I Work With Some VERY Bad Dudes...

To date, this was the most high profile rescue of the season and showcased to the world exactly what I've known for months... our Sherpa rescue team is the most bad ass, highly trained, hard charging collection of alpine rescuers the Himalaya has ever seen. 

Yesterday we received a report that 2 Slovakian climbers had been hit by an avalanche around 23,000 ft while climbing the extremely difficult southwest face of Everest. They were stuck, one was injured and they were requesting a rescue. Based on sat phone reports from the climbers, they were perched some 2,000 ft above the valley floor, holing up on a ledge known as Bonningtons Plateau. They could neither ascend nor descend. A long line helicopter rescue was out of the question based on the steepness of the slope and surrounding rock and ice. In order to rescue these guys, a team would have to climb up the technical face, secure the Slovaks and descend with them to standard Everest Camp 2. 

Our 5 man Sherpa team have essentially been training their entire careers for this operation and knew this was the type of mission for which they were in place on Everest for the season. Once they heard about this and what it would require of them to accomplish the task, they were like caged animals at basecamp... they couldn't get their harnesses on fast enough. 

The southwest face of Everest is unquestionably one of the most technical and challenging routes on the highest mountain in the world. Sir Chris Bonnington lead a team of Brits with the first successful summit of the route in 1975 and it has only successfully been repeated by two other teams since then. Several other teams have attempted it... all have failed, several have died.
It's steep, sustained and has an abundance of objective dangers at every turn. 

At the moment, our Sherpa team was positioned at Everest Basecamp (EBC) preparing to ascend to Camp 2 tomorrow and rotate around the mountain for the next 2 weeks as the heart of the summit season is in full swing. So, first things first, we had to get them up to Camp 2. I hopped in the Dynasty helicopter with Andrew again and flew up to EBC to help coordinate and discuss the next 24 hr operation with our EBC team. In order to move 4 of our guys and all of their gear, it would require 4 helo shuttles from EBC up to Camp 2. They would then begin climbing from there up to the Plateau around noon with the hope of reaching the Slovaks by dark. Then it would be up to them based on time, terrain, condition of the climbers and group fatigue whether they would continue to descend or wait till morning. I gave them each a big hug and wished them safety and strength as they boarded the stripped down bird in succession. Close to an hour later, Andrew had them all in position at Camp 2 and I flew with him back down to Lukla where we would monitor comms all afternoon into the evening. 

We settled in to our Lukla headquarters and patiently waited for each of the team's transmissions. They were climbing fast. And I mean really fast. Within 2 hours they were half way up to the Plateau. Another hour later they relayed back to us that they had made visible contact with the Slovaks. Then, 4 hours and close to 2,000 vertical feet of technical terrain from stepping off, they reached the stranded party. 

Unbelievable. 

They found one of the climbers to be able bodied and ambulatory on his own power. The other guy was essentially blind from taking the brunt of the spindrift avalanche in his face which left him with painful corneal abrasions. He could walk but would need guidance with his new found blindness. 

A blind dude descending Everest... I've heard that story before ;)

The team made a quick decision to start the descent in deteriorating conditions at 6pm. Ballsy for sure. We expected to be sitting by the radio till the wee hours, so we were a bit surprised to get a transmission 2 hrs later that the entire team and Slovaks had safely made it back to Camp 2. An absolute Herculean effort. 

The next morning Andrew and I headed back to EBC in a stripped down bird. A quick stop at the EBC landing pad to drop extra fuel and the two of us began the circling flight up to Camp 2 at 21,000 ft. The conditions were perfect as we crested over the icefall and entered the Cwm. The walls of Everest, Lhotse and Nuptse were glistening with fresh snow. We got a visual on the lower landing zone and Andrew deftly landed us on top of the glacier. 

I exited the helo and walked directly to our Sherpa team and bear hugged each of them. They looked remarkably fresh. 

Then I got a good look at my blind Slovakian. He had a patch over his right eye, sunglasses on and was sitting on his pack in the snow. I had him hold onto my shoulder as I led him into the spooled up helicopter. Andrew lifted us off, swung the bird down the valley and over the icefall. We landed at EBC a couple minutes later and got out so Andrew could return for the second Slovak.
The mid 40s, temporarily blind Slovakian climber was all smiles upon landing. I applied some ocular drops in each eye which quickly relieved his pain and I watched him fully relax now that his pain was gone.
He knew how close they had come to the edge and what an effort our Sherpa team had gone to in order to safely get them down. He was effusively grateful. Yesterday afternoon they were precariously perched high up on a technical face unable to escape... today, they were headed down to Kathmandu for more pain meds, a hot shower and a hotel bed. 

