Room to Read school: we did it!

Over the past two and a half years, through generous contributions of friends and family, and especially with the push over the past month, collectively we raised more than enough funds to build a school in Nepal--this is awesome! Below is a flavor of who you all are.


A little bit more about you


You may have been there at the first fundraising event I held way back in May of 2007 at the Tattered Cover in downtown Denver. You saw me give my first presentation about Room to Read, and got a better sense of who is behind Room to Read by seeing John Wood appear on Oprah.

Or maybe you were combing through all of your hours and hours videos from years of visits to Nepal, extracting the best shorts of kids playing or singing around their villages as they raised money to support their school. Working with me to edit the shots down to a few that would work well together.

Maybe you were the one who left the signed copy of John Wood’s book “Leaving Microsoft to Change the World” on the counter, ready for me to pick up and start to read when the power went out that one day in January, almost three years ago. Maybe you were the one who sat with me at Sherpa’s in Boulder, brainstorming many times about how to raise money, about how not to fall short, not to give up, but how to go the whole way and inspire people to act.

Maybe you were there at my Shishapangma slideshow, hearing about my adventures in “Higher Education.” Maybe you were the one who gave me the idea of the title “Higher Education.” Maybe you saw my film about Everest, and shivered with me as I climbed the Lhotse face or the Hillary step. Or maybe you sat with me during one of many video edit sessions, pushing me to tell the whole story, to tell the right story, to not be constrained by time, to continue to be creative.

Maybe you were the one who took me to see Room to Read’s work in Nepal firsthand, encouraging me to keep fundraising, even if it is hard. Just maybe especially because it is hard.

Maybe you gave a little money at the door of a show, maybe you gave me what you had in your back pocket at a party, or maybe you were able to dig really deep into your own pockets. Maybe you were able to get your company to put money toward our effort, maybe you designed your very own search engine that would continually bring in more money for Room to Read. Maybe you were the anonymous donor who matched funds this holiday season. Or maybe you were unable to give much financially, but instead spread the word in different ways. You interviewed me, wrote about the effort on your blog, talked about it with your friends.

You might be an MIT alum who’s heard my stories about climbing and Nepal over the years. Or you might be a 5th grader at Mesa Elementary in Boulder who saw a little of my adventures and saw more how to be creative and brainstorm yourself how you could hold a story contest or a bake sale or a read-a-thon to raise money from your fellow students. Maybe you were inspired to reach out to your fellow high school students in Rhode Island and as your senior project you raised money for the school in Nepal.

Maybe you saw me at a big Neptune or CMC show, maybe it was a smaller show in Dillon, or maybe it was a personal one at your or my house. Maybe you were part of that book club reading John’s book, and heard me talk about Room to Read and Nepal and the great experiences in all.

Maybe you are my best friend. Maybe I’ve known you since we were 14, maybe you’ve known me since I was born, maybe we’ve worked together, maybe we’ve climbed the highest peaks in far away countries together, maybe we’ve only recently connected. Maybe we’ve taught or skied or climbed outside together, maybe we’ve read and discussed and echoed inside together, sat eating foreign foods and dreamt ideas about how to help the world together, or wrote notes to each other, communicating the necessities on our silent meditation day. Maybe you were a stranger until you happened upon a show of mine, or someone forwarded an email about this project to you. Maybe we were friends and you have moved away physically, but not in our thoughts. You are my friends, you are my family.

You are one hundred and eighty persons strong and I thank each and every one of you. As Room to Read says, “World change starts with educated children.” Yes, but there is more. It begins in your heart. Thank you for being part of this.

Help build a school in Nepal!

Can you donate to help build a new school (and donate in November)?

During the month of November only, Room to Read has an anonymous donor who will match all on-line contributions. This is huge news. So, if you donate $100, $200 gets credited toward our project. If you donate $20, $40 gets credited. I am very excited about this opportunity, and I hope you are too.

Let’s use the matching opportunity to raise the rest of the funds during November. Could you donate $100 today? Can you donate more? If not, could you donate $25? Everything single dollar helps. Here’s what to do:

To donate and get credited toward the school (this is important), use this link: https://www.roomtoread.org/SSLPage.aspx?pid=184&source=PS-Hovland07
Donate by November 30 to double your money-go ahead and make a tax deductible donation today. Once you click the link, select the amount you want to donate, put in your billing and payment information, and you’re done!

