The MountainWorld™ Blog

Humility: The Name of the Game

 Back in February, I wrote a Thursday Thought about ego...and the need to not have one in life. In it I shared some thoughts from one of my climbing heroes (and friends), Tom Hornbein.  

As many of you know, I spent this weekend with an incredible group of athletes at the Outside in Aspen event in Aspen, Colorado. Aside from the depth and diversity of accomplishments in the group, what I found most impressive was the level of humility and the marked absence of ego amongst the crew. 

On Sunday, we all shared a panel discussion: kayaker Jesse Coombs, cyclist Tyler Hamilton, climber Melissa Arnot, skier Chris Davenport, and myself. (Also present, but not on the panel, was kayaker Chris Korbulic.) Not once did anyone proclaim "I'm the best" or show any degree of arrogance about their successes, and failures, in life. Rather, the common theme was that each person followed their passion in life, and that, combined with a lot of hard work and tenacity, led to a high level of success...not to mention a lot of fun along the way. 

Because of that humility, I really enjoyed sharing the panel discussion, and the weekend, with this group, and I think the audience and visitors to Outside in Aspen did, too. 

Especially impressive during the panel was Jesse Coombs comments on how to approach all we do in life. He kept stressing the need to "do the right things for the right reasons." Advice we all could and should apply to our lives, personal and professional. 

And, Jesse is no run-of-the-mill kayaker; he's one of the most accomplished in the world, with a list of first-descents that to this hydro-challenged person reads like my worst nightmare. But, you won't get that out of him easily; he'll downplay his accomplishments while simultaneously noting yours and complimenting you. Solid characteristics from a solid guy. 

So, here's a little video that shows some of the huge accomplishments of Jesse Coombs and his team of expedition kayakers. Amazing stuff...enjoy Hotel Charley V:

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

What Really Happened to George Mallory & Andrew Irvine? Part II

After reading Part I of this story, we're all essentially on the same page with what we know about the story of George Mallory & Andrew Irvine.

Now, the fun part: What do we, or more precisely, what do I, hypothesize happened to them on that fateful day, June 8, 1924?

Let's begin...But first, a bit of reference for you. Below is a Zoomify photo of the North Face of Everest with some key features marked. It is pretty high-resolution, as you will see, composed of about 20 shots I took in 2004 and stitched together. (Apologies in advance for the lack of dust removal...Too many specks to deal with!)

Knowing the virtues of an alpine start, Mallory would have insisted that the pair get an early start to the climb toward the summit. However, we know that they could not have left too early in the day – not before the first light of dawn illuminated the landscape – because their teammate, Noel Odell, found their head torches left behind in Camp VI. But, we can safely assume that they left sometime around first light, which would have come at roughly 4:30 AM. (While the sun hasn't risen at this point, in my experience it is more than bright enough by 4:30 AM to move without artificial light.)

Climbing upward along the North Ridge, Mallory & Irvine would have encountered  little difficulty en route to the Northeast Shoulder. Scrambly rock, similar to that of the lower North Ridge, is the only challenge...along of course with the extreme altitude.

From the Northeast Shoulder – having stood there myself in 2004 and gazed upward
The Longland Traverse from
the Northeast Shoulder. at the possible route options – they would have taken the most prominent and obvious line up through the Longland Traverse and on to the Northeast Ridge via the upper section of the modern “climbers' gullies”. Again, the climbing, while interesting, is never very difficult in any part thus far and I'm confident they would have covered it relatively quickly and efficiently. Additionally, the route finding is minimal as the Longland Traverse to the climbers' gullies is the obvious path from the Northeast Shoulder to the Northeast Ridge. (You can see a video I shot from here in 2004 on YouTube.)

Once on the Northeast Ridge, things for Mallory & Irvine would have inevitably gotten more, well, more interesting. Being ridge climbers, their habit would be to stick to the ridgecrest as much as possible. But, massive cornices overhanging the daunting Kangshung Face would understandably push them away from the crest from time to time as they moved toward the summit. The first obstacle would come after about an hour on the Ridge: The First Step.

Roughly 60 feet of rotten rock and crumbling snow, the First Step causes little more than a spate of breathlessness for climber's today, who have the fortune of a known route that is well fixed with rope. But, for Mallory & Irvine, it would be a different story. Take the ridgeline, or the middle route up steeper rock? Try to circumvent the Step as a whole, cutting down onto the North Face below the Gray Band?

