Cold Night in Nevada

Some years ago, I flew out to Los Angeles to see my friend Dave. We drove in his Toyota pickup up to Nevada to do a climb of Boundary Peak, the highest point in that state. We were able to drive up quite high, up to a broad saddle at 9,900 feet elevation. We settled in for the night, but Dave realized in short order that he had forgotten his sleeping bag back in LA. He slept in the back of his truck, which was nicely enclosed and padded for sleeping, but the best he could do was to put on all of his clothes to make up for the missing sleeping bag. He told me the next morning that it got quite cold in the truck overnight, and he would have been okay were it not for the fact that his ankles were the only part of him that were poorly covered. They got so cold that he tossed and turned from the discomfort all night, and the next morning woke up rather bleary. He never forgot his sleeping bag again.

Dry Camp

In the summer of 1969, I was the geologist on a mining exploration project in the Yukon. You could only reach our remote camp by helicopter, which visited us about every 10 days, bringing in food, fuel and other necessities such as mail. We reached a point in our work where we needed extra help, so we recruited a couple of young fellows from the nearest First Nations community about 25 air miles away. They were with us for a few weeks.

As part of the stuff brought in by chopper, it was common for us to request beer or liquor. However, one of the bosses back in Whitehorse who put together the order decided that he wouldn’t send in booze while the First Nations fellows were with us. He subscribed to the fallacy that they couldn’t properly handle alcohol and if they had access to it, there would be problems. He arrived with the chopper and was going to spend several days with us, and when I found out that he hadn’t brought the booze I’d requested, I was furious. I told him that his ideas were outdated and downright racist, that it was tough enough living and working in such a remote camp and that to be denied one simple pleasure was unconscionable. He had dug his own grave as far as the rest of us were concerned.

Our cook decided that one way to get back at him was to feed him terrible food while he was there. The rest of us were happy to go along with his scheme, so during the few days that this guy was with us, for supper we had such things as bear meat, porcupine and squirrel. The rest of us had already tried these exotic foods just for the heck of it earlier in the summer, so we weren’t turned off by them, but he was quite taken aback. The chopper came in just 3 or 4 days later and whisked that asshole away and back to the city. I don’t think he soon forgot his meals with us. By the way, we got our booze after that.

Climbers Who Smoke

I read a lot of books written by climbers, and one thing that never ceases to amaze me is when I read about climbers who smoke when they are out on a climb. Obviously it’s a habit they acquired before they went out on that climb, which is bad enough, but to be puffing away when at rest or when camped while on a climb – what the hell, surely they must realize that it’s not helping their breathing. Let’s face it, climbing is an activity that requires your lungs to be in the best condition possible, especially at altitude, and to abuse them like that is just plain dumb – you’re only making it harder to ply your craft.

Not Recommended

In the spring of 1969, I was applying for a job with a mining company. As I sat with the boss in his office, he asked me if I was okay with his calling my boss from the previous summer to get a recommendation. I was a bit hesitant, but told him yes, to go ahead. The thing about that previous job was this – I did not get along well with a number of the crew, including that boss. As a result, I was often relegated to remote fly camps to do prospecting and mapping with a partner, away from the comforts of our base camp. During the 3 months I spent in that camp, I was sent out on fly camps for fully half of that time, and in that time I worked hard and did good work to boot.

So back to the phone call. When he finished, he hung up and told me that my previous boss said that I seemed more interested in climbing mountains than doing geological work. He laughed and told me not to worry, that when he was my age he felt the same way! He offered me the job right then and there.

Accepting The Risk

Here is a quote from a famous British climber named Joe Simpson about the risk climbers take in plying their craft:

The climber chooses to accept a high degree of risk, and in so doing the entire responsibility for his existence rests exclusively upon his own shoulders. Although this is true for every moment of his life, it is never more clearly obvious than when he is taking a risk in climbing. Whatever action he takes directly affects him, and therefore also his partner, to whom he is as committed as he is to himself.

Those Were The Days

Back in 1990 and 1991, I traveled from my home in Tucson, Arizona to South America to try to climb Cerro Aconcagua. On that first trip, I was gone a total of 6 weeks. The second one lasted 10 weeks, which included a month of flying around Argentina and doing touristy things. The total amount of money I spent for the two trips was 5,000 US dollars. That included everything, the biggest item being round-trip airfare for both trips. When I say everything, I mean everything – food, lodging, ground transportation, souvenirs, and even domestic air travel within the country. Hells bells, nowadays the permit fee to do a summit climb for a foreigner on Aconcagua is US $1,400. When I went, it was US $71.