Please email me if you donate so I can make sure it gets counted toward the school

Namaste,
Val

Stories about education from Nepal (spring 2008)

There were five of us crammed into a tiny little white car, journeying a few hours into the countryside of Nepal, just outside Kathmandu. We were going to visit a few schools and libraries that Room to Read has created over the past decade. ‘We’ included Rajeev, in charge of libraries for Room to Read across all of Nepal, a new Nepali woman in charge of monitoring and evaluating how the schools and libraries in this region are doing, and me. On the way out of town, we drove past gas stations that had lines of cars waiting, occupants waiting almost a day to get fuel. Slowly we left the craziness of Kathmandu and began to see more and more space. Fields of green appeared, growing beans or corn, wheat or sugarcane. After all, three-quarters of Nepalis are dependent on agriculture for their living, so you would expect to see a lot of it.

We wound through one small town, back into the countryside, and again into another town. The paved road became bumpier. Eventually we turned off of the paved road onto a dirt road. Then the dirt road became bumpier. So eventually we stopped and got out on foot. We were on our way to see a Room to Read library. Along the way we saw women working the rice fields, a group from the village all working together in a line, wearing brightly colored dresses, their feet in water. A few boys were nearby, working an ox to help plow the fields.

After walking for another half an hour along the road, ducking into the nearest building for a little cover from the rain shower for a few minutes, we made it to the library. And that is where the little girl in red in the attached picture likes to hang out. She lives in this remote village, her parents undoubtedly farming nearby. She had access to a school, but until Room to Read helped out, she used to have almost no access to books. Do you remember when you were little and got into reading for the first time? Maybe you were reading in your kitchen to your mom, or outside in the sun reading about an adventurous young girl or boy, or maybe you were engrossed in a book sitting your school library. Now the little girl in red has the same opportunities. The library had its own small ‘block’ for a building, that being donated by the community as part of the community challenge grant (where Room to Read partners with the community, both parties putting effort into realizing the school or library). Most of the books were in Nepali, but some were in Nepali and English. Hundreds of books had been checked out and checked back in. From colorful ones to engage younger students through technical ones to help the teachers and community members learn more and change the way they do things. Many little things add up to big things. And the sign on the wall with colorful elephants and tigers and a little girl says, “All of the animals are in the library reading books. Where are you?”

In another village, there was a school. A newly reconstructed Room to Read school. The old school had been almost falling down. Can you picture going to school and trying to learn in a room where if it rains, the incoming water might make you stop? In global education-speak, the quality environment just wasn’t there. In a country where almost half of the people are unemployed, and almost a third are living below the poverty line, it can sometimes be hard to keep up a school. But the desire to do so is great. And that is where Room to Read came in. In conjunction with the community to help reconstruct the school and with Nepal’s Ministry of Education to provide the teachers, Room to Read built a new school in 2008. It was a primary school, complete with a room for every grade, bright colors on the walls, a stocked library with sections for young kids, older kids, and resources for the teachers. They even thought of little things like having a shorter chalkboard for the first grade class, so the children could reach it and see it easily. And that school is where the kids in uniforms
with the huge smiles on their faces in the attached picture went to school. We were there during a time where almost all other schools were not yet in session as they should be-this was due to a delay in books being delivered to the schools because of Nepal’s national election in April 2008 (resources had been diverted from printing school books to printing election materials instead). So at a time when almost no other kids were in school, these kids were in school. They were lining up to go into the library. They were studying in their classrooms. And as we could see, they were really happy to be there.

A different span of a day

5:20pm, Day X: Speeding down the hill from Marangu, Tanzania, no seatbelt in sight, listening to Kenny Rogers in the bus (reminds me of my grandpa, "you got to know when to hold 'em"), getting slightly spit on by the rain coming in through the window, feeling soooo happy to be off of my feet (it was a long hike down 9,000 feet that day), and drying out (again).

5:20pm, Day X-1: Arriving at Gilman's Point, around 18,500 feet above sea level (or so). The steep part of the climb is over, and the first view of the dry, moon-like crater of Kilimanjaro appears. There is only a hint of a glacier across the crater, most of the 'snows of Kilimanjaro' having disappeared in the span of a few years. The sun is low, but still bright, and the ridge to the summit looks fun!


