I took a deep breath of the thin 5,500m (18,000 ft) air, scanned the beautiful scene of jagged rocks, sparkling white snow and deep blue glacier ice around me and slowly became more comfortable in my thought that we would not reach the peak. This is always a hard decision for any climber to make but when it’s the right thing to do, pushing against it can lead to very uncomfortable and sometimes disastrous situations.
It was late afternoon when we motored from Shelter Bay Marina to the staging area in Bahia de Limon to await our pilot and extra line-handler. The past two days was a much needed rest after having just sailed over 1,700 miles from the Bahamas, around the western point of Cuba and due south across the Caribbean Sea. It wasn’t a lazy, sit by the pool with a frufy drink kind of rest. Rather it was a change from the ten days of being at sea where a constant watch is kept to ensure there is still wind in the sails, the course is maintained, the crew is rested and fed and collisions of any sort (with other vessels, drift wood, large containers or even land) are avoided.
A pod of dolphins escorted us out as we sliced through the electric blue waters, departing Paradise Island near Nassau in The Bahamas. With 15 knots of wind, our jib was enough sail to pull us along through the small swells of water as we headed out to sea. The joy and thrill of embarking on a 10-day, 1,700-mile voyage across the Caribbean Sea glowed from each of the four of us delivering this beautiful 65-foot catamaran sailboat to Panama City.
Spring means a lot of things for different people the world over. In the higher latitudes, in our case, Alaska, Spring is a particularly joyous time. Not for the grass turning green, flowers popping and gentle warm breezes caressing your face and hair, but grateful for the light.
Just one degree south of the Arctic Circle, the point north of which the sun hides below the horizon for a continuous 24 hours on the Winter Solstice, the White Mountains in Alaska, though still covered in their snowy winter coat were seeing more daylight than they have since October.
Nathaniel and I timed our ambitious 100-mile cross country ski trip through the White Mountains to take advantage of the best sun-to-snow ratio of the year, right over the Spring Equinox. Just a month earlier and we would only have up to six hours of daylight. Weeks later, the long sunny days will turn the snow to slush and slop and we’d need hip waders, pack rafts and full body bug net suits to cover and survive the same territory.
With nearly 24 hours of recovery after the Chachani climb, Forrest and I headed to the bus station in Arequipa at 6am to spend most of the morning on the bumpy and swervy roads to the small town of Cabanaconde on the lip of Colca Canyon. Once we arrived, we figured it was too late to head down into the canyon for a day hike, so we checked into a hostel right in the central plaza and went for a hike around town.
The next morning we packed up and made our way into the canyon expecting a long and hard day of going down and coming back up the 1000m under the pounding sun. Little did we know there was a great place to spend the night down along the river at the base of the canyon. We were happy to take our time and lounge around the spring fed pool, sleep in grass huts and make the steep and long ascent in the relatively cool hours of the morning in the shade of the eastern wall of the canyon that we were climbing.
Climbing above 6,000 meters (nearly 20,000 feet) is nothing that should be taken lightly. Even if the actual vertical of the climb is just over 1,000 meters (3,500 feet).
I arrived in Arequipa, Peru after three weeks of skiing up in the Colorado Rockies. I was camped at about 9,000 feet and would get up to 12,000 feet on some days while skiing. Granted, I took the chairlift, but I convinced myself this was sufficient time to be ready for a climb to 6,000 meters. I was nearly right.
Six days – five days of climbing and acclimating and one day to get down.
Kilimanjaro has no technical aspect to it and thus enters the debate of being labeled either a climb or a hike. If I had my way, it would just be called a hike, but “climbing Kilimanjaro” has a better ring to it than “hiking Kilimanjaro.”
Regardless, in the end you still end up at 5,985m (19,341ft) atop Uhuru Peak amongst the receding glaciers and upon the highest point in Africa, not to mention, the highest free standing volcano in the world.
We sailed overnight, a full day and overnight again, not quite totally without incident. We found what looked like a nice abandoned pier around 90th Street to tie on to and wait out the ferocious ebb tide before trying to motor our way through Hells Gate. This is essentially where the North River (the Hudson), [...]
Chesapeake Bay to Jersey Shore, Havre de Grace, Maryland, United States
14 May 2007
It started off as a one-day job helping move a sailboat down the Jersey Shore. It ended up being three sailboat delivery jobs over the span of a week. When people buy a sailboat, it usually needs to be moved from the previous owner’s slip or the boat yard to it’s new home. Sometimes new [...]
Hudson River, New York City, New York, United States
30 January 2007
Shawn and I departed New York City at 6.30am under light wispy clouds in an otherwise clear sky to drive about fifty miles north up the Hudson River. It took all day to get the boat in the water. We originally wanted to catch the early morning ebb. But that didn’t work out. We had [...]
I took a deep breath of the thin 5,500m (18,000 ft) air, scanned the beautiful scene of jagged rocks, sparkling white snow and deep blue glacier ice around me and slowly became more comfortable in my thought that we would not reach the peak. This is always a hard decision for any climber to make but when it’s the right thing to do, pushing against it can lead to very uncomfortable and sometimes disastrous situations.
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