, or is it experience? I have always wanted to understand mountaineering and high mountains, and finally I feel I perceive a little of it, much more so on this trip than others. I have been on many mountains, but they fell short (or at least the routes I did) of all the conditions here.In order, I have climbed these peaks.- Mt. Wilhelm PNG 14k+ a solo walk up to arrive at dawn, 1983
- Mt. Merapi, Indonesia 10k+ a volcano walk up to arrive at dawn, 1983
- Kala Patar, Nepal, not really a mountain, but a hill at 18k+, 1983
- Everest Base Camp, obviously not a mountain per se 17k+ (almost got lost on glacier) solo, 1983
- Island Peak, Nepal 20,320’ good day, roped last part, more like a hill, 1983
- Mt. Kilimanjaro, Tanzania 19k+, 1984
- Mt. Whitney, California 14k+ solo miner’s route, 1986
- Mt. Cameroon, Cameroon 13k+, solo, last part legs locked up while climbing up volcano, 1990
- Mt.Shasta, California 14K+, with Joy, 1992
-Mt. Aconcagua, Argentina, January 22,834’ walk up cold but not much to fear but weather and altitude, 1993
Failed attempt to climb Mt. Toubkal, Morocco, stormy conditions, guides would not go beyond rest house), 1988Here I have a lot more to worry about: arctic cold/potential storm conditions, collapsing snow bridges/crevasses, ridge winds 30-100 mph, falls from ice slopes above 18,000 feet. The only thing that this route is “missing” is serious technical difficulty. Other than that, here exist all of the conditions of high mountaineering.
What really bothers me is that I keep telling myself that I probably won’t attempt anything as difficult as this again, and my second thought is that this attitude may be a dangerous one – that looking beyond a task can sometimes be a benefit to getting it done – whereas to call it an end-all may thwart its achievement. I hope I make this peak and return successfully or in any event that I return alive.
In my future, I can see doing a lot of mountaineering but at a much reduced level of risk – more so for (or only for) enjoyment rather than for accomplishment.
I can, I think, safely say that I am abandoning the “Seven Summits” type plan that is driving Fred, mostly because Everest is such a great risk. But as I just said, I worry about the importance of that attitude.
Maybe for the climb’s sake, I would be better off having the attitude that this is just a stepping stone rather than a final step.

I Was Surprised To See Denali Above The Cloud Line Chronicle (Written in retrospect at the journey’s end)Sunday May 23, 1993

Day 1 (to 7,700’ camp)
We left Talkeetna by K2 aviation Cessna 185 to lower base camp, arriving at about 2:30 in the afternoon. We started walking at about 3:30 p.m., loaded down with about 55 pounds on our backs and 65 pounds in the plastic orange sleds. The day is sunny and hot. I hike in shorts and a short sleeve ply T-Shirt. We go for about 4 ½ - 5 hours to camp at 7,700’ – my altimeter reads 7,860’. It was quite a slog, quite tiring and I was thirsty. We set up two tents, I having mine to my own, cooked our dinners and bed down. Our camp was walled by blocks of ice. As I tried to dig room for my tent, I came to what was a “tobacco dump” – my best guess for this smelly ice.Day 2 (to 10,500’ camp) Monday
We slept late till 10 a.m. or so and lounged in our tents waiting for the white-out conditions to lift. I do not mean snowing but just a white fog that severely restricts visibility. “Do we move in this weather?” asks a voice from the other tent. “No,” I reply.
We start to break camp and the sun lifts and by the time we begin we are again blessed with good weather. Our first chore is to get up ski hill which is our steepest hill yet and will bring us to about 9,000’. Fred’s sled keeps tipping over and we have to stop (because we are roped together for crevasse danger) for him to right it. There are some tents set up at the ridge. One fellow tells us they left in the white out and that it was miserable.
We push on to the pass, arriving at the camps at 10,200’. There the track bends right and up a hill. I suggest we make camp in the already-built snow enclosures at 10,500’. My altimeter reads about 10,900’, but a climber coming down has an altimeter and seems sure of his 10,500’ reading. Because he says all the enclosures are taken at 11,200’, he suggests we stay there.
Again we clear out the space for two tents, cook and sleep. No one else camps here tonight.Day 3 (to 13,500’ camp and back down to 11,200’ camp)
Tuesday
We don’t actually start humping up the hill until 2:30 p.m. or so, and arrive at the 11,200’ campsite before too long. Up ahead is a steep hill and Fred doesn’t seem too happy about hauling sleds up it, so we ask some other climbers then rethink our plan. Finally, what we end up doing is to set up a tent, have a hot drink and haul half our stuff, leaving the sled behind. We don’t start out until about 6 p.m. and our plan is ill-conceived as we shall see.
When we reach the top of the first pass, the weather is in complete white out in high winds. Whereas Sean and Fred have complete Gortex outfits on, I am only wearing my lycra tights with expedition-weight underwear on bottom and my thin poly T-shirt and expedition weight underwear on top. At first this keeps me from overheating but later it just makes me too cold. When they want to stop, I just sit there freezing.
We keep on pushing, barely able to make our way. My foot sinks into a hole a foot or so. We are in the relatively flat section about 700’ above the first pass (12,100’) from the 11,200’ camp. Gradually the trail steepened. My goggles are completely fogged and I can’t see where I am walking. Consequently my footing is impaired and I keep losing my balance. Meanwhile, Fred, who has assumed the lead, is pulling on me with the rope, and it is causing me to lose balance. Every few steps I stop to catch my breath and gain my balance, slowing our party down.
Fred’s initial plan, characteristically, is to “bomb” up to advanced base at 14,300’ then walk down to 11,200’ again. The trail around Windy Corner goes up to the left past the flat saddle of the rocks on the right. Finally it flattens out and leads off into the camp at 13,500’. We find an enclosure. “So what is the plan? Should we drop off our stuff and head back?” Fred asks.
I say I have to set up the tent and get inside. I am too cold. In fact I’m afraid I have the beginnings of hypothermia. I hold out my hands and point out they look blue or purple. Nevertheless it seems I had to take control in setting the tent up, but in context I think we were all a bit disoriented. Once the tent gets set up I get inside, but I am without the benefit of a sleeping bag, in fact we all are. Yet I am in no condition to start the stove for making drinking water, let alone to go back. (To make matters seriously worse, all my remaining water was frozen in the bottle.) By now it is past midnight. I point out that laying on our packs will provide insulation against the snow – we don’t even have one of our sleeping pads among the six we are carrying. I tried to sleep as best I could, the only hope I felt to have a good rest; or any rest for that matter. I was concerned with my core temperature, and when I felt it dropping, and my feet becoming cold and my body start to shake, I became seriously concerned. Fortunately, I remembered I’d taken one pair of hand warmers, a small pouch that heats to 135ºF for 7 hours. I took it out and put one inside my shirt and one in one of my shoes. It helped enough to prevent severe discomfort.