3pm, Day X: Hiking down. From Kibo past Horombo past Mandara, but not yet to the gate. From snow to rock to dirt (no longer dust). From the alpine desert through the moorland and into the forest. It is humid and smells so good (especially those little white flowers). The ferns and moss are thick on the trees. Unfortunately, . . . it just started raining. Again. Like Africa forgot that I already knew what it was like to be wet, hiking down from a big mountain. This time, of course, I was both more prepared and more willing (in a way). The big yellow plastic rain cover comes out (immediately) to cover me and my pack. The sleeves get rolled up past my elbows to avoid the drip when you're hiking with poles. And that part of my pants below mid-thigh? Easily accepted that it will be just plain wet and stick to your leg in that annoying way. My feet hurt from hiking down sooo much today (you know the feeling when you're almost getting blisters on the bottom of your feet?), but other than that, the rest of my body feels good. Sometimes, though, you really really want that last two miles to just disappear.

3pm, Day X-1: We're on the way to the summit. We being me and Alex, my local guide on Kili. The national park requires that you have a guide, and mine was great. Especially since he suggested changing up the typical approach toward when we climb, which is why we are here now. Most people climb up to Kibo hut (15,400 ft) on one day, then rest for a few hours, get up at 11pm, leave at midnight for the summit, and get a sunrise view from the top. Problems with this approach: 1) your sleep schedule is disrupted, 2) you are climbing when you are sleepy, 3) you have less energy in the middle of the night, 4) on your return, you only get to sleep a few hours before descending to a lower altitude, ... but the biggest problem is 5) everybody and their brother goes at this time. And the hidden problems that we actually didn't know about until the next morning: 6) a storm will roll in that night putting snow and ice on the route (not making it dangerous, just more of a pain), and 7) a huge lenticular cloud with its associated high winds will descend on the mountain, masking the views of the 'sunrise' anyway. Fortunately, instead of the traditional approach, Alex suggested that since we're fast (strong like lioness), that we rest for a few hours at Kibo, then continue on up to Uhuru (the summit) on the same day. Unfortunately (for some reason), Africa likes to hail on me at 16,600 feet. Just like on Batian climbing in the Amphitheater. So it is hailing on me. Let's put on the coat and pack cover and give it an hour (it'll stop, I know it will).


12pm, Day X: Hiking down, just below Horombo. You've left the snow and lenticulars behind, and have had a last lunch at the huts at Horombo (and even used Alex's cell phone to update the blog, but are tired of typing in 10-digits).

12pm, Day X-1: Almost ready to sleep for an hour. At Kibo hut (15.4k), there are 12 bunks in your room (and yes the 5 that are filled will all wake you up in 12 hours time when they are going for the summit). You've just eaten your lunch, and are changing and packing for the summit push. Packing while ensconced in your sleeping bag of course, because it is cold in here, and your fingers have a tiny tingle due to the cold and altitude.


9:15am, Day X: Hiking down, at the "last water point," around 14,000 feet or so. The snows used to reach down here, but now it is dry from here to above Gilman's point. There is a crew of three building a new toilet facility (upgraded from the pits), listening to music.

9:15am, Day X-1: Hiking up, at the "last water point." The morning started with a good breakfast of an omlette, tea, avocado, and toast. Say "Jambo" and dance a little with the construction crew.

...

6:20pm, Day X: Back in Moshi, at the Kilicrane hotel. Your feet are finally up, done hiking for the meantime. Time to relax.

6:20pm, Day X-1: At the roof of Africa: Uhuru point, 5895 meters, or 19,340 feet. The summit of Kilimanjaro. The sun is just about to set, and has its characteristic strong orange glow. A glacier is to the left. The last ridge from Gilman's point was fun: you alternated between "speed racer" when the ridge offered a down section, and "well, faster than a snail, but..." when the ridge went up. But in total you made good time from Kibo (4:15). An awesome part about the climb is that it was just you two--no one else on the mountain at all; a treat. Right now, though, it is getting colder, starting to snow (it'll keep it up the whole way down), and it is time to head down. Back home.

Sunset from the roof of Africa

Yesterday afternoon, we bucked the trend & climbed to the summit of Kili (instead of climbing in the night)! We were rewarded with a mountain entirely to ourselves and a beautiful sunset ... & light snow the whole way down. Back to Moshi tonight. More later!

