Author: Tom

I’ve been back from Argentina for over a week and will be focusing on cross country skiing for the next month or two, before heading to Nepal in late March. The skiing is both great training for Everest and a bit of a “return to my roots”.

In my teens and early 20’s, I raced pretty seriously at the collegiate and national level. (This was a long time ago, when U.S. greats like Bill Koch and Tim Caldwell were making a mark on the international scene). My own ski experience included strong results as a junior on the US national level (under age 18), a “gap year” spent in northern Sweden pre-college, and four treasured years racing with the Dartmouth Ski Team under coach John Morton. Skiing was definitely my top priority in those years, and – for better or worse- a huge part of my self identity. I always thought I would keep racing after college, as many of my fellow skiers and friends did. Instead – a story for another day- I walked away from skiing and ended up spending three years traveling the world, planning and leading expedition tours and cruises.

The tour leading somehow ended up with me in business school, business school ended up with me working as a management consultant, and the combination of being a management consultant while trying to be a good husband and father ended up with me not skiing a cross country ski race for over thirty years. I have skied every year and stayed somewhat connected to the sport, but haven’t trained or raced at anything like the level that most of my former ski peers have. When I mapped out my current gap year, the opportunity to re-connect with something that had intense meaning for me 40 years ago, and that shaped me in many ways, had huge appeal.

At one point, I considered planning my entire gap year around a stint on the world masters ski circuit. I thought it would be neat to see at what level, (age adjusted), I can still perform, to see how many of the sources of meaning and satisfaction remain the same, and to see what feels different through the psychic lens of 60 year old relative to that of a 20 year old. But mountain climbing and sailing exerted a powerful pull, and I decided to make cross country skiing just a “sliver” of my gap year, sandwiched between Aconcagua and Everest. That said, the training I have been doing for the the past year and a half – aimed primarily at the mountains- has been highly similar to what I would have been doing if I were preparing for a year entirely focused on ski racing.

Re-connecting with the sport has been really fun on multiple dimensions. The first thing I did was call my good friend of fifty (!) years, “Uncle Bob”, for some advice. Bob is one of those guys who didn’t drop skiing after college, but rather has spent the past four decades coaching many of the country’s top junior racers and skiing pretty darn fast himself. In multiple, patient emails and phone calls, Bob educated me on the latest equipment and training trends. Then I called another good friend of forty-five (!) years, “YM”, who I raced and roomed with at Dartmouth, and talked him into jumping into a couple of races with me. YM went out and found some shiny new racing uniforms for us, and the team was (re)-formed!

Earlier this week, I drove up to Craftsbury, Vermont to a training center we used to frequent when on the Dartmouth Ski Team. I did a long ski through gorgeous Vermont countryside, inhaled dinner in the same dining hall we ate in forty years ago, slept ten hours, and got up and did it again. I didn’t take any pictures while skiing, but -as odd as it may be to include this – here is a photo of my room in the training center. I loved every minute I spent in that room. Partly because of its simple clean lines, which reminded me of training centers in Sweden and Norway I was in years ago, partly because it felt great to be reconnecting with that lifestyle again, and mostly because of all the beta endorphins coursing through my bloodstream after a three hour ski in cold, windy conditions.

Which brings me back to this weekend. Uncle Bob, YM, and I , (and our better halves Ann, Anne, and Jill), just spent the past two days skiing at Trapp Family Lodge in Stowe, where we have skied pretty much every year for the last four decades. The conditions were perfect, albeit on the cold side. Yesterday, we bumped into “Beaner”, (who we also skied with at Dartmouth), and the the four of us skied two and a half hours together. Today, Bob, YM, and I went even longer. If you are a cross country skier of – ahem – a certain vintage, there is nothing better than perfect “double tracks”. Here is a picture of Uncle Bob and YM this morning in perfect double tracks.