There is no doubt that what our Sherpa team did yesterday was of epic proportion. Their job this season was to conduct rescue operations on the biggest mountain in the world. They transcended that yesterday and took it to legendary status. 

They are my heroes. 

One self-appointed spokesman of the Khumbu newsfeed claimed from his home in the U.S. that we "aggressively inserted" ourselves into the scene to perform the rescue. It should be clear that without an aggressive approach these Slovakian men would have met a much different fate. 

The summit window is wide open for the next 10 days. I'm guessing our guys will have more work up high.
And we will be aggressive.
‪#‎beofservice‬

Sometimes a 60ft Barrier Is Stronger Than What’s Inside You

I felt the joy drain out of my body as soon as we rounded the wall and I laid eyes on it. Suddenly, reaching the summit with our 2015 No Barriers Warriors to Summits team seemed painfully out of reach.

Josh, Margaux and I had departed the team’s high camp earlier in the morning to scout the upper section of the route for our summit attempt the next day on Gannett Peak.  The previous day had been spent eyeballin the upper crux of the route, a left slanting couloir that appeared from a thousand feet below to have an anemic amount of shitty ice protecting it’s access. Even from our camp perspective we were skeptical of the upper flank conditions.  If that ramp of ice wasn’t safe to climb, the summit would be unattainable.

Gannett Peak is about as remote of a worthy climbing objective as any in the lower 48 States. Our team of 10 veterans, 5 guides and 2 photojournalists spent the better part of 5 days trekking deep into the Wind River Range of Wyoming, passing through some of the most breathtaking alpine terrain I have ever laid eyes on. Every one of the 26 miles of the approach were well-earned… not the least of which was the final mile leading into our high camp.  The “boulder field” was a linear mile of uninterrupted, VW Bug sized boulders that had the look of middle earth meets the album cover of Houses of the Holy. Our 2 amputees and 1 super-blind dude got their money’s worth climbing up, over and down each of the hundreds of massive rocks.

But in spite of all the fireball terrain and big-ass boulders, we arrived as a complete team into our high camp…. tired but satisfied and excited about what lay ahead.  All the lead up work had been done. Training was complete. The long approach was behind us. Only thing left to do was power through a solid summit day and stand on top of our objective.

That being said, my concern for route conditions grew deeper with each glance I stole of the upper route. As the sun cast down on the upper snowfield, the reflection off the snow mirrored a sheer face of what appeared to be very old, desiccated ice with a potentially broken up snow bridge leading to the climbable ice. The inexperienced eye would see it as shimmering beauty, beckoning for boots and traffic. But those of us with dozens of years climbing in variable alpine conditions knew better. We knew that weeks of higher than average temperatures would have melted the seasonal snow away, leaving only the thousands-of-years-old ice exposed. This is the kind of ice that is hard, crumbly and tough to protect. It’s the kind of ice that a few of the leadership team could handle with some minor effort… but the thought of putting our 10 participants on this terrain made my hands sweat and my spidey senses tingle.

Each of our hard charging participants have proven themselves competent and experienced in the theater of war… but their alpine climbing training consisted exclusively of our 3 training trips we had facilitated over the previous 4 months.

Not a lot.

Remember, our goal all along with No Barriers Warriors is not to make these men and women mountain climbers. Our mission is to provide them with a transformational experience that uses the mountains and rivers as a backdrop. Even from a half mile away I knew it would be tough to get everyone up and down that section of mountain safely and efficiently.

It was clear that we had to go up and lay eyes and feet on the route. As the expedition leader I knew that the ultimate “go or no-go” decision rested firmly on my shoulders, so I would need to go.  So on the morning of our “rest day” Josh, Margaux and myself departed high camp to go explore the upper reaches of the mountain.

Fun… just straight up fun. The climbing was complete with low 5^th class scrambling, glacial traverses, low angle snow climbing and splitter blue-sky conditions. We had a blast over the course of a few hours gaining an upper position. We rounded the corner of the “gooseneck” headwall and finally got close and personal with the upper couloir.