The sun is setting at Horombo

And it is beautiful. It has the alpine feel of up high on mt rainier,
... except for the fried bananas, veggie and beef dinner, German,
norwegian and Italian hut mates, and flush toilets. Ah the life!

On Kili!

I made my way to Tanzania and started climbing. I am at Mandara huts
~9300 ft and enjoying the jungle, blue monkeys and hot cocoa. On and
up tomorrow!

Images#3 from Kenya

Me at our bivy around 16,300 feet. We rapped until it got dark, then bivied

 

Karsten rapping in the morning

 

We successfully climbed up Point Peter early before hiking out

 

The full group of us 5 and our porters and cook

Images #2 from Kenya

Karsten leading up the first pitch on the North Face Standard (~5.7)

 

Karsten on the 4th pitch

 

In the Amphitheater, the weather deteriorating (it hailed a few inches a few minutes later)

 

Karsten on the descent from our highpoint, Ferman's Tower in the background

Images#1 from Kenya

In order:

 

Mt Kenya (our route went up kind of through the middle of the picture)

 

Sunrise on the way to the climb

 

Me at the start with my backpack. There were icicles on the plant

 

When all the muscles in your body ache

Every so often I say “That was the hardest thing I’ve done.” A few days ago, in the case of climbing up Batian (the highest summit of Mt Kenya), I found myself saying that exact thing. As I focused my concentration on crossing the ledge on the back side of Ferman’s tower, kicking steps firmly in the snow, holding onto little rock ledges that were wet, removing the cam or nut or tricam as needed, thinking that Karsten the best rock-star leader, and making moves up snowy and icy cracks or faces of rock, I thought it. And as I slept in my bivy sack on the small ledge above 16 thousand feet, I stretched and could feel little aches in every one of my muscles. But it felt good.

The mountain is beautiful. It is not just one mountain, but many many points. Points left over from volcanic activity. The highest is Batian, the next highest Nelion. The next is Point Lenana, which all five of us reached on an earlier day. Lenana gave us great views of Nelion and Batian, a fun scramble, and our first exposure to higher altitudes than you can find in Colorado.

The main issue we faced, other than a few small headaches from altitude or stomach grumbles from the food, was the weather. It was bad. In the context of one of the worst droughts in Kenya’s recent past, Mt Kenya itself was getting rain. Lots of it. Early rain. Not predictable afternoon thunderstorms like in Colorado. Rain that would come on our first day on the mountain by 2pm. Rain that would come on our second day on the mountain by 12pm. Rain that would come on our third day on the mountain by 10am. Rain that would catch us before we reached Mintos hut ~14,000 feet on our way in. Rain that gets past all the fancy rain gear you have. Rain that soaks the ground and then comes up into your tent. Thank goodness for good old plastic trash bags.

That rain, of course, turned into hail, snow, or ice higher on the mountain. At first, that meant that the route we first came to climb (the Standard route up Nelion, then Batian) was out of shape—too much snow. Also, the Diamond Couloir, which Brad and Tonya had come to climb, was not quite in good enough shape to climb. On to the next plan: hike almost all of the way around the mountain to the north side and climb the North Face Standard route. We hiked around one day, then did a few of the lower pitches to get our bearings and feel the route out. At this point, James decided not to come climbing with us, so it was just Karsten and me for the climb up Batian (while Brad and Tonya did their own climbs). Our trial run was great because we got our systems down, decided that rock shoes weren’t needed OR appropriate (we’d instead climb in our boots), and we were able to cache some of our gear at the start of the climb.

Recipe: Start with a rock climb. Let’s say somewhere around 5.7ish. Add altitude (15 to 17 thousand feet should do). Ditch your rock shoes and climb in boots. Add a pack. Add bivy gear to that pack. And food. And a stove. And crampons. And an ice axe. Keep going until it feels like a good 30 or 35 lbs. Put your helmet and harness on. Keep a pair of gloves handy, but try not to drop one on any scary snowy ledge (but if you do, just have your partner get one of your extra pairs from your pack). Now add melting snow to make the rock wet. Add some hail. Now add some loose rocks that might trundle down the mountain at the push of your foot. Let the mist and clouds descend upon you around 10 am to make it feel just cool enough. Now climb. Stay mostly on route. The difficulty with all of these spices shouldn’t exceed 5.10 or so. Climb the hardest stuff you’ve climbed for about 11 hours until you decide that the safest thing to do is descend. Then once it gets too dark to see, set up your bivy and relax. Sleep until the sun wakes you up and smile at the beauty of everything you’ve experienced.