Over the course of both days, I was struck by how much of the experience felt identical to when I was doing this at a serious level forty years ago. I am moving more slowly, but don’t feel like I am. (Note: I am in possession of charts which map the inexorable annual decline in speed which starts in one’s late thirties). The other great things are still there: the feeling of freedom, of moving swiftly through crystalline winter beauty, of pride in one’s body performing, the camaraderie of sharing the experience with close friends, and how good it feels to finish up and pull on dry clothes. Above all, I was intensely grateful to be doing this same wonderful thing, in the same place, with the very same people, that I have such fond memories of from decades past.

Next weekend, YM and I are racing in a 51 kilometer, (31 mile), ski race outside of Ottawa, Canada named the “Gatineau Loppet”. Time to break out those new racing uniforms and see how we do. I’ll let you know how it goes, and what my first ski race in over thirty years feels like. Anne and Jill have graciously volunteered to be support crew. We then have a second ski marathon lined up for early March in Bretton Woods, New Hampshire.

Between races, the training will continue. Most enjoyable will be the cross country skiing, but I also need to keep getting out in the mountains with a heavy pack on my back. Can’t lose the core mountaineering strength that I built up before and on Aconcagua.

Continued thanks for following along!

Since I last posted from base camp, I have climbed to the summit of Aconcagua, (At 22,837 feet, the highest point outside of the Himalayas), descended to Plaza de Mulas base camp on the other side of the mountain, and trekked the 18 miles back out to civilization. I got back to Mendoza late last night. As anticipated, it all was exhilarating and deeply satisfying, but played out differently than expected on some dimensions.

I experienced the past ten days in several stages:

Stage 1: Moving to Camp One and proving myself

Our first priority above base camp was moving loads and ourselves up to Camp One at 16,000 feet. The climb is 2,600 vertical feet, with a steep start up a canyon, a more gradual middle section through a glacial moraine, then a super steep scree headwall up to a shelf in a valley where Camp One sits. This is all hiking as opposed to technical climbing, but physically challenging as your body struggles to get used to the increased altitude. Above it all looms the Polish Glacier, which I still hoped to climb if conditions allowed. Here is a photo looking down on Camp One as I performed my nightly tooth brushing routine:

As we carried loads, it was clear that the guides were trying to figure out how strong I was, given my desire to take on the Polish Glacier, (and, no doubt, given the fact that I am 60 years old). On the first day, Rolo, the head guide, told me that Sebastian, the guide I had hired to climb the glacier, was about to climb ahead of the group very quickly to Camp One, and that I should see if I could stick with him. This was not the way I had been planning to approach moving my 50 pound load up the mountain that day, but clearly a hurdle I had to clear. So the test was on.

Sebastian took off like a rocket. I got right behind him and tried to match him step for step. I was immediately straining. Like the start of a cross country ski or running race where you go out with the leaders and aren’t sure if you can hang on. 15 minutes in, I was red lining and wasn’t sure I could do it. 30 minutes in, I began to think maybe I could. 90 minutes in, as we approached the scree headwall, I told myself “dig deep and don’t blow this”. The headwall was brutal and I was totally maxed out, but I hung on. Then we crested the ridge. I could see Camp One not far above us, and a feeling of elation started to build.

It normally takes climbers 5-6 hours to move from base camp to camp one. The rest of our group ended up doing it in 5 1/2. Sebastian and I did it in 3 1/2. When we got there, Sebastian gave me a huge hug and said “Wow, you are super strong. Well done!” I had earned myself a pass for the Polish Glacier. He then headed down the mountain to help one of the slower members of our group. I sat in the sun at Camp One, ate and drank, waited for the rest of the group to arrive, and felt ridiculously satisfied.

Here is a photo taken over Sebastian’s back during my “test”, as we headed up the canyon toward Camp One with the Polish Glacier above us.

I describe all this not to pound my chest, (although I admit to doing so ), but because sitting in the sun at Camp One, feeling great about passing the test, was a defining moment of “Stage One”for me, and stands out even more so in the face of how subsequent stages evolved.