At about 3:30 p.m., Fred announced he was going down by himself if he had to, but he was going to go down. He was in misery. He said his toes were starting to go numb, his body was shaking, he couldn’t stand it any more, he’d been laying there for three hours and he couldn’t wait any longer. I said I’d go if I could have a hot drink but he didn’t want to wait a minute more.
Sean and I stayed awhile and Sean, to his credit, started to boil water for us. We left at 6:00 a.m., temperature 0ºF. The previous white-out had lifted and it was a gorgeous morning. Mt. Hunter looked heavenly, perfect light and celestial clouds hugging the valleys. I took a couple of photographs, but even my old Rollei didn’t function well on film advance and I got two photos on a roll of twelve.
The descent took just under 2 hours. At one point one of my crampons came off which gave rise to concern of that possibility occurring at a crucial moment.
Of course, the trail seemed remarkably straightforward going down, without weight in my pack, being able to see, no wind and walking on the stepped-in snow, than it did going up with a full pack in full conditions!
All I could think of was getting into my sleeping bag! At the top of the last pass before the 11,200’ campsite, Sean tried to put on his wind goggles (because of his contact lenses) and his hat flew over the pass.
We got to camp about 8 a.m. It was the most remarkably greatest feeling to ultimately crawl into my sleeping bag and go to sleep. I slept the soundest of sleeps for two hours.Day 4 (to 14,300’ advanced base camp) Wednesday
In keeping with Fred’s “possessed” plan to get established at advanced base camp as soon as possible, and there being no contrary opinions on the matter from Sean or myself, we had a hot meal, I rested some more (pulling my down parka over my head) – the “pasta italiana’ and coffee giving me the greatest sensations of new found energy, well-being and adjusted perceptions. Then, we broke camp and started back up the hill from whence we’d recently descended.On The Way Towards Advance Base CampThis I could not believe I was doing, for in the so-recent past I was dreading it. The reality of it was not bad. We knew the trail and the weather was good. We arrived at the 13,500’ camp by almost 7:30 p.m. They wanted to press on, and I did not object to the idea. Fred grabbed a big load of what he had there, and Sean a smaller bag and we set forth upward in dimmer conditions as the afternoon light waned. I could tell Fred was beat. He seemed more tired than I, which was unusual.
The stretch between 13,500’ and 14,300’ was obviously the most treacherously crevassed of any we’d been on. One crevasse (which it seemed painfully obvious we were crossing on a huge snow bridge) was gigantic and others in the near distance even bigger!!!
This scenery evokes two polarized emotions of the same awesome landscape – both “fear and concern” and awe of its magnitude and natural beauty. I guess to have the feeling I had crossing the fields of crevasses, I must have to cross them – I cannot conjure the same emotion from reading about them. From the standpoint of experience, this could be considered a justification to doing this.
We arrived at 14,300’ camp at about 9:30 p.m. or so. Fred indicated he was “spent.” With not much more than adrenalin to go on, I set up the tent with Sean’s help and I threw my belongings in, and fell promptly asleep. Sean and Fred followed suit. We all slept in the same tent. All of us went to bed without the benefit of food or water. All of us too exhausted to care, let alone actually get the stove out to make water or a meal. My sleep was restless. Eventually, I took out my frozen container of Tang and shoved it in my sleeping back, thereafter consuming a sip every hour or so from the melt off.Day 5
Finally in the morning, my “feverish” high altitude sleep was over. (It is common at high altitude to have restless sleeps.) Then, as if breaking, I felt suddenly healthy again. There are a few things that help: food, water and rest, but sometimes “crashing” (that is sleeping, resting) is the only alterative, it being a near impossibility to force oneself to spend energy on anything else.
This is all Preparation – Exhaustion and Rest!Day 5 3:30 p.m. Thursday
They went down to pick up 13,500’ gear. I didn’t feel up to going. It will be great of them if they haul up my stuff. I might have gone today, but I didn’t feel like leaving at 2 p.m.
The weather is fine, thank God, and I am availing myself of the time to write and to do nothing. I need a rest day.Other impressions
At 11,200’ camp a small group of climbers were arguing. It seemed silly, for e.g. “You never talk to me.” “You never listen to me!” It made an impression on me. It seemed inappropriate.5/27/93 7:40 p.m.Mistakes I have made that I don’t want to make again!1) Ending up in a place I have to sleep without my sleeping bag.
2) Ending up in a place where I am dehydrated and don’t have enough energy to make water and/or my water bottles are frozen.
3) Being without my glacier glasses.
4) Being without my sun hat.
5) Not wearing my Goretex outer garments while in a high altitude windstorm.
6) Being without sunscreen.
7) Not having a clear and adequate plan with adequate back-up plan.June 2, 1993 Talkeetna
I am so tired! I cannot ever remember being this beat!
In a brief summary, here is the sequence of events since the last entry.Summary
That night, we had a talk and concluded that we’d split my tent up and carry up to 17,200’ and Sean and Fred would see how they felt (maybe go to the summit).Day 6
I couldn’t get up, let alone ready by 9:30 a.m. Sean & Fred left without me. I left at 4:10 p.m. and carried my tent up to 17,200’. After I got it set up Sean came down from the pass. We left at 11:15 p.m. and saw what we thought was Fred coming down. I arrived at the (Advanced Base Camp) tent at 14,300’ at about 1:45 a.m.Day 7
Fred showed up at perhaps 6 a.m. I left at about 5 p.m. for 17,200’ camp. Sean said he’d meet me tomorrow at high camp at 2 p.m. I traveled for 4 hours 47 minutes to get to high camp. I made a hot dinner and drinks and fell asleep.Day 8
I awoke and made breakfast. Sean arrived at 12:40 p.m. saying he’d made it from 14,300’ in 2 hrs. 15 mins. He went ahead with the rope in his pack. I followed, went up across the scary traverse to Denali Pass, and climbed 6 hrs. 41 mins to the 20,320’ summit. On my return, met Sean at Denali Pass and we drove pickets in over the traverse on the way down. I stayed in my tent for the night. Sean went down to the 14,300’ tent.Day 9&10
I awoke at 6:30 a.m. and began cooking breakfast. At 9:45 a.m. I began down with a 65 pound pack, arriving at their tent at 12:15 p.m. I lulled resting in the sun until 3 p.m. while they got ready. We finally left at about 5 p.m. It took us 1 hr 35 mins to haul our overfilled packs to our cache at 11,200’. There we picked up our sleds, had lunch, and continued to our snowshoes at 10,500’. It took us 2 hrs to sort out our downward traveling techniques & positions and finally left 10,500’ at about 11 p.m. and traveled all night on the glacier till about 6 a.m., finally having arrived at the 7,300’ airfield. Sean left at about 11:30 a.m. and Fred and I got a plane ride with Buck at about 1 p.m., landing safely in Talkeetna. We spent the night at the Bunkhouse.Day 11
We went by train to Denali Nat’l Park.