Again, being ridge climbers, my bet is they would have taken the ridgecrest. I investigated this option in 2004, and found it to be quite reasonable and well within Mallory's climbing ability. Soon, they would be on top of the First Step, looking at an inspiring – and daunting – view.

From the top of the First Step, one gazes upward at the enticing and alluring summit. It seems close at this point, tantalizingly close. But, you also see from here the at-times-impossibly-serrated Northeast Ridgecrest slicing skyward with fin-like cornices and imposing rock bands. Most impressively, from here you see the great Second Step, an 80-foot saw-toothed jag of rock sticking like a ship's prow out of the ridge. Daunting today...it must have been terrifying in 1924.

But, again, just behind the Second Step, the summit looms, luring like a siren song. Despite the perhaps slower pace than they had anticipated, I'd be willing to bet Mallory & Irvine pushed on.

The view up the Northeast Ridge from Mushroom Rock.

Again, the desire to climb the ridge directly would be at odds here with the topography. Cornices, steep jags of rock, and enticing “sidewalks” of limestone all force one downward, off the ridge and onto the North Face. But, that's not where Mallory & Irvine wanted to go. On June 4, 1924, Teddy Norton and his companion, Howard Somervell, chose to keep off the Northeast Ridge, thinking the Second Step posed too great of an obstacle. They instead traversed the North Face to the Great Couloir, where Norton was finally turned around at 28,165 feet. Seeing Norton's failure, I think Mallory would have been inclined to give the Ridge a try and see what lay in store.

(Note that Norton and Somervell were climbing without supplemental oxygen. Norton's oxygenless altitude record would stand for 54 years, until it was bested by Reinhold Messner and Peter Habeler in 1978 when they climbed Everest without oxygen. Amazing.)

So, they climbed on, tiptoeing along the knifeblade, scurrying around boulders and across narrow, harrowing traverses. They passed Mushroom Rock which, at 28,100 feet, is the gateway to the Second Step, and a good resting point.

Where to go from here? I can only imagine how vexing this question must have been for them. Directly ahead, along the ridge, cornices sweep wildly outward, their great fins of snow hanging some 40-50 feet over the Kangshung Face. Slightly right, to the west, thin bands of rotten rock angle below the ridge into unknown terrain. Again, this is an easy point for us modern climbers: fixed lines guide the way and tell us everything but where to put each foot and how often to breath. But, not so for Mallory & Irvine. This was no-man's land. And an unforgiving one at that.

My bet is that they first tried the ridge itself, treading a fine line between the rock and the snow moving toward the Second Step. But, this attempt would, I think, soon end when the icy crest of the Second Step came fully into view, a vertical, thin jag of corniced snow overhanging the Kangshung Face. Not appetizing today, and not in 1924.

Now, a frustrating about-face, with Mallory & Irvine retracing their steps back to Mushroom Rock.

What do they do here? It's getting late. They are tired, and running low on oxygen. The weather is far from perfect, with pre-monsoon squalls buffeting the mountainside.

But, there ahead lies the Holy Grail, the summit of Everest...It seems so close, so tantalizingly close. Fame, fortune, glory, security...All of it was wrapped up in that summit, that patch of snow, for Mallory, and to some extent for Irvine. As a friend of mine said, the only way home for Mallory was, strangely, via the Top of the World.

Thus, I think they pushed on. I think, despite the lateness of the day, despite the fatigue they must have felt throughout their bodies, despite the fact that they were low on oxygen...despite all of these things, all of these things that Mallory's years of experience in the mountains had taught him...I think they pushed on. I think Mallory had to push on. As his friend, Geoffrey Winthrop Young wrote, Mallory would not have turned around high on the Northeast Ridge – could not have turned around – simply because Mallory was Mallory.

And, I've been there myself. In 1999, I was at Mushroom Rock with Dave Hahn, Conrad Anker, Tap Richards, Ang Pisang Sherpa, and Dawa Sherpa. It was too late in my estimation to continue climbing and leave a window of safety for our return. Storms were creeping in, clawing up the valleys from Nepal. But, there was the summit, luring me onward. It was a climb I had dreamed about since I was 8, and finally, after a long 17 years, I was there, close, almost to the top. Making the decision to turn around - which I know was the right one for me that day - was agonizing, heart wrenching, the hardest decision I've ever had to make in the hills.