Trekking out, listening to music, I spun around a few times because I was simply happy.

In Nairobi

Hi! Just a quick note to say that we are in Nairobi after a great trip on and around Mt Kenya. Karsten and I made it to 16,600 ft on the North Face Standard route up Batian (Mt Kenya), but turned around because of icy conditions and because it just made sense.

 

I will blog more in a bit, but check out http://www.beyondeverest.com/latest-news.html to see some blog posts from Tonya and Brad during the trip.

 

Tonight I'm off to fly to Kilimanjaro, and will be headed up that one tomorrow. :)

 

Val

 

Aya Sophya at night

Mosaic of Jesus inside Sophya

One foot in Europe, one in Asia

Taksim

The span of 24 hours

Somedays, you do more than others. My day yesterday I think took the
cake in terms of variety. Or it was at least in the top ten. At the
start of the day, I thought that physical structures built by man that
1600 years ago were old. Then I saw some that were around 4500 years
old.

It started with sleeping in until a reasonable time of 7 am, compared
to waking up at 3 am the night before. Luxury. Aya Sophya was awe
inspiring. Some places simply move you to look up by their power and
feel and not force. Once the head of the Christian church, after
Constantinople became Istanbul in the 15th century, it was converted
into a mosque, and is now a museum. Strange juxtaposition. I found
though, in somewhat in the way that China has posted its flags upon
every building in Tibet, that I felt a similar kind of marking going
on with large wooden circles with Arabic writing not melding well with
the marble columns. It was a very interesting space to be in.

Fast forward 7 hours later, where I am flying down a highway in Cairo.
It is best to sit in the backseat, happy that the seatbelt works (even
if the driver doesn't use his). Best so you don't worry about weaving
between all the lanes of traffic on the highway as you're going faster
than the car's speed limiter says to go by its constant humming, or
worry about moving the trucks and horse-driven carts on the side
roads, putting on the brakes for the broken up road when necessary.
Besides, there is so much to take in: the dry landscape, the tan high
rises, the Nile, which looks smaller than you thought it would be, the
male-dominated culture, the attitudes of the people that you pick up
as you hear responses to your questions (e.g. not acknowledging the
fact that you are lost, but rather "That is a carpet making shop"
which you could tell by reading the sign anyway). But eventually, you
wind around the city and get better directions (how can you get lost
finding the flatirons from downtown Boulder, you say?) ... and then
you round the corner and they are there. The Great Pyramids of Giza.
And "Wow" just comes out of your mouth. Similar to the Wow of Lhotse,
but in a different way--a man-made wow. Mysterious, so much effort,
uncertain history. The camel ride to see them as the sun sets and the
moon rises is good and relaxing (as far as camel rides go; it is nice
to have a slightly different way of sitting for the way back). The dry
desert air's wind blows your hair. And eventually the three pyramids
line up left to right and you have some time to sit with the pyramids.
Hear stories of one who has grown up with them (and even scaled them
after paying off the guards). There is a strange new 'protection' in
place though, that adds colorful lights and loud music and
'storytelling' and even projects lasers with shapes on the pyramids,
walling out the inhabitants, shining bright lights toward their homes
to obscure their views at night--all these new components to something
so ancient are a little distracting. But in all, they were undeniably
impressive.

Finally, after a crowded flight with Egyptian airline food (hmmmm, not
my favorite), in the middle of the night I arrive to welcoming
Nairobi. Welcoming because of a friendly face and more friends this
morning. The five of us are here and tomorrow we head to the mountains
(Mt Kenya)! I'll update when possible!

Val

Basillica cistern

Spice market

Egyptian column

Blue mosque3

Blue mosque from Sophya

Blue mosque2

Istanbul

I had forgotten about wakıng up at 5 somethıng ın the mornıng to the Koran beıng sung from the many nearby mosques on very powerful loudspeakers. Gıves you an ımmedıate feel for the leanıngs and the faıth and patterns and envıronment. Of the tone of an ancıent and modern cıty. And gıves you ıdeas and thoughts and a few expectatıons about who you wıll meet durıng the day. Probably also saves on alarm clock costs.