Day 12 We are returning to Talkeetna and Anchorage at 12:30 p.m.June 3rd 1993 Thursday
Denali Nat’l Park
Waiting at the train station.Now I am waiting for the train amidst the busy traffic of the depot a landing strip outside…instead of the serene and brutal expanse of the beautiful glacier from which we’ve just come. For the last two days since we’ve come off the glacier I have been a half-zombie, spent, exhausted both physically and emotionally.
The last night on the Kahiltna glacier was one of the most wonderful of my life. We walked in near silence through the arctic night, the moon crossing the sky, the valley, formed by the glacier with Mt. Hunter on our left and Mt. Foraker on our right, ever in view.I have unfortunately not had time to write or I have been too exhausted. In the last week and a half I have spent so many hours catching sleep, feeling so cold or tired, my only refuge being when I could abandon myself to my sleeping bag.
I really left off in detail on “Day 5” at the 14,300’ Advanced Base camp. Sean and Fred arrived before 5 p.m., much earlier than I had expected. The trip down to get the tent and their things and my food exhausted Fred. I apologized for not doing anything for I had promised to make water and find a site for them to set up their tent. They found a camp with an arch over the snow wall “door”. Having caught up on my record of the trip thus far, I asked them to give me their water bottles and I boiled water until I had filled their (three or four) bottles. When they thanked me I kept reminding them that I owed it to them. I was feeling somewhat better for I had been much in need of rest. After I got their water, I began looking after myself, making water and food. I actually did not satisfy my thirst from the night before until this time.
I’d gone over to the Ranger’s tent in the evening at about 9:30 p.m. to check on the weather and to ask questions about what we might need. They had a heavy, hanging, zippered door on their tent. “May I come in?” They said it was O.K. The first thing that struck me was that they were in the process of attending to three French men with frostbite. They sat there on cots with their hands in front of them. All of their digits, particularly the last metacarpal or joint of each finger were swollen and noticeably affected. It was kind of a shock to see, driving home to me the severity of the consequences of playing with the weather.
“Will they be alright??” I asked the Ranger.
“Yes.”
I was surprised to hear this. One man’s skin had split because of the swelling. The men asked if they could go down themselves. The Rangers said it was OK but stressed in minimal French “No fois!” (No Cold!)
I asked one Ranger about the route, the weather (good through Tuesday) and the most dangerous part of the trail. He suggested that we take six pickets, place them on the way up, leave them, then clean them up on the way back. Another Ranger indicated how you had to put your feet toe to toe.
The first Ranger said when the weather is good, “You can light a lighter on top!” (“Really?” I asked.) “Yes.”
I went back to Sean and Fred’s tent and relayed the information. So we settled on bringing several pickets, though not six. We agreed we’d leave at 9:30 a.m. and they’d each carry 1/3 of my tent, Sean would carry rope and I’d carry some pickets.
I thought I’d try to go from 14,300 feet to 17,200 feet in 5 hrs. or less.
I went back to my tent. The weather was fine but when the sun went behind the West Buttress, the air chilled considerably. I did not go to sleep until about midnight.Day 6 Friday
When I woke I knew I’d not be ready by 9:30 a.m. It wasn’t a matter of not wanting to take the trouble or of being irresponsible, but because I was just wiped out and not “up” to rapid movement. Everything seemed like a big chore. If I wanted, for e.g., to start the stove, I needed to find the lighter, but I didn’t remember where it was. It might be in my purple pouch but I couldn’t find that, so instead I just laid there to collect my thoughts. After awhile it might occur to me that I should go through all of my things anyway and halfway through that process I would discover my lighter and start the stove. At 9:08 a.m. Fred came outside my tent.
“Are you rarin’ to go?”
“No, I don’t feel very good.”
“Well you’d better get your butt in gear, Buddy-balls!”
Then when I’d heard nothing more until 9:30 – 10 – 10:30, I got the impression that they were also burnt out and were resting because I could not imagine they would leave without saying anything. After I’d partially prepared myself for leaving I went over to see them. It was 12:30 p.m. They were gone!! I stood there dumbfounded. “How could they leave without saying anything?? What A——s!” “O.K.” I thought to myself. “I can’t let this stop me or ruin my plans…. I’ll just have to formulate an alternative plan. Slowly, I decided I’d just carry out my original plan only this time I’d have to carry my tent entirely by myself, as well as make sure I would have my own stove fuel, etc. I couldn’t see the rope and I assumed that Sean had carried it up.
I packed up my tent and certain of my warm clothes, thinking about the other day when we’d come up in a wind storm. I was finally ready to go at 4:10 p.m. I trudged out of my camp - one step in front of the other.
The weather was clear and sunny. The rangers report was for a clearing Thursday (yesterday) through Tuesday from the “cold & windy” of Tuesday and Wednesday of this week. (There’d reportedly been 100 mph on the W. Buttress. I had seen cloud wisps or “wind plumes” blowing off of the pass on the buttress from Advance Base camp Wednesday evening when we’d first arrived there.)
Leaving base camp at 14,300’ the trail begins steeply, levels off somewhat then turns right to avoid a crevasse, finally turning back to the left to the foot of the fixed ropes.I plodded deliberately up the slopes, reaching the fixed ropes after about 1hr. 50 mins. The sun bore down, the snow became slushy. A couple of days before, this section seemed quite scary, but after seeing so many people going up the ropes, like with most similar situations, I lost much of my fear and was ready to follow. I had some lunch there and was ready to go up the ropes at 2:37 p.m. I waited until all the people ahead of me were attached to the ropes, partially because I wanted to observe how they did it. I carefully rigged the proper slings: a left ascender from my harness to the rope, an extra carabineer to the rope by a sling to my harness (all the loops in my harness doubled back for security). I used the kicked-in steps to aid my way up. Soon, I reached a crevasse evident by holes a foot wide.
I had to wait quite a bit for the group above me, but I was happy to take the rest.
Fortunately, there was no wind when I reached the top of the ropes. There was a camp there with a few tents set up, presumably those of a guided group. I rested, ate some snacks and drank, then continued on the ridge up. The West Buttress itself is described as the “most exposed portion of the route.” It is much like a knife’s edge ridge, the trail keeping right to the top, sometimes a foot of path cut in by the tramping of crampons.

It really isn’t very long, maybe a mile in all, maybe even less. It climbs from about 16,200 to 17,200’.
One portion has a fixed rope, not really necessary, but I used it anyway. I met a woman coming down who assured me I’d done most of the elevation gain and the rest was just a “ridge walk.” I was having a snack and a rest.