And, I wasn't in position to be the first. I didn't have an entire nation waiting with baited breath for me to reach the top. My reaching the summit would not have meant financial security for me and my family. Mallory, on the other hand (and to a lesser extent, Irvine), had all these pressures, and probably more.

So, they pushed on, they got summit fever. It wasn't smart, it wasn't noble...It was a sad decision, a regrettable one, but strangely understandable.

Taking a new route, investigating the natural lines of the mountain, they follow the strata slightly westward, off the ridgecrest and into the clefts of the Second Step. Here they see an option, a choice: leading to the west, onward in a traverse across the face, are the strata, which seem to lead out to the Great Couloir. Again, knowing what Norton encountered four days before, they don't want to repeat his efforts. But, just to the left of them they see a break, a weakness in the defenses of the Second Step...but not much of one.

Just above, wind sculpted rock corkscrews upward to a snowy platform below a final, 15-foot, imposing headwall of vertical rock which leads to the top of the Second Step. Not easy, not simple, not secure, but a weakness, an option, a possibly opportunity. Being a skilled rock climber, one of the best of his generation, Mallory moves toward it with Irvine in tow, roped up behind.

The Corkscrew Chimney, as we call it today, is awkward and exposed. There is no grace when ascending it – at least not for me – but rather a lot of grunting and scraping and swearing and clawing. But, it's not really hard either – just awkward and exposed. And, this is perhaps the one area where a tweed coat and woolen knickers might have had a distinct advantage over a down suit: Mallory & Irvine could have seen their feet, whereas we modern day climbers are warm, but our view from the waist down is revoked by piles of down and nylon. I think, with that slight advantage, Mallory would have moved through the Corkscrew with relative ease and, from the final snow platform before the headwall, would have belayed Irvine up to him.

The final headwall of the Second Step.

And now the “fun” began. Fifteen feet. Steep. Exposed. An off-width crack to the left. A crumbly, angled crack to the right. Ten thousand feet of air directly below. No chance for a mistake. No room for error. No second chance. What on earth did they do here?

The answer never dawned on me until I started working for the American Mountaineering Museum in late-2007. My friend, Chris Case, was editing a new brochure for the “Friends of the Museum”, and chose as the cover shot a perfect image: legendary Colorado climber Albert Ellingwood scaling a steep section of rock in the 1920's by means of the shoulders and then the head of his climbing companion, Carl Blaurock. The technique is known as a "Courte-echelle".

If one were to use this technique at the crag today, you'd be booed and chastised and laughed at. It is simply not acceptable technique by today's climbing standards. But, in 1924...things were different. (This technique was noted by Ullman in Kingdom of Adventure, and also appears in a 1945 issue of Life Magazine.) And, they were especially different in 1924 at 28,300 feet on the Second Step.

Andrew Irvine, standing at over 6 feet tall, would have been a good series of hand and foot holds for Mallory. With his feet planted firmly on Irvine's head, Mallory could just reach the top portion of the Step, the point where it gets slightly less steep and some handholds appear. From there, a few scary, exposed, dangerous moves would have helped Mallory collapse, exhausted and exuberated, atop the Second Step.

(Of note is the fact that the first known ascenscionists of the Northeast Ridge – the Chinese in 1960 – used exactly this technique to get up the Second Step. The lead climber, Qu Yinhua, actually took off his boots and gloves to make it happen, eventually losing his hands and feet to frostbite...but getting through the problem nonetheless.)

Using the rope, Mallory would have belayed Irvine to the top of the Step for a well needed rest and to reconnoitre the next phase of the climb.

And from here, it was comparatively easy. The top of the Second Step leads along easy ground to the Third Step, which, once upon it, shows itself to be of little problem: a short, easy scramble leads through it to the snow slopes above.

Another 45 minutes would lead Mallory & Irvine to another choice: follow the snow directly up steep terrain, or break out onto the North Face? Although steep and daunting, I think they would have opted for the snow. They're tired, it's late, and they're amazingly close now. They don't want to risk going off to the west-southwest along possibly easier ground only to encounter another obstacle, one which they cannot surmount. So, they go straight up.

Mallory leads, agonizingly cutting steps in the styrofoam snow. It is steep, but not more so than sections of the North Col Headwall. Slowly, carefully, painstakingly, they make their way to the top. And, there, they see a great sight: the summit, the grail, the top of the world, just minutes away. It's easy ground from here, just an undulating snow slope at a ridiculous altitude.