I know that I am a sucker for rugs. I just love them and the whole crazy process ınvolved. An unexpected tour guıde takıng you to one of the hıghest poınts ın Istanbul, and the strıkıngly red velvet of the couches, and dısussıons of France and fun hıstorıes and tea then wıne and pıstacıos, one after another after another of the beautıful patterns and colors and emotıons. And evet (yes) or yok (no) or belkı (maybe), untıl you fınd yourself not thınkıng do I need thıs but succumbıng to the beauty and the process and that thıs wıll last 6 generatıons and thınkıng that there ıs one more place ın your home that could do very nıcely wıth a beautıful new accent, even ıf I do already have two Turkısh rugs ın my house. At least there were a few other potentıal purchases durıng the day that I walked away from.

Cushıons are fun. Bıg and brıght and full of patterns, connected wıth hot tea ın a small cup, as many cubes of sugar as you dare. Especıally when you are sıttıng on the roof ın the cool evenıng, warm enough that you do not need a coat, but cool enough that you hold and apprecıate the tea for ıts warmth. Especıally when the peppery kebabs and roasted chılıs and roasted tomato and a lıttle bıt of pıta go so well together ın one bıte. If I were a German hıstory student, I would want my hıstory trıp to be ın Istanbul too. And as usual, keep a sharp eye out for the waıtor who may delıver a rose made from a napkın wıth the bıll.

The mıxture of ancıent and modern ıs smooth here. The Bosphorous ıs always wındy, wıth whıte caps separatıng Europe from Asıa, and fıshermen on the shores or on theır small boats, wıth bıgger ferrıes and yet bıgger cargo vessels always goıng to and fro. There are beautıful mosques from the ancıent 4th century, from the more recent 16th century, Egyptıan pıllars that are even older, and a modern tram to take you around the cıty. There ıs peace ın the Topkapı palace gardens, and crazıness ın the Grand Bazaar. Man made beauty ın the tılework (blue or otherwıse), and beautıful sounds of the many sea bırds. Underground symmetry and closeness, a comfortıng darkness wıth reflectıons. There are many thıngs here to make you look up (ın all the ways possıble).

Val

The world is calling

Specifically, Kenya and Tanzania, with a little bit of Turkey and Egypt thrown in for some good fun.

More specifically Mt Kenya (or really Batian and Nelion) and Mt Kilimanjaro. A stopover in Istanbul for 2 days, a layover in Cairo, and then 3 weeks in Africa.

I leave in two days!

Denali pictures

Denali: tightrope, remodeling, & corniced ridges

--Tightrope--

If you are on a tightrope, you don’t sneeze. If you are taking a break on an awkward rock with a steep snow slope next to you, just above the headwall at 16,210 ft elevation, you try to find an acceptable spot for your 65 lb pack where it won’t slide down the mountain or take you out should a gust of wind appear. Then comes the gentle (and tricky) part where you slowly work yourself a little lower on the slope (easier than working the pack higher), balance your pack on your right knee, and thread your arm through the strap. Next you slowly wiggle the heavy pack around to your back, thread your next arm in place, tighten the waistbelt as tight as you can get it (especially if you happen to have a down coat on), and you’re back ready to continue the climb. Once your four teammates have done the same, you head upwards, hoping it won’t really take many hours to go the next 1,000 vertical feet (it will).

--Remodeling--

Remodeling is fun. The previous occupants, after all, didn’t have just your taste, or your size of group, or wind coming from the same direction. Though sometimes they did have the good sense to set up a nicely sheltered CMC (Clean Mountain Can) alcove. Generally you move into a camp, decide which walls to use as starters, and then change things up. At one camp, that may mean that you get the snow saw and shovel out and start quarrying snow blocks to fill a doorway, plug some holes, and increase the height of the protecting snow walls. At another camp, that may mean that you decide to add a doorway between adjacent campsites, turn a wall 90 degrees to more closely hug your tent, or angle and relocate a given wall to direct the wind, moving the wall block by block. If you have a little extra time, you can add a kitchen too. At the highest camp, you may decide to build more functional protection from the wind; some less-than-perfect snow chunks will do the job. We were really quite lucky with respect to the winds at our camps, with the breeziest day being one of our rest days at 17 camp.