Stage 2: Route decision and “re-set”

From Camp One we followed the same process of carrying loads higher on the mountain, then moving ourselves up to the next camp. Between Camp One and Camp Two, things start opening up and you begin to get good views of the upper mountain

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We also began to get good views of the Polish Glacier. As I mentioned in a previous post, there are good years to climb the glacier and bad years, all dependent on the conditions of the route. Unfortunately, this has turned out to be a bad year. After record low snowfall throughout the winter, the past month on Aconcagua has been as warm as anyone can remember. Snowfields and glaciers are receding , and every day on the mountain we saw and heard avalanches at a frequency well above normal. The Polish Glacier, along with many of the other technical climbing routes, is suffering. The bottom half is severely melted out, with large fields of ice pinnacles called “penitentes” making travel really slow and tiring. Higher on the route, more crevasses are exposed and there is increased avalanche risk.

The guides were great; saying I was strong enough to give it a shot and the decision was up to me. While I felt I had a reasonable chance of summiting, I said all along that I would not take on significant increased levels of risk. Mountaineering is a lot about assessing risk and making the right decisions, and unfortunately I knew what the right decision was. So, with a heavy heart I abandoned my hope of climbing The Polish Glacier and set my sites on Plan B – summiting on the Normal Route. For those of you who recall my route sketches in an earlier post: instead of “red line up, blue line down”, I would go with “blue line up, blue line down”.

While I knew all along this shift might happen, It still involved a bit of a “mental reset”. A big piece of climbing Aconcagua for me was the idea of parting ways with the other groups on the mountain and doing my own thing, on a more challenging route. For better or worse, I have often derived satisfaction from breaking from the mainstream, (even if in reality I am less out of the mainstream than I think). In the case of Aconcagua, part of my internal narrative had been something like: “ I am going to rejoice in climbing this cool mountain, but also do it in a different way than most of the other people who come here. This is going to make it an extra special experience, and in a way confirm to myself that I am the kind of climber who deserves to be on Everest this spring”.

Now my internal narrative became something like: “While I am disappointed not to be climbing the Polish Glacier, I am proud of myself for making the right decision, and I have a great climb still to look forward to. Also, having come to Aconcagua physically and mentally ready for the Polish Direct, I can now relax a bit and enjoy fully every step of the Normal Route, without worrying about something that is overly challenging.”

With this “re-set” also came a renewed focus on being part of the group of six other climbers I had been with so far. Rather than splitting off from them, I was now going to take on the summit with them. It was an interesting group, and I liked them all. Joey and Andrew – high school buddies from Oregon in their late thirties who had been training hard for this, Bill and Heike – a couple from the New York area who got excited about mountain climbing after Bill went up Kilimanjaro, Lewis – who had been dreaming of climbing a big mountain for a long while and picked Aconcagua because “ it is way less likely to kill you than Everest and the others ”, and Karen – an avid outdoors woman from Alaska who at age 72 (!) was attempting to be the oldest woman to summit Aconcagua.

A lot has been written about the dynamics of commercially guided climbing groups and the explosion in their popularity. I’ll save most of my thoughts on this for another time, other than to say three things: 1) It is indeed striking how this dynamic has opened up the world’s great mountains to people who a decade or two ago wouldn’t have been there, 2) Whenever I start to feel a bit “holier than thou”, I remind myself that this dynamic includes me, and 3) Every time I have been a part of one of these groups, I have been struck by how much I like and respect all of the individuals involved, and how powerful a shared experience it is.

So, “stage two” ended with me heading to High Camp with our group of seven climbers, looking forward to a redefined but still exciting summit challenge.

Stage 3: High Camp and Summit Day

We took three days moving from Camp Two to High Camp, two load carry/climbing days and one much appreciated rest day for acclimatization. You really start feeling like you are on a big mountain, and the views out over the surrounding peaks are spectacular. The air also starts to feel really thin.