I believe that late in the day – dangerously, stupidly late in the day – on June 8, 1924, George Mallory & Andrew Irvine stood on that lonely patch of snow on top of the world, the first people to reach the summit of Mount Everest. (There, I said it!) It was probably sunset. The temperature was dropping. They were low on, or out of, oxygen. But, there they were, exuberant, embracing, on the summit of Everest.

Jake Norton holding a photo of Mallory, his wife, Ruth, Irvine, and John Noel on the summit of Everest, May 30, 2003, after climbing via the Northeast Ridge.

And then the hard part began...they had to get back down.

What happened? What went wrong? Where did they fall, and what caused it? And, where is Andrew Irvine...and the camera?

I'll save that for Part III of this story – stay tuned.

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Thursday Thought: Dan Pink on Autonomy & 21st Century Business

It was cold, brutally cold. The kind of cold that one only seems to find in the depth of February in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. And it was only exacerbated by the fact that we were ice climbing, which means standing in the cold for hours on end with your hands above your head.

My twelve year old body was trying hard to generate some heat at the belay station atop pitch 1 of Standard Route, and my father helped with cups of hot chocolate from our little plastic Thermos. I was cold, I was tired, I hated it...but really I loved it. Every frozen, painful, fearful moment of it.

I loved it because our guide and friend, Nick Yardley, allowed me to. He allowed me to because he made it fun. And, he made it fun not by slinging jokes or doing cartwheels on the ice, but rather by allowing me to be a climber, not a client; by not micro-managing my every move, but to figure it out based on what I already new. Nick made the suffering fun by giving me autonomy, by allowing me to make my own decisions on the ice (assuming I wasn't endangering myself or others), and thereby allowing me to take deep pride in the climb and in the process and eventual outcome.

As a guide today, I try to approach every outing with clients with the same perspective as Nick did years back: to give my clients autonomy (within reason and the bounds of safety), to allow them to figure out the problem at hand, to apply their skills and knowledge creatively and take pride in the process and the outcome. I try to focus on what Nick said to me in 1986:

I guess I will have done my job when you don't hire me anymore...when you no longer need me...when you've got the skills and confidence to climb by yourself. If I tell you what and how and when and why to do everything, you'll never be able to do any of it without me. 

Autonomy. A simple concept, tough to embrace and implement. I know this more than ever as my wife and I try to effectively rear our 2 year old daughter, Lila, helping her learn the skills necessary to live a confident, creative, caring, and compassionate life.  

Author and speaker Dan Pink has some great thoughts on motivation and autonomy. He speaks a great deal about how the old paradigm of fostering productivity by applying financial incentives simply does not work as well as we think it does. As he says: "There is a mismatch between what science knows and what business does..."

Rather, he argues, we foster productivity and creativity by encouraging autonomy, mastery, and purpose. What do these fluffy words mean? He describes them as "the building blocks of an entirely new operating system for our businesses" and, I would argue, our lives:

• autonomy - the urge to direct our own lives
• mastery - the desire to get better and better at something that matters
• purpose - the yearning to do what we do in the service of something larger than ourselves

In other words, people need to feel connected to, involved in, their work in order to be successful and productive at it. They need to feel like they are a true part of it, rather than simply another cog in a big piece of machinery. And, they need to feel validated in being creative, in finding solutions to problems both current and future.

So, for today's Thursday Thought, rather than transcribe Pink's thoughts into this blog, I want to share some of his thoughts on video. I think, while very different, they echo those thoughts of Nick Yardley many years ago. They echo my approach to guiding and teaching. They echo what my wife and I are trying to foster in our children. And, most importantly, they speak to a new way to look at business, at life, at our world.

First, a short bit from PBS's News Hour on "What Drives Motivation in the Modern Workplace":

And, second, Pink speaking at TEDGlobal 2009:

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Overdue Thursday Thought: Simone Moro and the Ethics of Everest

As many of you know, Everest, and the ethical issues surrounding it, have long been a part of my dialogue here on The MountainWorld Blog and elsewhere. I often speak to groups about Everest ethics, and it is a point of discussion in many a conversation. 

And, as 2010 the Everest season ramps up, we find the usual discussion whirling and swirling about: 

• Should commercial expeditions be allowed to operate on Everest?
• How should rescues and emergencies be handled on the mountain? 
• Is it ethical to bring amateur clients to the Top of the World?
• Is oxygen use unethical on Everest, or anywhere?