Shortly after, I met a guy who’d summited from 14,300’ (in nine hours) and was coming down.
I lost my left ascender when I’d leaned over and it fell out of the pouch on my mountain pants.
Kept my drive going. I could see three people, previously pointed out to me by the descending man, standing on a bluff near the Crow’s Nest as I neared. I could see the last hill I had to cross.
Quite barren, I leveled off, and then walked down into the camp. I think it had been about 6 hours or more to my arrival. There were a score of tents; the sun was still shining over much of the camp and all the way across the bowl up to Denali Pass.
I asked one of the climbers if they knew of an available place to set up my tent. He said his friends were leaving in a few minutes and pointed out where.
I had trouble setting up my tent. In fact, I set it up wrong and decided to break it back down and set it up right. After, I got all my stuff in it.
I heard Sean’s voice. “So, you made it?”
“Is that you Sean?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you summit?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’s Fred?”
“He’s still up there. He was hurting pretty bad.”
I left my large pack, my tent, stove, down jacket, Thermals, a couple of day’s food, a half bottle of fuel. I took my daypack, my goggles, my Gortex gear, etc., those items I might need should the weather turn bad descending or on the return back.
I thought Fred would be dead for sure if we did not soon see him, for as of yet we could see no one between the camp and the pass.
Moments before we left we saw a lone figure descending and figured it must be Fred. It was just after 11 p.m.
We went over to a fellow Sean had been speaking to and we told him where the tent was and basically informed/asked him to direct Fred to it.
I started down at 11:18 p.m. and Sean soon followed and passed me.
I was scared of the possibility of falling on the upper reaches of the climb down. Descending is almost always worse.
When I got to the top of the fixed ropes, the area was in a blue light of dusk in the snow, not completely visible, yet much dimmer than daylight. I could make Sean out 800’ or so below me.
I used my an ascender, a carabineer on a sling as back up, and I even held the rope with my left forearm and with a couple of fingers of my right hand, sharing my ice axe hand. I was in essence trying to cover all bases. The down going was much easier than I’d anticipated. Soon I was down to the crevasse, over it and off the ropes. I slogged down in the half darkness, going back down over ground I’d climbed earlier in the day. I got back to camp at about 1:40 a.m., a trip of about 2 hrs. 20 minutes. Sean was already crashed out. I asked him the time. Soon I was sleeping deeply.
At some point in the night, I woke up and noted Fred wasn’t in his bag.

Day 7 Saturday
At some point in the morning I heard him come in.
When the heat of the sun came into the tent, it became stuffy and I dragged my pad and bag outside and slept in the shade of the tent.
Finally even that refuge from the sun’s rays became subject to their full power, and I got up. It was about 1:18 p.m.
Well, I had to prepare water and gear for my return upwards. I had wanted to fit everything in my day pack, but it proved impossible. I had to haul my 55 lb. down bag, which took up most of the daypack, two water bottles, a camera, film, my mountain jacket and pants etc. I decided to wear my mountain pants to save space and to wear my large pack for additional storage.
Fred and Sean remained crashed out.
I wasn’t ready to go until about 5 p.m. I decided to bring an extra half bottle because of the way I was rapidly going through fuel.
I went to the tent to confirm my plan with Sean and to ask Fred if I could use his left ascender.
“Hey Fred… Fred… can I use your left ascender?”
“Huh… uh… oh… uh… rasp.”
He said I could. He could barely make an intelligible sound. “Give ‘em hell, Jeff!”
Sean agreed he’d be up there at about 2 p.m., maybe 1:30 p.m., and bring a picket. After yesterday’s experience, I was a little worried that he might not show up! I recalled the rangers’ estimate that it should take about 5 hours to go from 14,300’ to 17,200’ given that we were reasonably fit.
With my lighter load I headed back up the steep slopes from Advanced Base. I arrived at the fixed ropes in an hour and 50 minutes. After clipping in and having a 10 minute rest, I made my way up the steep, foot-hewn ice-steps. I arrived at top of the fixed section before three hours were up. Again, I snacked and drank water (partially due to Sean speaking of the importance of keeping up your strength through eating and drinking). I also went up the Buttress in a shorter time than before, in about an hour and a half, making my complete trip in 4 hrs. 47 minutes. I got to my tent at about 10 p.m., and I determined to make good use of my time. I cooked up and ate most of one of my dinners in a foil pouch with a cooking pouch of rice. I drank cider, chocolate, instant soup. I “turned in” about midnight.
Sleep up here (17,200’) is quite a lot of fun and usually consists of an hour or so of a cat nap followed by a few minutes of waking – becoming for a few moments aware of my frozen surroundings, ice flakes drifting down from the interior of my tent, wiping my own slobber off from the side of my face or the inside of my balaclava, perhaps feeling a rather intense headache, usually being aware that I want to move as little as possible (and hopefully don’t have to get up to go to the john), usually waking to a terribly parched throat and alleviating it a bit with a sip or two from the water bottle I keep in my sleeping bag with me; maybe rubbing my head all over, touching my face with my hands or putting my hands inside my balaclava and rubbing/scratching my hair, maybe realizing that despite all the layering, I still am cold or that the Thermarest has deflated for some reason.

Day 8
I continued this on-again-off-again type of sleep for 7 or 8 hours into the morning, then would fall back into my bag amidst ‘starts and stops’ into the morning – starting the stove. I might find again I couldn’t readily find my lighter, so I would slump back in my bag. The thing I noticed was how slowly time passed. I would “reawake” ‘some time’ later only to see six or thirteen minutes had passed. So, through the morning I tended most of my “chores” from the warmth of my sleeping bag. I had told Sean I’d have my tent disassembled, but on second thought I had changed my mind. It would be a good thing to have a tent and bag and stove ready for me on my descent, for I knew I’d be tired – and besides we were going to start at 2 p.m. which meant it was likely I would not get back to the Crow’s Nest until after 10 p.m.
When I had to go to the toilet, I gathered my plastic freezer bag, my toilet paper and went to a suitable spot just outside my snow/ice enclosure. As I crouched down (after unzipping my mountain pants in back) my rear alighted on a ‘wand’ (or stick) that stuck up bluntly out of the snow. “Arrrrghhhh!
At 12:40 p.m. I heard “Are you ready?”
“Sean?”
I looked outside. He was ready to go, wanting to go. The only water in the pan was a whitish murky “rice water” left over from my cooking. I explained it to him and, while he was drinking it down in one long gulp, I was telling him I thought it was even better (more nutritious) than regular water and I’d been drinking it myself.
By 1 p.m. Sean was off and I was not far behind him. Our plan was he would stash (cache) the rope up at Denali Pass for the return and he would wait for me there on the way down.
Before he’d left he told me it had taken him (only) 2 hrs. 15 minutes to come from 14,300’ to 17,200’. He was trying to see how quickly he could climb the peak. (Sean was in the top twenty of the world’s ultra-marathon runners.)