--Corniced ridges--

There were many spectacular parts to the climb. Flying past dark rock spires in Little Switzerland on the way in; seeing snow ridges above you as you snuck just over a pass. Moving along the broad and long Kahiltna glacier just as the sun dipped below a mountain. Looking back at your team placed so evenly on the rope, moving up the first steep section of Motorcycle hill, the walled fortress of Camp 11k in the background. Clouds engulfing the lower valleys up to almost your toes. Seeing the alpenglow on Mt. Hunter from 14 camp after a long day. Turning your view around for the first time on the ridge above 16,2 to see the fullness and beauty of the West Buttress. Cresting Denali Pass to see the other side of the Alaska range opening up, hunkering behind black rocks for shelter from the wind. Seeing the pink rays of sunset on distant mountains coming down to Camp 9.5k.

Though it was the very very last section of the climb that was the most spectacular. It had been a long time since beginning the climb late that morning. It was maybe 7pm, 7:30. I had cycled between feeling extremely strong around 18,000 and 19,000 feet to being extremely slow going up pig hill. First Jim and Cindy had turned around just below Denali Pass, turned by altitude and the good sense to be conservative on this big mountain. We had shortened the rope to fit three, and added their emergency supplies to our backpacks. Then, after climbing up to the pass and yet another hour above the pass, Pete had appeared at our rest stop with a white tipped nose and cheek. This day was no day for exposed skin; it was time for descent for another of our team. Even higher on the mountain, Jaroslaw and I decided that, given the improved weather, it was safe enough to set an anchor and leave one of our packs (mine) and the rope behind for the last 'hour' (or more) left in the climb. Was the top of pig hill the tippy top (as I had hoped for in my mind)? No. But that is when the summit ridge revealed itself.

A ridge that is beautiful and frightening at the same time. One that is fun in ideal weather conditions, but one that demands your attention to footwork, especially given that it is above 20,000 feet and that you’ve been climbing for hours today and weeks prior (well, 10 days in our case). The cornices ran on one side for the first part of the ridge (small ones), and on the other side for the second part (big ones). Looking to the right on the way up, the mountain shot down thousands and thousands of feet almost immediately. Zero wind is the kind of weather condition you want to have for that ridge. And that is just what we had. Step by step, focusing your attention at the task at hand, glad that the ridge did not gain significant altitude, but instead let you catch your breath and build your anticipation. The sun was getting lower in the sky, bringing a golden and shadowed and intense view to all the mountains around Denali. And then we reached the end of that spectacular ridge just around 8:20pm. Jaroslaw and I had made it to the top!

Life on Denali: the cold and the gear

--- The cold ---

They said this mountain would be cold. And I thought, hey, I’ve been up Everest, how cold can it actually be? ... They were right. It was cold. Definintely colder than I’d expected. That cold that comes from all the moisture in the air. The kind of moisture that would make your hair turn all curly were it not underneath three layers of hats and buffs.

Not cold all the time mind you, but enough of the time. Like when we flew into the glacier on a Saturday, late afternoon, and decided to head up to our first camp, leaving base camp around 8pm (remember all that light I talked about earlier?). By the time 12am rolled around and we were still hiking up the Kahiltna glacier, sun long set but no headlamp needed, it felt like I shouldn’t really need my down parka for hiking since I was only around 7,000 feet above sea level--wouldn’t it feel like giving in if I put it on now? What would I do 13,000 feet higher on the mountain if it got cold and I had nothing left to put on? I stuck it out, putting my puffy pants on and my Goretex on up top, and donned the down when we finally set up camp at 7,700 ft, but decided that this was a mountain not to be taken lightly.

The cold hit me hardest up high heading to 17 camp (that is, the camp at 17,200 feet). It was day 8 of our expedition, and we were doing a ‘full carry’ to Camp 17 (high camp). ‘Full’ meaning that we decided not to do a trial (aka cache) run with some of our gear up to 16 or 17 on an earlier day, but rather to put everything we’d need for a stay at high camp and our summit push in our backpacks and trudge on up the mountain, roped together as a team of five. By the time we made it to 17 camp, it was the longest day up to that point in the climb, we had divided into two rope teams, my two Nalgenes were frozen from the cold, I had waited a little too long to put on my down coat, was actually shivering sitting on my pack, and was supremely thankful to Cindy for putting up the tent and boiling water for us and to Jaroslaw for doing similar things for Pete and Jim who came in to camp two hours later. This is partly why we climb in teams, and why even when only a subset of the team stands on top, the success is for the entire team. One day you may have more energy and go retrieve a cache from down low, one day you may do all the cooking, and the next you may sit resting in your tent while others prepare the food and water.