Walkie-Talkie

When I was a kid, all of us tried to make a tin-can telephone, or a walkie-talkie as we called them. It was easy to do. You took 2 tin cans, cut off one end of each, punched a hole in the other end, and tied the end of a lightweight, non-stretchy string into it with a big knot. Then you stretched the string taut and took turns talking into your can and listening at the other end. It really was a thing. Turns out they had been around since the 1700s – who knew? Check out this link which explains how they work.

Balled-Up Crampons

In my earlier days of wearing crampons back in the 1960s, one problem we always had to deal with was the fact that snow would get packed up underneath them and before too long walking would become very difficult. It would form a lump or a ball under your foot. You had to stop often to knock this snow off, usually with a whack from your ice axe shaft. In later years, they invented crampons that had a layer of plastic on the underside that was meant to prevent the snow from accumulating – the idea was that snow wouldn’t stick to the plastic. It worked to a degree, but it still wasn’t perfect. Perhaps nowadays there are crampons that avoid the problem altogether by some ingenious design.

Late Meal

On my first trip to Argentina, I met a lovely family who invited me to their home for the weekend. Back home in the States, I normally ate supper at around 5:00 PM. Being unaware of Argentine customs, I guess I just assumed that folks there did the same. We relaxed in their back yard in the evening. The lady of the house kept us supplied with all manner of good eats as the hours passed (she and her husband had 6 kids).  After hours of eating, I was completely sated, but at around 11:00 PM Rodolfo loaded up his outdoor grill with chicken and slabs of Argentine beef. I was shocked – now, it was time to eat the real supper! I had no prior experience with the late dining time of families here, but was assured that this was normal. Hey, I wasn’t going to argue – I was a guest in their home, so I tucked in to the huge feast that was set out. We topped it all off with some nice liqueur to end the evening well after midnight.

Many weeks later, I was back in Mendoza after my climbing was finished. I was hanging out with an Englishman who suggested we go to a nice restaurant for supper. We spent the evening people-watching in the park downtown, and when I told him I was getting really hungry and could we go to eat, he told me it was way too early. The restaurant wouldn’t even open its doors for supper until at least 10:00 PM. I was shocked. Turns out he was right, but it was still a shock to me.

Early Starts

During the hottest summer months here in the desert, the temperature can easily reach 100 degrees by 10:00 AM on the hottest days. How can you possibly climb in such heat and survive? Start early, that’s how. Many’s the time 2 or 3 of us would meet at 1:00 AM and spend a few hours driving in the dark to get to a trailhead by, say, 3:00 or 4:00 AM. Headlamps could get us started and, in any case, first light would catch us part-way to our goal. We wouldn’t dawdle, and we’d get done and back before the heat became too insane. There was always a cooler full of drinks, and ice-cold AC waiting back at the pick-up upon our return.

Truthful Expression

I came across this expression in a book written by a climber from the 1940s. “L’homme propose, Dieu dispose”. It is a French proverb meaning “Man proposes, God disposes.” It signifies that while humans make plans, the ultimate outcome is decided by divine will or fate. This concept suggests that despite human effort and planning, God’s will ultimately prevails. The phrase has roots in the Latin phrase “Homo proponit, sed Deus disponit,” The proverb is a reminder of the limitations of human control and the supremacy of divine will. The climber said this after their best-laid plans kept failing, in spite of how much they planned.

Bad Sunburn

The famous early climber Edward Whymper (1840-1911, best known for the first ascent of the Matterhorn) wrote this about the serious effects of sunburn:

They have been scorched on rocks and roasted on glaciers. Their cheeks – first puffed, then cracked – have exuded a turpentine-like matter, which has coursed down their faces, and has dried in patches like the resin on the trunks of pines. They have removed it, and at the same time have pulled off large flakes of their skin. They have gone from bad to worse – their case has become hopeless – knives and scissors have been called into play; tenderly and daintily, they have endeavoured to reduce their cheeks to one uniform hue. It is not to be done. But they have gone on, fascinated, and at last have brought their unhappy countenances to a state of helpless and complete ruin. Their lips are cracked; their cheeks are swollen; their eyes are blood-shot; their noses are peeled and indescribable.

This is obviously a worst-case scenario – I’ve never experienced any sunburn that bad. However, one time after a week above 18,000 feet where I was too stupid to use sunscreen, when I was back down and in my hotel room in the city, I broke off a huge piece of skin that covered my entire forehead – it was crispy like a potato chip, the result of a bad sunburn.