There was a group crossing the traverse ahead of Sean as he started up. I was on my own as far as crossing it on the way up. As I began to climb, the crevasses became visible like giant “jaws” (as the ranger had put it – “they’re jaws waiting for you”) waiting to catch you if you slipped. The huge crevasse was only a few hundred feet from the trail and it was likely one could not self-arrest before reaching the gaping hole.
At some point Sean passed the party of three ahead of us. Meanwhile I put one foot after another upward. With each step my crampons bit the snow/ice with a definite crunch. My crampons had come off at least once before on previous days, seemingly because I had attached them incorrectly. Still, I trusted them since I’d made sure they were properly fitted.
At first I crossed a slightly treacherous section and said to myself “that’s not too bad” and had hoped that I was over the worst of it. Then I came to a worse section after a few feet of climbing this very thin, boot-wide slice into the steep angle. I considered going back and abandoning it altogether. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had already committed myself and that it would be just as easy (if not much easier) to go forward (and up); so I moved upward, probably faster than I would have normally, in a determined push to “get it over with.”
I tried digging in with the head of my ice ax to ‘self-belay’ and give myself an added assurance I would be O.K. if my foot slipped. However, the ice pack seemed a little slushy and when I pulled on the ice axe, it really seemed to slide through the snow pack rather than hold. Instead, I took to utilizing the holes already there from previous climbers and thrust the shaft of my ice ax into them as deeply as possible, at least giving some type of point about which to pivot my weight when changing feet.

I moved fairly rapidly, breathing harder and ignoring my rising pulse. After five
minutes, I’d cleared the worst part. Still I continued up the slope, still using kicked-in steps, still in danger if I fell. At one point at one step, my body moved slightly away from the angle of the slope. I caught myself off balance for a fraction of a second and pulled my body close to the slope again in a jarring motion. Thereafter I tried to lean into the slope sufficiently to prevent a reoccurrence of nearly losing my equilibrium.
As I neared the top of the pass, the trail became more gradual, and thus safer.
I came up to where the three climbers ahead of me sat and had a snack. Whereas before I’d thought that the smaller climber in the middle was a woman, here I changed my mind, having the impression it was another male climber, though I did not really look, even now, to make sure. These three had a strange appearance as they had climbed upward, almost something out of a fairy tale, almost something strange. In the beginning of my climb, looking up at them, I’d thought it was parents with their child. They moved slowly and carefully. Now at the pass, one of them, a young man with a strong bright face, greeted me. When I asked if they were going up the (south) summit he answered, “If we have the energy!”
I soon was continuing up towards the right to the south summit. (The south summit is higher than the north summit. The south summit is 20,320’, and the north summit is 19,470’.) I saw a type of electrical or radio tower on a hillock near the trail. After awhile I came to a man and woman coming down. I tried to ask them about the “football field” (the flat area near the top) but they, seemingly foreign, were not good sources of information for me. One foot in front of the other…. So often it seems you are not making real progress physically. But intellectually, you deduce that there is significant progress. Still, it seems hard to believe that even hours of this will lead one to the top.
Looking up, the highest, farthest ridges seem so far, so high. Yet I rounded one ridge and then another, passed a cache of a pack, rope and ice axe. I could see up a slightly steeper ridge. I’d stop for a moment and take a drink and a miniature box of raisins.
Sean had said that once you’re thirsty or hungry, it is too late – that it is very important to keep feeding and drinking.
Before long I came over a rounded hill and knew I was at ‘the football field’. I could see a group of climbers on a steep section on the far side of the “field.” I worked my way down, then flat, then up the other side until I too was making the “final” climb.
I saw Sean descending. Soon he was with me. He said he’d made the summit in about 5 ½ hours (from 14,300’) and then had done some other walking around. “Should I go for it?” I said, not really that I was planning on turning back. “Yeah, of course, don’t stop until you get to the top.”
Sean reconfirmed he’d wait for me at the Pass. He said I had a little over an hour to go.
I continued steadily up and to the right, finishing off the hardest remaining portion.
There, the slope leveled off and turned to the left and followed the ridge.
The ridge walk would be hairy (scary) if there had been high winds, but as it was, there was almost no wind at all. Although the sun was out, it felt quite cold.
I followed the ridge for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, moving quite slowly. A lot of this time I was counting: “1,2,3,4, /5,6,7,8 / 9,10,11, 12/…” in a sing song manner to myself just in order to break the boredom and take my mind off my tiredness.
Finally, after a few climbers had passed me on the way down, I could see a guy (who’d passed me when I had stopped to speak to Sean) sitting, and I deduced that must be the summit. When I got there we greeted each other.
We took pictures of one another with our respective cameras. His name was Charles Cearley from Seattle, Washington. After awhile, he left and I was sitting/standing up on top myself. The sky was clear in all directions. I could see everywhere as far as my sight would let me. I changed from color positive film to black & white negative film and took photographs in several directions. I had some more to eat and drink. The air was almost perfectly still.

Jeff Shea on Top of Mt. Denali, May 30. 1993

I had arrived on top at about 7:40 p.m. after 6 hrs. 41 mins. (I’d left at about 1 p.m.) I stayed on the summit about a half hour. I started down. There were many opportunities for more photographs, and I availed myself of some of them.
As I got to the end of the ridge, I started down the steeper section. The group of three I’d seen at the beginning we’re now going up the steep section. This time I could see it was two young men with a much older woman in between. What I didn’t know then was that the woman was blind. Even though I did not know that, the sight of them with the hooded woman with a drawn face still invoked feelings of something ghostly, something fanciful, fairytale–like. I said some encouragement to them as I passed.
It took a few moments for me to say anything to myself in realization that I’d actually achieved the mountain’s summit, but after awhile I said out loud to myself, emotionally, “I did it!” I felt a surge of happiness knowing “it was all downhill from here” and knowing I had done what I had set out to do.
At the bottom of the ‘football field’, Charles was waiting for his friends, boiling some water. “I hope they hurry.”
Walking up the far side of the field was noticeably more difficult. Soon I was going downward again. I tried to move quickly, for I knew that Sean would be waiting for me and I figured it would be cold for him just to sit.
Every so often I’d look around at the mountains in the distance, trying to “take it all in.”
The weather remained clear and calm. What a summit day!
When I got to the pass Sean had the rope all laid out. He suggested we didn’t need the pickets at first; he seemed to be in quite a rush to leave, which was understandable.
“How long did you stay on the summit?”
“Maybe 15 or 20 minutes.” I answered as best as I could, as I recall.
He indicated he’d seen me heading for the summit. (Meanwhile, he had climbed the north summit!)
We roped up to each other and started down the ‘trail’ from Denali Pass. At first it did not really seem very dangerous. In fact, I felt pretty secure up until Sean suggested maybe we should start using pickets at a particular point. I agreed with him.