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High Camp, named “Camp Cholera”, sits at 19,500 feet. This is where the climbing routes up the east and west side of the mountain merge and share a common path to the summit. It is a windy, bleak place, with everybody up there worried about how they are handling the altitude and focused on preparing for their summit attempts. As you can see from this photo, we had plenty of company .

I couldn’t have been more pleased with how I was feeling. All along, I had been adapting well to the altitude; sleeping soundly, maintaining an appetite, and avoiding the headaches that plague most everybody. Despite carrying heavier loads than the other group members, I found myself easily outpacing them. Putting the Polish Glacier behind me had also let me maintain a “quietly confident” mindset as summit day approached. I knew I had it pretty much nailed, and was looking forward to it far more than worrying about it.

As on all large mountains, weather is a critical factor on Aconcagua. Punishing winds can make the summit unapproachable for several days at a time, so everyone plans their attempts around the weather windows. Our target summit day was Saturday, Jan 25 and the weather cooperated perfectly, serving up a clear day with relatively low winds .

The night before, we got our summit gear organized, forced down as much freeze dried food as our altitude influenced appetites would let us, and crawled into our sleeping bags for a short night’s sleep. At this point, Bill, Heike, and Karen had decided that 19,500 feet was high enough for them and they would sit out the summit attempt. This is a very common decision on Aconcagua , as the elevation of high camp is roughly that of the summit of Kilimanjaro and not far off of the summit of Denali.

We were up at 4:00am, with a 30 mph wind rattling the tents and making the below zero temperatures really bite. After dealing with the gruesomeness of evacuating my bowels so I didn’t have to do it later amid more challenging conditions , (apologies for this detail, but some of these things are what is least pleasant about high altitude climbing ), I found my fellow climbers and three guides standing amid the tents in a glow of headlamps. We started climbing at 5:00am. Shortly thereafter, Lewis decided it wasn’t his day and turned around, so our group of seven was down to three: Joey, Andrew, and me.

We climbed into the dark for a couple of hours, following a stream of headlamps from other climbers. Every time I looked up, I dreaded it, because the lights were rising so steeply above us. The Normal Route isn’t technical, but it is relentlessly upward at altitudes over 20,000 feet. Somewhere around a cleft in the ridge called “Independencia”, the sun rose. As we kept climbing , we were treated to the sight of the morning sun illuminating the path above us and the terrain below.

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At this point, my implicit “Aconcagua narrative “ shifted yet again. Simply put: Aconcagua kicked my ass. Out of nowhere, the altitude suddenly started to effect me. What I had been viewing as straightforward fallback hike to the summit morphed into a highly challenging hurt dance.

Andrew had fallen behind at this point, (he later turned around, quite close to the summit, at a place called “The Cave”). So it was Joey, lead guide Rolo, and me pushing upward. It got more and more painful, and I had more and more of the “dreamlike” moments that I have experienced on other tall mountains, but always been able to shake off. In these moments, it is as if I am half there in the present and half living in a dream. At one point, I had the horrible realization that, if it got much worse, I would have to turn around. That would be a totally different ending to the “no problem- I’ve got this- Plan B summit” storyline.

Fortunately, I was able to push through. The last 800 feet, as anyone who has climbed Aconcagua will tell you, is absolutely brutal. You have to navigate a steep, scree filled couloir called the “Canaleta” that makes upward progress super challenging while your lungs are screaming for air.

It wasn’t pretty, and took quite a bit longer than I expected, but I got there. I was feeling good enough to enjoy my time on the summit, and managed to get a summit photo so I could remember that I had actually been there and it wasn’t a dream.

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The descent was fine, although I was weak enough that I had to be really careful about where I put my feet to make sure I didn’t fall. I have never had to do this before when climbing with a guide, but I told Rolo: “I am kind of messed up here, so please keep an eye on me in the tricky parts; I don’t want to do something stupid”.