Shit.

The first obvious eye catcher was the 20ft deep, sunken bergschrund that separated the upper ice from the lower glacier. Bergschrunds are the features that form as the ice that is pasted to the steeper flanks of the mountain separate from the lower angle glaciers. Often times there is a snow bridge that exists that provides easy access on to the upper slopes. The same little snow bridge that existed when Charlie and Josh reconned the route 2 months prior still was in place. But now it was a sad little 1ft thick, droopy, unsafe marshmallow.

Well OK, we can get over that. Will take some work to get everyone over and back across that thing… but we can do it.

Then we looked up.

Above the gap we could now clearly see the condition of the ice that protected the summit ridge. Just as I had guessed...stretching from side to side of the couloir was 60ft of glistening, boilerplate hard, 10,000-year-old ice. Dripping water cascaded down its face. Once again I thought of a handful of ways we could get our crew up that section of ice but I continued to stalemate on how we would safely get everyone down this terrain.

But damnit…we knew that if we could just get by that 60ft of terrain we would have a fairly cruiser ridgeline all the way up to the summit.

Might as well have been made of 2ft thick glass.

I sat deflated as I contemplated alternatives. Each one ended in the same comment, “We might be able to get em up that way but there is no way to get them down that same section safely.”

In typical Josh fashion, the 27 year old ex SEAL continued to suggest multiple alternatives…. the best of which was climbing around the ice… “maybe we can circumvent the entire headwall. Let’s go check it out.” An hour later and some fun rock-block scrambling lead us to the edge of the headwall… and a 1,000ft sheer cliff.

No go.

Down we went… occasionally blasting out a “Fuck!!!!!” with disappointment. We had worked so hard to get here as a team and we would be going home without a summit.

Back through the sweet terrain and into camp to join up with the rest of the team. Ultimately to tell them that their much desired summit… the same summit that they had worked for and dreamed of… would remain out of reach.

I wasn’t bummed for my own summit aspirations. Over my 20+ year climbing career I have been turned around countless times due to unsafe conditions. I was accustomed to dealing with the “no summit blues”. All of the common axioms were a part of my long developed alpine mentation…

“The summit is optional but coming home is not.”

“The mountains make the music, we simply listen.”

“It’s about the journey…not the summit.”

And yes, all of this is true… but when I broke the news that we wouldn’t be able to summit, there was no cute little quote that would quell the disappointment the group clearly felt. As much as we had tried to frame up the possibility of not touching the summit, this was still a massive body blow to the group. Tears, frustration, disappointment. We all felt it. For many, it was just another one of the many obstacles that was keeping them from completing the ever-elusive “summit.”

Then the magic happened…

The team requested a participant only meeting… all the leaders were asked to step away.

Thirty minutes later we rejoined the team and listened to them request an opportunity to venture up, as a complete team to this high point… to go as high as they could… to lay eyes on this piece of unsafe terrain… to feel the power of the mountain and let it judge them for who they are… to conclude that they had done nothing wrong in this journey and to confirm that they had done everything right. It was just the mountain dishing up a shitty sixty feet of ice protected by a big ass moat.

Then I knew we had done our work. We had set the table appropriately. We had invited our guests and they had joined us for a lengthy feast. The appetizer was good… it whet our appetite and made us hungry for bigger things. The main course was delicious… we took in all of the miles and smiles and felt full. But alas there would be no desert…. the cake would not be served. We wanted to end on a sweet note but would instead have to reflect on the fact that our bellies and souls were full.

We had feasted.

The next day I began what would be a 2-day evacuation of one our participants that was sick as a dog and spiraling towards full kidney failure. He warriored through all 26 miles back to the trailhead on 1 foot, 1 prosthetic, a horse and a shit ton of grit and will.

That same day, September 11^th, the rest of the team climbed up to my same high point, took a look at the bergschrund and 60ft of ice and said, “Yep, I get it. Don’t want any part of that.”  Although there was still disappointment within, the team had now faced that barrier, looked it square in the eye and said, “F You!!!”

I heard stories of how each of the team yelled out names of their friends, fellow warriors and family that had been lost or deeply effected by the events of that anniversary 14 years prior. Powerful to say the least.