There is never an easy answer to ethical debates. Much of it comes down to personal style, preference, ability, and situation. And, as a result, ethical debates have a way of simmering for years, and boiling over when the right agitation comes along. (Just look at the sorry, squabbly state of our political system!)

With the high level of debate and sometimes mud-slinging that goes with Everest each year, it was refreshing to me to hear recently on ExplorersWeb from the renowned alpinist and climber, Simone Moro. 

Moro is a climbing veteran, and one of the most respected and successful alpinists in the world today. His climbs are legendary:

• First winter ascent of Makalu in 2009, alpine style without oxygen
• First ascent of 6950 meter Beka Brakai Chhok (Karakoram) in 2008
• First solo traverse of Everest, climbing the Southeast Ridge and descending the Northeast Ridge, in 2006
• First non-Polish winter ascent of an 8,000 meter peak, climbing Shishapangma in January, 2005
• Rescue of Tom Moores on Lhotse in 2001, earning him the Fair Play Pierre de Coubertin trophy from UNESCO, the Civilian Gold Medal from Italian president Carlo Azeglio Ciampi and the David Sowles Memorial Award from the American Alpine Club

And the list goes on.

Moro, one would think, might then follow the oft-repeated mantra that commercial expedition climbing, and expedition climbing in general, is simply "not right", that it is a bastardization of the sport, as is the use of supplemental oxygen on the high peaks. These are arguments that have been posed and debated time and time and time again. 

Is there some truth to these statements? Certainly. As I've discussed here before, climbing on Everest and other high peaks of the world needs some rethinking. There are bad decisions being made every year, and people being taken up high beyond their limits and beyond their skill levels.

But, that said, everyone has their own reality in climbing. Not everyone can be a Steve House, a Vince Anderson, or a Simone Moro. And, even Steve, Vince, and Simone had to start somewhere. By demonizing a segment of our industry which gets people into, and enthralled by, the mountains, don't we in the end limit and diminish the very sport we love? 

So, back to the point, and to my Thursday Thought: Simone Moro is hoping to climb Everest this year without oxygen. A veteran of heroic, light ascents on remote peaks, he'll be walking uphill this spring with 500 others, all climbing in different styles with different prerogatives and ideas. But, Simone, in his interview with ExplorersWeb, seems OK with this, saying:

[This spring][ will be an immersion in “high altitude tourism,” but the world and the mountains are - or should be - accessible and free for everybody to live their dreams. The only thing I hope for is that everyone there is honest in declaring and understanding what a summit climb is and what it is not; the difference between a new route vs the classical; and what is oxygen use and what is not. 

Those things should be obvious, but Everest history is full of mistakes, lies, lack of sense, reality and team spirit.

Anyway, I respect everybody and hope to follow my style of alpinism and realize something unusual, different or new, even in that crowded Base Camp. We'll see if I will be able to do it or not… 

What are your thoughts on climbing ethics? I'd love to hear more!

And, for extra credit, here's a cool video of Simone reaching the summit of Makalu:

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Join Me at St. Lawrence University on Monday!

If you happen to be in upstate New York, then please come by St. Lawrence University on Monday evening, March 22nd. 

I'll be presenting my keynote Getting FITT: Climb Your Everest & Enjoy the Journey. The event is FREE and open to the public, so please come on down!

More information on the location (Eben Holden) and the event can be found here. 

Hope to see you there!

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Thursday Thought: Ego and Thoughts on the Top

I don't know who said it...Perhaps I did. But, regardless, I try to live by it:

Life is too short for ego.

Perhaps that's why in my life I've tended to gravitate toward, and be friends with, people who, while often quite accomplished, don't brag about their successes. Rather, the people I value most tend to be quite the opposite, downplaying their accomplishments, recognizing the part fortune and hard work played in their lives and, most importantly, always looking ahead with respect and reverence to the next challenge, the next mountain.

As I write this, I think of Marc Webb, my college housemate and friend who recently directed (500) Days of Summer. Marc is as humble as he's always been, and also introspective about the road that led him to success, and the road yet to travel.

In 1963, Willi Unsoeld made the first ascent of the West Ridge of Everest with Tom Hornbein, an ascent that still ranks as one of the greatest in Everest history. Afterward, however, Unsoeld refused to succumb to the pull of ego, sharing this sentiment on various occasions:

You've climbed the highest mountain in the world. What's left? It's all downhill from there. You've got to set your sights on something higher than Everest.