He drove a picket in and clipped the rope through a carabineer slung to the picket. After he’d gone ½ the rope length (which is how far we’d roped apart), he drove in another picket and I lifted mine out. Then, the next ½ rope length, I lifted out the picket and by holding the rope taught and wiggling it we were able to work the picket down to him. The next time we ran out of pickets I suggested to him that I walk it down to him. Sean belayed me using an ice axe. Then, I belayed him using the same method as he walked down from our protection. We very slowly worked our way over the trouble spot. At one point, while waiting for him, my foot became quite tired staying in exactly the same spot.
We worked our way down until he felt we didn’t need any more protection. We stayed roped and walked carefully until we could unrope completely. I was making a mental note to verify that I was actually over the worst of it! Actually safe!!
Previously I had three fears. 1) to go up the traverse 2) to make it to the top 3) to go down over the traverse. These fears were now over.
Sean and I now unroped, we moved quickly back to (high) camp now in the “late afternoon” shadow. Sean got there first and I came shortly afterwards. He was looking for things to take down. I asked him what he might need in the way of snacks.
I’d indicated that I would spend the night and promised to be down by noon next day to the 14,300’ camp.
After he left I got ice for cooking, urinated, then crawled into my sleeping bag to stay and cook for the night. I fixed a few hot drinks, but what I ended up doing was every time I started the water, I fell back to rest and wait for the water to finish and fell asleep instead, using too much fuel, awaking abruptly again later, only to repeat the mistake. Finally, I turned off the stove and used what water there was for a hot drink and to help to refill my water bottles.
In the night I coughed and I drooled on my own face and balaclava. The coughing seemed only to be phlegm brought up from the depths of my lungs from the heavy exertion. I woke time and again (1:15 a.m., 2 a.m., 3:08 a.m., 3:24 a.m., 4:13 a.m. as an example.) Each time I coughed, wiped off the drool, felt happy to be alive, resituated myself and the water bottles in my pack, took a small drink to quell the rasp in my throat, and tried to pull the sleeping bag onto the Thermarest, even though each time I did I’d notice that air would let out from the Thermarest, indicating it was either broken or the valve was open.
Every time I would see I had more time to sleep, I’d be relieved.

Day 9 …a long day…
In order to be down at 14,300’ I figured I’d have to leave this camp by about 9:30 a.m., which meant I’d have to be awake by about 7:30 a.m. I started boiling water by about 6:15-6:30 a.m. Very slowly I got hot drinks together, spending considerable time on my back in a resting mode. (In the earlier morning, before I’d gotten “up”, I’d heard a helicopter coming to this camp here. At that time, I didn’t even look out of my tent to find out what it was doing here.)
Eventually, after I’d gotten a minimum of fluids made, the stove shut off, indicating it was very low on fuel. I had lukewarm oatmeal mixed with cream of wheat.
By the time I packed everything, I found my pack weighed, to my surprise, about 60 pounds. By this time, my equipment had been suffering from my misuse (especially thanks to my crampon points). I’d spiked my tent’s mosquito netting, my mountain pants, ripped the vestibule on the tent fly, spiked my tent stuff bag, developed a hole in my sleeping bag interior, etc.
I finally was ready to go at 9:46 a.m. At first, climbing out of the camp was torturously slow. Rounding the hill crest I began to move more quickly. Walking down the buttress went smoothly. It was still rather cold, though again today, the weather was clear and sunny. I held on to the first set of fixed ropes only with my hands to stabilize myself (only a very short stretch).
When I reached the top of the fixed ropes I started down a few feet when I realized one of my slings was too short. I climbed back out a few feet - quite a chore - re-fixed a longer sling, and then I began descending this steepest stretch of the trail with my pack. I considered that even with my pack I probably weighed about 240 pounds altogether, still lighter than a lot of taller, bigger climbers fully loaded down.
It was nearing 11 a.m. now and sunshine swathed the entire side of the West Buttress and the West Rib down to the flats of the Ice Bowl of (advanced) base camp.
The crevasse near the bottom of the fixed ropes seemed to have opened up.
Once I’d come to the end of the ropes, my security level increased even more and I felt I was out of the greatest danger zones.
Twice on the way from the 16,200’ pass to the 14,300’ base camp, people asked me what went on up at the 17,200’ camp in relationship to the helicopters. Apparently there had been some real problem. I’d assumed they were only doing drills.
I clipped along, trudged down the hill, most of which is steep on the way to the base camp, trying to make it before noon, almost achieving this end but not quite, arriving about 20 seconds past noon.
As I pulled into the snow enclosure of my partners, Fred was laying out in the sun. “Congratulations,” said he. “Congratulations to you too!” I responded.
And so began the most pleasant part of the journey. For now, our mission accomplished, I felt more relaxed, and what’s more, Fred mentioned how beat he was, giving me the opportunity to tell him not to rush on my account. For the next three hours. I took full advantage of their slowness, and I spent much of the time on my back laying in the soothing warmth of the sun on top of my pad. Meanwhile, they cooked their own food and water and painstakingly dissembled their tent and packed their possessions.
Sean went over to speak to the Rangers. It turned out that the year’s first tragedy had occurred. Someone, an American, fell off of the “Orient Express” on the West Rib. Apparently he was unroped and descending, having already made it to the top.
Another person was apparently hauled away from the 17,200’ camp with a broken rib.
It turned out that a blind woman, accompanied by her two twin sons, had summited successfully yesterday.
Fred, it turns out, was bedridden for two days. He was spitting blood during that time, evidenced by blood all over the ice of the ice enclosure, including some on the tent. I was a little surprised, but not much, by his reaction to his overexertion. He felt he was lucky to be alive.
After a few hours of luxurious sun bathing, with almost no effort applied to anything, I saw it was time to get my things together. I had my bare toes in the sun (drying out my putrid–smelling socks). Very gradually I got my equipment sorted out. We left almost all our food at the Rangers’ tent. Fred and Sean seemed surprised at the quantity of food I had. They raided the food I was planning on leaving behind – for things like Snickers bars and Cheese & crackers.
Finally we were ready to go. I had, we all had, very heavy packs, and we dreamt of getting down to the 11,200’ camp so we could unload most of our weight into the sleds which we had cached there. Amidst our normal chatter and mutual kidding and joking around we started downward roped together. The weather was beautiful, hot. The first section of our descent was crevasse-ridden. Some of the crevasses were so large, with gigantic snow bridges crossing them! We are like ants in a giant field of danger-ridden snow.
I don’t ever even remember passing the 13,500’ camp. It was not until we got to 12,600’ that I realized we’d already passed Windy Corner and were on the flat fields below it!! On our way we passed several “small” crevasses, openings over which we had to, or felt compelled to, jump or take wide steps.