My best bro and long time adventure partner, Erik was the founding father of No Barriers. From the beginning the tagline has always been “What’s Within You Is Stronger Than What’s In Your Way.” I know that’s true most of the time.

But sometimes 60ft of shitty, unsafe ice IS in your way. And it IS stronger than you. And it IS blocking you from reaching your desired summit. And it IS NOT moving.

This is a fact of life.

When we encounter these immovable objects, it’s critical to be resourceful, look for work-arounds and think outside the box. Then, once we have exhausted all alternatives we have to come to grips with it. It’s not that I’m OK with it. I just have to acknowledge it’s existence. It’s not going anywhere. But we are. Moving on. Setting our sights on the next summit… the next objective.

And so we climb on.

It's Not About The Mountain

Typically when a team arrives on top of a well-earned mountain summit, the moment is met with a loud chorus of yee-haws, high fives and bear hugs. I’ve been a part of many of those scenes on summits all over the world over the past 20 years.

Not this time…

The 2014 Soldiers to Summits capstone expedition culminated last week with a summit of Mt Whitney in California’s Sierra Nevada Mountains. At 14,505ft, it stands as the highest point in the contiguous United States. When I first accepted the role as the expedition leader for this years capstone trip, I have to admit that I was a little uninspired with the choice of Whitney. Clearly it doesn’t carry the allure or prestige of a Himalayan peak or the exotic nature of a mountain down in the Andes. However our main sponsor, Wells Fargo, had requested in their support of the expedition that we keep our training and peak objective within the borders of the lower 48 states.  

You bet… we can do that.

In preparation for our final expedition in the Sierras, the team came together for two separate training exercises in the Rockies of Colorado. It quickly became very clear to me and my leadership team that this year’s group of injured veterans was remarkable. We had selected well. Each of them embodied the characteristics that we strive to recruit for each of our S2S experiences… maturity, a willingness to grow and heal as well as a solid, collaborative energy. More so than any of the past iterations of S2S, this team was ready to charge forward with solid intent.

We came together as a team during our trainings… we came together as a family while we were trekking towards Whitney.

The week we spent together deep in the Sierra backcountry gave us the opportunity to embrace the mountains and each other…  learning, growing and healing along the way. The mountains don’t always give us what we want but they always give us what we need.

As the morning of September 11^th dawned, all twenty of us stepped on to the summit of Whitney just as the nautical twilight was starting to cast its glow over the horizon. We took those final steps and gazed east, watching the day dawn over a country that is still hurting from those devastating events 13 years earlier. We paused to remember those that were lost both on that day and as a result of conflicts that sprang from the events of 9/11. In fact, the vast majority of the men and women on this trip had enlisted or were brought back in to active duty as a result of that horrific day…. their lives changed forever.

I’ve been on bigger and bolder mountains. I’ve been on tougher and colder mountains. But I have never been as proud as I was that morning standing on top of that mountain with those men and women. Quietly. Solemnly.

We hugged each other… one by one. Very few words spoken. Many subtle smiles exchanged with a knowing glance. We knew why we were there. We were there to remember. To honor. To heal.

Because it’s not about the mountain. It’s about the people.

Climb High
Jeff

An Illustrative Look At The MountainVision Message

This amazing illustration was created during one of my recent keynote presentations. Such a wonderfully creative way to take a look at the overarching themes I share to global Fortune 500 companies.

Avalanche Of Life

It’s that time of year again.

My yard is full of glistening snow. A handful of my fellow Colorado drivers act like they’ve never driven on icy roads before. Flames in the fireplace are a nightly occurrence. And my backcountry skis are practically vibrating at me from my gear room.

It’s time to hit the big hills, climb up them and then ski down them. And I’m not talking about shushing down slopes at Vail and Aspen dressed in your pastel unitard.

I’m talking about earning your turns.

Ski sweat equity.

Tele till you’re smelly.

Skiing in the backcountry with friends is absolutely one of the most pleasurable activities that I pursue. Even when the conditions are less than ideal… i.e. bullet proof, wind blown or just cold as balls… it’s still so much stinkin fun to go out with good peeps, skin up the flanks of some big hill and scoot down steep glades amongst the rocks and trees without the mayhem of an overcrowded ski area.