I've been fortunate enough in recent years to get to know Tom Hornbein through my work with the American Mountaineering Museum. Like Willi, Tom would have every reason to be less-than-humble about his life. From Masherbrum in 1960 to the West Ridge in '63, his climbing career is impressive and illustrious. In addition, he served as Professor and Chairman of the Department of Anesthesiology at the University of Washington School of Medicine from 1978 to 1993.

But, Tom is anything but egotistical. I've seen many occasions when Tom has politely conversed with climbers as Museum functions, listening honestly and intently to their stories of triumph and tragedy on Colorado's 14ers or other peaks, never making the slightest mention of his climbs unless asked directly.

And, Tom is a thinker. Climbing, I would venture, was never to Tom about something as simple as standing on top, but rather about a journey of desire and uncertainty, much like the journey of life itself.

His 1963 book Everest: The West Ridge is, to me, no less impressive, raw, and powerful as the climb it documents. Tom's prose is direct, pensive, and honest, and, at its core, reflects on he and Willi's climb not as one for the record books and soapbox, but a part of the great journey. His last words in the book make up this week's Thursday Thought:

Beneath fatigue lurked the suspicion that the answers I sought were not to be found on a mountain. What possible difference could climbing Everest make? Certainly the mountain hadn't been changed. Even now wind and falling snow would have obliterated most signs of our having been there. Was I any greater for having stood on the highest point on earth? Within the wasted figure that stumbled weary and fearful back toward home there was no question about the answer to that one.

It had been a wonderful dream, but now all that lingered was the memory. The dream was ended.

Everest must join the realities of my existence, commonplace and otherwise. The goal, unattainable, had been attained. Or had it? The questions, many of them, remained. And the answers? It is strange how when a dream is fulfilled there is little left but doubt. 

If you want to hear some more of Tom's thoughts and perspectives on Everest, climbing, and life, watch the video interview below from the American Mountaineering Museum's YouTube channel:

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Slideshow tomorrow night in Golden at Vital Outdoors!

 Tomorrow night (Thursday, February 19, 2010), I'll be presenting my Three Favorite Trips slideshow at Vital Outdoors in downtown Golden, Colorado. 

As many of you know, I've been fortunate enough to go on some pretty amazing expeditions and trips over the years. I've guided and shot images on 5 continents, working and climbing in areas ranging from the jungles of Borneo to the Kalahari Desert. 

But, the question often arises: What is your favorite expedition? Well, the answer - or answers - come tomorrow night as I discuss my favorite trips of all time...and why they are my favorites. 

Tickets to the show are $3 at the door, and benefit the American Mountaineering Museum. And, along with great gear and discounts up to 60% at Vital Outdoors, we'll also have some light food and excellent beer courtesy of Golden City Brewery. 

Want a little teaser of tomorrow night's show? Check out the video below. 

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

New video for American Alpine Club

Check out the new video for the American Alpine Club. There's some pretty stunning imagery in there, and just one more reason why if you're a climber and not a member, you should join the AAC now!

Enjoy!

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Thursday Thought: Gaston Rébuffat On Guiding

Q: What's the difference between a large pizza and a mountain guide?

A: A large pizza can feed a family of four...

Mountain guide jokes...they've been around as long as, well, as long as mountain guides, I guess. (Check out a collection of them here...but know that some are a bit on the lewd side...but all are pretty darn funny, I must admit, and may even be a bit true!)

Along with the jokes, we mountain guides have often been the subject of some degree of scorn from fellow climbers. Some climbers accuse guides of not being "real" climbers. (Not sure how "real" is defined.) Others despise us for bringing novices into the mountains. (Weren't we all novices once upon a time?)

I chose to become a mountain guide early in my climbing career. In fact, I remember exactly when it was: February, 1986, climbing Standard Route on Frankenstein Cliff in New Hampshire with our guide, Nick Yardley. Nick was - and still is - the consummate guide: skilled, strong, compassionate, empathetic, and passionate about his chosen field. He taught me the fundamentals of climbing - not just where to put my foot or swing my axe, but how to climb, how to respect the mountains, the mountain environment, and how to get into - and out of - the mountains safely, efficiently, and with at least some degree of fun.