The weather was remarkably good. We passed several campers on the way down, but everything seemed to have a different aspect than it had had previously and I barely recognized the route until, as I say, I noticed we were at 12,600’.
From there, the trail seemed quite recognizable and we seemed to travel quite rapidly. We came to the col above the 11,200’ campsite and proceeded down the steep, now slushy, hill from there. At the bottom, there was a crevasse. Once we passed it, Sean stopped for some reason. Fred something like, “Keep going.” Sean felt (he had been) ordered (by Fred) and wouldn’t go. I tried to mediate, but Sean ended up disconnecting himself from the rope and saying something about “you guys whining back there,” sloughed off the final hundred yards to our cache/old campsite.

The ski poles barely visible in the center mark a cache of our gear. Since abandoned skis once we started climbing, they were not needed until the return.

Fred started digging our stuff out even though I believe that he was the one with the least energy, and I felt a little guilty about it as I sat there and tried to enjoy a drink of water and a rest. Soon Sean & I were helping to dig it out. After we’d recovered our sleds and bags, we sat around eating and packing. I found even more food in the black bag I’d left behind.
As I’d mentioned, up at the 14,300’ camp we’d left a lot of food behind at the Ranger’s tent. Sean & Fred mostly had freeze-dried. I had a lot of snack food. When I had unloaded plastic bag after plastic bag full of snack food it aroused their curiosity, and Fred & Sean asked if they could take a look. They were like neophyte vultures: ‘Hey this cheese & crackers looks pretty good!’ ‘Do you mind if I take these Snickers Bars?’ Now once again they were curious what I had.
I was the last one ready. We started down to our cache at 10,500’. The lines were tugging at me from both directions, me being in the middle. I stopped and complained. The sled hit me from behind.
Finally, Sean unclipped form our caravan and he rode his sled, best as he could, down to the camp. He lost his ice ax on the way.
There were some people camped at the 10,500’ camp, and they were trying to sleep (apparently). Fred dug up the snow shoes. (Fred usually is the first person ready wherever we were going.) Fred waited. I walked around, now in a picture-taking mode on the return trip home. The bergschrunds and seracs on all sides of this fork of the glacier were picturesque, most of them in the light. One mountain of falling ice in particular reminded me of a giant sand dune in the Sahara (that I’d seen in 1988). Although I’d been reunited with my Nikon since 11,200’, I couldn’t readily find my film, so I still exclusively use my Rolleicord.
The expedition name “The Three Stooges” was really apt when covering this two hour period. We started off and I was an awful complainer. We really didn’t go anywhere. I was unhappy in the middle and I was trying to refix my ropes: at first I was trying to make it work with my sled in front and later I decided I would re-rig it in back. In the meantime, Sean (Larry) had asked Fred (Curly) to replace me (Moe) in the middle to try out a new arrangement to see if we could get going. (Did I mention that back at the Talkeetna Ranger Station they actually typed out our expedition name The Three Stooges with my name (Jeff Shea) below it as Sean & Fred had (in the same joking manner I might add) appointed me official expedition leader? Having an expedition name and appointing a leader were requirements.)
I was reluctant. Fred said “I don’t know why you’re being unreasonable about it.” I said, “Well I wouldn’t want you to think I was unreasonable.” And, I assumed the place in front. I had actually been looking forward to leading, and in fact, things worked out fine from there out. We rounded down to the left. Now the sun was just setting over the pass in front & to our right. It must’ve been nearing midnight now.

We Walked All Night On The Way Back We turned left onto the main body of the Kahiltna glacier. More of a heaven I have scarcely beheld. I get excited writing about it now.
Off to the right was a small encampment, of a single tent at 10,200’ in the midnight shade of the buttress on the far end of the valley.
Whereas a while earlier the scenery was picturesque, for me the main part of the glacier brought magic to my eyes.
The trail flattened out considerably once on the main body of the Kahiltna. One important result of this is that it made for much less work, allowing me to focus on the scene and appreciate the beauty. I cannot say precisely how far down the glacier I could see, but I would say I could see peaks 40 miles away. Off to my left was Mt. Hunter, a real beauty of a peak, and off to my right in the distance was Mt. Foraker. (Both Hunter & Foraker are more challenging peaks by their easiest routes than Mt. Denali.) Lining either wall of the valley we were walking in/on were ridges and folds of other mountains. Also due to the fact that I was leading gave me a clear view, no ropes, packs or others to block my vista.
My breathing and my step created an unbroken rhythm. I often find that walking sets up a “music” in me. It can create an ecstasy of its own kind. Now was certainly no exception. I felt dazzled, entranced by the “night sky”, the seemingly endless glacial floor, soft and folding like an immense white carpet, the rifts and folds of mountains –some almost rolling and folding. Others jut headlong to the sky - 50º, 60º, 70º, 80º, 90º –even overhangs! – ice and rock ready to obey gravity once the elements had worked them loose sufficiently. Sun melting ice, the seasons loosening rock, the hue of the midnight sky – an illuminated dark blue, an azure, a soft endless blue/gray – and the moon crossing the sky, the occasional encampment, the sound and rhythm of my own breathing and footsteps, the thrill of the crisp air (and my own warmth in my fleece clothing, giving me both the fresh feeling of the cold and the security of being protected from it).
I thought about my life, about work, about my wife Joy. My mind seemed as clear as the scene I walked in, pristine, invigorated. I felt so many solutions and no befuddlement. My thoughts wandered to business. I thought of people and problems and felt some resolution. My thoughts drifted to Joy and I felt so excited! I felt she was the most wonderful girl in the world. A song came into my mind. It was very rhythmic (according to my breathing). Words eventually escaped out: “Extraordinary Girl”. I saw her in all her potential, vibrant, happy, and brilliant.
Fred, Sean and I stopped every so often. One of us might need to adjust a rope, a prusik knot, or I might want to shoot a picture.
I shot photo after photo!
As the daylight increased, the crevasse fields became more noticeable. In the final stretches we passed over what seemed a field of huge crevasses and (at least once) we passed over a mammoth snow bridge. I reflected that should one of us go in, all of us would go in. If one of these things broke, there would not be a chance for one to hold the other back. I guess sometimes that happens.
We continued losing elevation until we were at about 6,690’, the very lowest point in the route. We stopped. I finished the last bit of fluid (fruit punch Kool-aid) I had. I was now quite thirsty.
And so we pushed on up Heartbreak Hill. I counted my steps. With Fred and Sean behind me, I could not stop. It would be an admission I was tired! Nevertheless, once near the camp, Sean disengaged from the rope and came running up to me (pulling his sled). (This guy is in good shape.) We marched into the camp three abreast.