And other than the occasional gear malfunction or annoyingly painful foot blister there is only one potentially ass whoopin issue that is ever-present.

Avalanche

It’s a fact… sliding down large faces of snow is very much fun.

Another fact… these same large faces of snow react to the laws of physics in a powerfully beautiful yet devastating way as they collapse and tumble on themselves.

I’ve been in two. That’s two too many. I am making it my mission to never be in another.

This morning as I was reflecting on the potential for this season to be fat…and I’m talking phat as in phluffy… I started to consider the massive amounts of precipitation we have received here in Boulder County over the past several months (the same flood that walloped my downstairs). The hope is that this trend will continue into the winter providing us with blankets of fresh pow all season long.

I also dove in to my annual avalanche data review…just to brush up on the nature of why and when a group of innocent snowflakes up and decide they are just tired of sitting where they are and take a fast ride down because all of their millions of snowflake buddies are doing the same thing.

It was then that I began to realize the interesting parallels between the nature of avalanches and the nuances of life.

A few of the snowflakey pearls…

Understanding recent weather patterns…

            Months of history play in to what is happening right in front of you.  It’s always easy to just look at things (people) for what they are on the surface when in reality there are many issues that lead up to how things are manifesting right at this moment. There have been storms. There have been sunny blue-bird days with excessive heat. There have been days with high and swirling wind. Each day is it’s own component that create the picture that we all bring to the table. Acknowledging the past provides us more compassion in dealing with the present.

Weak layers lead to fracturing…

            It’s easy to forget that we all have layers upon layers of personality that all surface from time to time.  Although each layer sits in close proximity to the others, they are all exquisitely unique from the others. In the case of a big ripper avey… it’s always the hidden layer that is the catalyst for failure. As much as we try to hide our unstable layers…those are the ones that require the most attention. They are the ones that break.

Wind deposition can load a slope…

Wind can deposit snow 10 times faster than actual snowfall from storms. Wind will drive snow into sheltered parts of the mountain in many different directions during a storm and deposit significantly more snow in otherwise unreachable terrain. Wind is sneaky. It picks up those sweet little innocent flakes and lays them down in a spot they didn’t intend to lay down in. It’s the mystery variable that is unpredictable. Erratic behavior that leads to dangerous conditions. It's just part of it.

Being smart when traveling through sketchy terrain…

            Just because you’re not on a slope doesn’t mean all is safe. Many accidents occur to parties that are down in a drainage or run off zone. It’s the slope that’s way up high and off your radar that can sabotage you.  Being aware of surroundings and out-of-site terrain is critical.  It’s easy to become complacent in a “safe zone” and fail to recognize that the peripheral issues can slap you down if you neglect to stay vigilant.

Knowing when to stand down…

Sometimes the pieces of the puzzle just say STOP. Go home. Many climbers and backcountry skiers have an internal voice that occasionally will beckon that it’s just too sketchy today. Live for tomorrow. Ego and pride can take you up a steep slope and place you precisely in the sites of a Howitzer machine gun of a slope that doesn’t give a shit how bad ass you think you are or what mountains you’ve climbed in the past. Humility and recognition will place you back at your truck so you can plan for the next day out.

Being solid with rescue skills and traveling with capable teammates…

            I owe my life to the couple of guys I was roped up with in Alaska when I got tumbled down a hill towards a massive, bottomless crevasse. They knew how to self-arrest. They acted quickly in digging me out. They were reliable. Surrounding yourself with trustworthy and knowledgeable teammates is the only chance you have in the case that you are hit by a wall of snow. Also of importance here is for you to be reliable and strong for the other folks in your party. Careful with who you put on your rope team. A time will come when you will need them…and they will need you.

Risky but worth it. The ROI is high…

            The funny thing about avalanche prediction is… the more you know, the more you realize that avalanches are very hard to predict. You can only arm yourself with some fundamental knowledge and skills and be sure that the folks around you are also capable. Avalanches are like the funny adventure of life… they are unpredictable at best… but simply a part of the overall journey. Nothin worth doing is without consequence.

But in the end…it’s worth the risk. Some of my very best days of every year are spent skiing down mountain slopes with my buds… even though we all know the risk. The joy is deep and fulfilling. The risk is apparent. It’s just a matter of acknowledging the contributing factors and embracing them.

Find Your Bliss

Jeff