As my climbing progressed, other great guides would inspire me as well: Phil Ershler in 1986, Bernard Prudhomme in 1987, Dave Hahn in 1988, Dave Colke in 1989, and more. All of them were great climbers, but also, like Nick, great teachers. And, most importantly, they loved to share the mountains and the mountain spirit with others. They had a deep desire to see others realize the seemingly impossible, to gain the perspective many of us find in the high, remote realms, and to learn to apply that perspective on our daily lives on terra firma.

In that way guides are, I guess, no different than teachers. The medium of course is different: mountains are our books, ropes and carabiners our pencils and calculators (or iPads). Like teachers, we guides have chosen deliberately to devote ourselves not as much to the pursuit of our personal climbing goals and dreams, but rather to the development of new climbers and in assisting them in pursuing their dreams, their craft, their passion.

So, today's Thursday Thought comes from one of the best guides ever - and, I should note, one of the best climbers ever - the late, great Gaston Rébuffat:

We were two men in a land of stone and we walked toward the same star.  I was happy to be on the drus, but here as elsewhere, my happiness was to lead a companion.  What would a guide be without someone to lead? Good weather, bad weather, easy, difficult, I need to sing the same tune as he.  That was the gift of our mountains.  Climbing to the summit, one man does his job, another is on vacation and the luxury of their efforts is friendship.

For those who are interested, here's a great video of Gaston climbing in the Alps from the documentary Between Heaven and Earth:

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.

Thursday Thought: The Storm Years

Note and apology: This Thursday Thought was supposed to come out last Thursday, January 21, 2010, but in my sick and sleep-deprived state, I hit "draft" instead of "publish", and only noticed the error now. Sorry!

*    *    *    *

I opened the mail the other day to a pleasant surprise: Volume 3 of The Colorado College Alpine Journal (CCAJ). As usual, the articles and trip reports were wonderful, replete with accounts of local epics like "Childhood's End III" on Big Rock Candy Mountain to "jungleneering" on the first ascent of "Nkhalango Khoswe" in Malawi.

But, what hit me immediately was the long legacy of climbing at my alma mater, Colorado College, and the new generation of climbers represented in the latest Alpine Journal.

From what I know, CC's climbing legacy dates back to 1914-1919, when Albert Ellingwood was a professor there and took time to pioneer many classic routes in Colorado's high country, including the famous Ellingwood Ridge on La Plata Peak and Ellingwood Ledges on Crestone Needle. While perhaps the first "named" climber at CC, Ellingwood was certainly not the last. Since his tenure, the ranks of climbing have been filled with Colorado College alums, including:

• Harvey Carter, a remarkable climber with over 5,000 first ascents...and counting
• Ed Webster, who pioneered new climbs from Colorado's Black Canyon to the Kangshung Face of Everest
• Steve Hong, who sent the first free ascent of Sphinx Crack in 1981
• Charley Mace, who's climbed Everest, K2, and recently put up a new route on Carstensz Pyramid with Hans Florine
• Colby Coombs, founder and owner of Alaska Mountaineering School (AMS)
• Doug Workman, great climber, Mammut athlete, and guide for Jackson Hole Mountain Guides
• Rob Frost, amazing climber and film maker
• Will Gadd, incredible climber and adventurer who just did the Endless Ascent at the Ouray Ice Festival, climbing "Pic o' the Vic" - a 120 foot WI4 - 194 times in 24 hours to raise money for the dZi Foundation...amazing!
• Renan Ozturk, a member of the younger cadre of impressive CC climber-alums
• And, the list goes on and on and on...

At any rate, reading the CCAJ and remembering my climbing days at CC brought to mind a classic quote by Geoffrey Winthrop Young, from his classic book Mountain Craft, speaking about the need to push ourselves in, as he calls them, "the storm years of our strength". (Not coincidentally, this phrase is the subtitle of Ed Webster's wonderful book Snow in the Kingdom: My Storm Years on Everest.) Here is today's Thursday Thought:

A mountaineer may be satisfied to nurse his athletic infancy upon home rocks, and he may be happy to pass the later years of his experience among the more elusive impressions and more subtle romance of our old and quiet hills. But in the storm years of his strength he should test his powers, learn his craft and earn his triumphs in conflict with the abrupt youth and warlike habit of great glacial ranges.

And, for kicks, check out the video below - it's a snippet of Chris Alstrin's film Luxury Liner about the first ascent of the Indian Creek classic "Supercrack" in 1976 by Earl Wiggins, Ed Webster and Bryan Becker:

Jake Norton is an Everest climber, guide, photographer, writer, and motivational speaker from Colorado.