--The gear—

Start with your backpack.

Add essentials such as sleeping bag (bring the warm one, rated to -40F, you’ll need it. Extra long ones are nice so you can keep all your clothing and boot liners inside), pads (bring two, re-inflate the thermarest if it is a rest day so you don’t get cold that second night and end up sleeping on your side the entire night), tent (keep it dry, which may be impossible if it snows 1 foot overnight, but is usually possible if you let the frost dry out and don’t break camp until after 10am), pickets (useful for getting your friends out of crevasses, even if they are generally just extra weight), snow saw (essential for reinforcing or building those snow walls at 11k camp, 14k camp, 17k camp), shovel (useful for digging caches, which you’ll leave up the mountain many many places, especially when you find out that you’re carrying too much. Bring a sturdy one and don’t bury your caches tooooo deep), fuel (hmmm, bringing lots is good; don’t step on your fuel funnel or you’ll end up improvising with a plastic bag with a hole in it), stove (clean it, know how to clean it, and keep it clean so it actually melts snow and warms it up up high), pot (you may also bring 2 other pots for melting snow, one other pot for cooking soups and noodles, one frying pan for cooking pancakes and cheesy noodle sauces, ... or you may decide to cache these things down low when you realize how much weight you’re carrying), contact solution (remember to always keep this warm in your sleeping bag or you’ll end up warming it up between your legs or underneath your armpit the next morning), snack food (keep the favorite secret summit stash of food separate from the general climbing snacks, make sure things don’t freeze easily, and bring some extra jerky to trade with your climbing partners for gummy snacks up high).

At this point you’re probably running out of space in your huge backpack. Time to load up the duffel in the sled so you can drag the rest of your ‘essentials’ (broadly defined) up the big hill with you. Note: your sled will be really heavy, and you will feel your hip flexors. Too heavy at first, but you’ll learn tricks to help out--like putting an extra pair of gloves in your harness for extra padding. Going downhill with a sled will also be tricky at first, but you’ll try things such as flipping the sled upside down, or tying a knot or bungee underneath that will make travel much better.

Bring a cook tent (useful as a gathering place, especially during rest days, when it is windy, or when you want a change of pace from your little tent. Important: make sure and have lots of snow stakes on this ‘extra’ tent so you can steal them to anchor your partners’ tents down on summit day so their tent doesn’t blow away up high. Always a good thing to have a tent to come back to). Bring some food. Scratch that. Bring a ton of food. Scratch that. Start with a ton of food (go ahead and bring some hard to make things so you’ll have something to do on rest days, though you’ll rethink that when making the meals). Once you realize you don’t need that ton of food, cache as much as possible at camp 9,500 ft, then cache some more at 14k, and finally bring a lot back down to base camp with you when you’re done with the climb. Be really really thankful that you were able to fly out from the glacier on the last plane your air service sent before the weather closed in too much to fly, and didn’t need to eat that same food again and again at BC.

Round out your gear with things you have on you: a good harness, lots of warm clothes (bring a few extra layers, white layers for down low because it gets hot too on that mountain, a clean set for above 14 camp), poles (useful almost all the time on the mountain), snow flotation (my favorite was snowshoes, but make sure whatever you have stays on your feet...please), crampons (don’t forget those anitball plates...please), sunglasses (complete with the ugly nose covers so everyone looks just as silly in pictures, but everyone also avoids big burned noses). And bring all those extra things I haven’t mentioned. Then cache 60% of those things on your way up the mountain.

We're back!

We're back to civilization--and we had a successful trip! Two of us made it to the top (Jaroslaw and I), and four of us are back in Talkeetna (weather is preventing the planes from picking up Jim from the glacier). More later, but I wanted to get a quick update out. :)

Val

We're climbing that!

We're off!

Don't worry if you don't hear from us for 2 weeks :)

All packed up

The sharp things are separated: ice axes, crampons, snowshoes,
shovels, ... the food has been divided: breakfasts, dinners, high camp food, condiments ... our personal gear is ready. Now it is time to get some lunch and then fly in to the glacier! We're lucky that it is clear today as yesterday they weren't flying in.