I stopped when I got to the little Quonset hut. I threw down my stuff. It was about 5:45 a.m. We’d walked through the night! As there was no indication that there was any person awake who could help us, Sean & Fred went off to find a flat place to sleep, and I slept right there. I thought I’d be the sentinel but actually I slept right through everything. I crawled into my sleeping bag – Heaven!!! Some time later (an hour or two), the next thing I knew, I was looking up at an official looking man asking me questions. It was just Fred. He walked to the hut, turned around as I yelled “Water!!” I was immensely thirsty. Next thing, he comes out and yells “If you want water, come in here.”
When I got in the hut, I met Annie, the woman from the East Coast that stays three months a year there as an air trafficker/coordinator for all the airplane companies. “Would you like some watermelon?”
I could scarcely believe it. When great need meets great satisfaction!
She handed us each a healthy piece! I cannot describe how intensely I enjoyed it. And she gave us seconds to boot.
I was thirsty for cold water and drank a large glass – funny. I did not care for a hot drink.
While we conversed, as it would be awhile for the plane, a tall German man entered dressed in red fleece. He seemed to know Annie well. As it was, I made his acquaintance. He goes by the name of Rudiger. He was an unusual guy. He had been on the glacier, as I recall, for about two months, one of the purposes of which was to see if he could do it. That is, to see if his preparations could properly see things through.
Annie had offered us some bagels with lunch meat taken from a big bag of them.
It was kind of dry and also yet too moist – and when I was almost finished it came to my attention that they were two months old!! Rudiger made them before he came to the glacier! He explained he liked a bagel with his coffee in the morning, so he’d boil one in a freezer bag. He declares people around smell them and are attracted to the smell.
“Hmm, what smells so good?” And for lunch he puts one in the top of his pack so the sun heats it. He also dehydrates he’s own food. He wants to climb Mt. Foraker but turned back this year due to chancy snow/ice conditions.
Last year he weathered the terrible 11-day storm at base camp. (I’d heard reports of wind chills of -140ºF!!) He explained how he’d learned all about how to survive (mostly from one other man) in those kind of conditions. He related how to “dig in” in preparation for an oncoming storm. Preferably this is done on a slope (it makes it easier)

Rudiger related how a friend of his wouldn’t let him into a two-person bivy bag. “There’s no room!” the guy whined. Rudiger said he wouldn’t expedition with this fellow again!
He showed me his camera – a beautiful old Leica M-4. He had two lenses, one a 90mm. He also carried another camera body with a 16mm lens. Attached to it was a light meter, which he modified with another device. The general idea was that you could switch from a 15º to a 30º arc, from which you would measure light. You would use one or the other depending on what lens you were using. Rudiger seemed very happy with his camera gear.
He also showed me an article describing how a guy who lost two friends on Mt. Foraker in a surprise avalanche.
Sean went out on a plane before Fred and I. Eventually another K-2 plane arrived. They land on skis on an uphill incline and turn to face downhill for take off, spewing out snow to the side, much as skier does when he turns.
When the plane came to a stop, out jumped a man. “Hi! I’m from Ogden, Utah! Hey, you guys mountain climbers? Tell me what it’s like to climb up that mountain! You guys carry all that gear up the mountain? Boy, I’ve got to tell my wife about this!”
He wanted a picture of Fred and himself! He apologized to me for choosing Fred, saying he was brighter! (He had on a red fleece top.)
“I don’t mountain climb. I hunt! I’ve got five boys and they just love to hunt…” He was a Mormon.
Our pilot’s name was Butch. He was the fellow that had kept passing us up the first day we’d attempted to fly in. He was a good pilot and an interesting and likeable chap. The ride back to Talkeetna was beautiful, as visibility was good.
From the moment I got back, I felt like a zombie. This lasted about 5 or 6 days. I thought I’d lost a lot of weight ¬– about 7 pounds I estimated – but when I got home, I weighed about the same – 164!
I was looking forward to call Joy, but then I considered what if there were problems of some sort – it was like a premonition.
We got dropped off at the K-2 bunkhouse. I lay out on the porch. Some fellow passed a comment as Fred was walking back in the door, something to the effect it was obvious, though Fred had climbed the mountain that I had not! I asked him why he said that and he commented that I looked too clean-shaven and all. My reply was: “ B U L L S H I T”!
Sean and I went out to get a meal. I went to call Joy. I got the message machine. I left a message that I was off the mountain. I felt kind of disappointed that she wasn’t there. It had always made me so happy to have her around when I’d call.
Later, I called and she was there. I gushed out my love for her. I told her how much I loved her! To my surprise she cried and sobbed. She said she needed to hear that for she had felt that I didn’t really love and that I didn’t really care about her! She seemed pitifully sad. After awhile I said that I would call her later, explaining Sean & I were eating.
Later I called back. I spent a long time trying to reassure her, for she was full of doubt, and sad thoughts. It was an unfortunate thing but I began to feel sorry for myself as she heaped complaints on me about our life together. Finally, just when I thought she was coming back into being more her cheerful self, just when we were getting off the phone, even though I’d spent much of the conversation dead tired and even at times sobbing my love to her, she began sort of interrogating me about something and I didn’t like it. She began raising her voice and soon I was downright angry! So much so that I blurted out “I don’t love you anymore!” And hung up!
I was miserably tired and I was miserable to boot!
I lumbered to the K-2 bunkhouse, found my bunk and dozed off.
In retrospect this episode was so telling. I had gone from somebody so in love to someone saying “I don’t love you.” It hardly makes sense to believe that I engineered this change solely on my own!! Undoubtedly I was almost like a mirror to Joy’s own state of mind.
The next day, Fred, Sean and I went by train to Denali National Park. The ride was enjoyable. I love trains. (Fred hates them.)
I thought we’d arrive at a lodge in the woods, but instead, it was like a small town, and a destination for scores of tour buses.
After having been on the mountain and seen such fantastic scenery, the land surrounding the “lodge” (hotel) seemed rather non-descript and uninteresting. It was a disappointment.
We had a mediocre dinner and slept in a cramped room. (I slept on a cot between the beds.) I didn’t enjoy the experience. The train ride back, however, was quite nice.
When we arrived in Talkeetna, a three-row station wagon (‘Oriental Express’) took us to Anchorage. In the middle seat sat the two friends of the guy who fell down the Orient Express. They hardly said a word the whole way back.
An older woman from New Zealand sat to my right in the front seat. She talked with me for a while and then, seeing I wanted to read, she talked to the driver. Only my right ear had to endure the clear, strong enunciation of her words.
When we got back to Anchorage we got a room in the Sheraton Hotel – which, again, had an atmosphere I found distasteful.
We went to dinner and then to the “Great Alaskan Bush Club.” We spent a couple of hours watching the girls and returned home to our rooms. I felt tired.
The next day I flew home. I had two memorable “lattes” at Starbucks Coffee in Seattle airport. When I got home. Joy and I made sweet love.