The lower we got, the better things got. We were back to the tents at high camp around 7:00pm and I crashed. The next day we descended over 5,000 vertical feet to the base camp on the west side of the mountain named “Plaza de Mulas”. As I did all along, I refused to engage the support of high altitude porters to carry my load, so my pack weighed over fifty pounds and my legs were shot by the time I got down to base camp. (Over the past decade, a significant number of climbers on the mountain have started paying for help with their loads. Nothing wrong with this per se, and it has created an attractive livelihood for a group of young climbers and future guides, but it’s not for me. At least not yet).

Here is a photo of my tent at Plaza de Mulas base camp, which I hobbled into after descending from Camp Cholera:

One thing is clear: given how the altitude effected me above 20,000 feet, I would have really struggled on the Polish Glacier.

The next day, (yesterday), we trekked 18 miles through desolate, striking river valleys back out to civilization. I was again struck by what a massive amount of wilderness the Aconcagua Provincial Park is, and what a great job the Argentinian government is doing to preserve it.

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Andrew and I arrived at the road a couple of hours ahead of the others. Our circumnavigation of Aconcagua was complete.

We got a ride to Penitentes, the forlorn, out of season ski village on the main road from where we started over two weeks ago. The van was full of climbers. The guy driving the van was a twenty-something Argentinian climber dude with a slick puffy down jacket and a pony tail. He was playing Pink Floyd on the stereo and, when one of the other passengers said he liked it, he cranked the volume. The music sounded really great. I stretched my tired legs out under the seat in front of me, looked out the window at the vast emptiness of ridges and canyons, and smiled.

At the faded hotel in Penitentes, I paid the equivalent $70 for a room so I could shower while waiting for the others. Then I realized that I really wanted to shave and needed a razor. The guy behind the desk directed me to a rusted trailer a few hundred meters up the road. I hobbled there, walked through a wire fence and past a couple of tired dogs, and found an old man with a long beard and overalls sitting outside in a plastic chair. With hand gestures, I explained what I was after. He went inside the trailer, got a key, took me to a small hut behind the trailer, and welcomed me to the Pentitentes convenience store. I motioned “shave” and he dug two disposable razors off a dusty shelf. I motioned “underarms “ and he produced a stick of deodorant. Then I hobbled back by the dogs, through the fence, and to the hotel where I had one of the best showers of my life.

A couple of hours later, the rest of the group arrived, as well as our gear on the mules from base camp. We hopped in the van and headed out of the mountains to back to Mendoza. Here is a photo of the main drag in Penitentes that we left behind.

It was a great climb, but not all that I expected. I experienced some of the intense challenge, moments of beauty, and feelings of deep satisfaction that I have long sought and treasured in the mountains. At the same time, I learned that I was, consciously or unconsciously, assuming a personal storyline for an experience that didn’t always hold up. As much as I was glad to be on the mountain, I am really glad to be off of it and flying home tomorrow.

In most ways, this doesn’t change my feelings and excitement about heading off to Everest at the end of March. But I do so more sober in my own expectations, and more wary of assuming I know the storyline in advance. Between now and then, I look forward to more hard training, (after a few days of recovery from Aconcagua), some cross country skiing, and treasured time with family and friends.

Hola from 13,800 feet on the east side of Aconcagua, at the base camp called “Plaza Argentina”. Courtesy of solar power, I am trying my hand at blog posting via iPhone. Please excuse format errors and other glitches. >
> It’s been a great five days since I left Mendoza. The drive up into the mountains was even more beautiful than I expected. Spectacular high desert valleys reminiscent of the U.S. west, with dramatic peaks on all sides. We spent the night in Penitentes, which is a ski area (of sorts) in the Argentinian winter and the main jumping off point for the Aconcagua Provincial Park in the Argentinian summer. Penitentes is on the main road from Mendoza to Santiago and has a desolate, low key feel that I liked. We stayed in a desolate, low key hotel that I also liked.

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> The next day, we hit the trail for the three day trek into base camp. Mules carried our heavy gear, so the walking was very pleasant. But it was still work, as the trail is constantly ascending river valleys and your body is adapting to the increasing altitude. >
> The scenery is beautiful.

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> On the third day we climbed quite steeply and travelled through spectacular mountain valleys with Aconcagua and it’s neighboring peak Ameghino in front of us. Gorgeous and exhilarating. Reminded me a lot of trekking through the upper Khumbu valley toward Everest. High, glaciated valleys with spectacular snow covered peaks rising above you.

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> Base camp is a small tent city scattered around a glacial moraine. The living is civilized by mountains standards. We have a dome tent with a table a chairs to eat in, a cook staff preparing meals, and solar power available to charge our various devices. A very international scene with climbers from all over the world. In the photo below, my tent is in the foreground. The yellow tent behind me is occupied by some amiable Norwegians.

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> It is interesting how your mood can swing on climbs like this. As we approached base camp yesterday, I was exhilarated by my surroundings, how good my body felt with each step, and how happy I was to be doing what I was doing. After dinner, I headed to my tent and lay in my sleeping bag reflecting on the days ahead. Out of nowhere, I suddenly found myself feeling a bit low. I missed Jill, felt a headache from the altitude coming on, and was bugged by the uncertainty around what route I will end up climbing. I thought about how much this climb and Everest are taking me away from my family in a self- centered way. Then I zipped up my sleeping bag and tried to get a good night sleep. I largely succeeded, despite getting up multiple times in the night to pound water and pee, which is an inherent part of the acclimatization drill. When I got up this morning, I had a strong cup of coffee, looked around in every direction, and was back to feeling great about things. >
> As on other big mountains, acclimatization is a huge deal on Aconcagua. We are taking a rest day here today. Tomorrow, we will carry loads up to Camp One at 16,200 feet and then return to base camp. We will take a second full rest day here to further acclimate, and on the following day head up to sleep at Camp One. From there on, we will move successively higher on the mountain, following the same pattern of carrying a load up to the next camp, dropping back down to sleep at our current camp, then moving the next day to the higher camp. >
> After I leave base camp, I will not have internet access until I have summited and dropped down to the “Plaza de Mulas” base camp on the other side of the mountain. That should be in roughly 10-11 days time, depending on what weather we get. So my likely next blog post will be when I am off the mountain. No news yet on whether I will be able to go for the Polish Direct Route. My gut says it’s 50-50. I will be weighing safety and probability of summiting against a strong desire to climb the Polish route if possible. I will not compromise on safety. I am prepared to accept lower odds of summiting, but I’m not really sure how much lower. We’ll see when we get there. >
> Continued thanks for following along, and for your support and encouragement!

Jill drove me to Logan airport and I flew to Mendoza on an overnight flight through São Paulo. As we left Boston, a rising full moon illuminated Cape Cod Bay. We flew by Martha’s Vineyard with the lights of Nantucket sparkling across Nantucket Sound. Really pretty. I had a nice meal, sipped some Argentinian Malbec, slept for 6 hours, and woke to sunrise as we approached São Paulo. I connected to another Latam flight and landed in Mendoza, Argentina mid day.

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I have flown frequently over the past four decades, first in the expedition travel business and then as a management consultant. International air travel still has romance and magic; at least it does for me.

Some words on Mendoza

Mendoza is wonderful: warm and relaxed, with leafy streets lined with outdoor cafes. It is in the foothills of the Andes, surrounded by desert. The greenery and agriculture are due to artful channeling of the water that runs down from the mountains. The center of Argentina’s wine industry, Mendoza produces virtually all of the country’s great Malbecs. It is also known for its amazing steak. Lots of people come here to visit the wineries, go river rafting and hiking, and explore the countryside. Everyone heading to Aconcagua passes through here.

I am staying at the Park Hyatt, which I had heard lots of good things about from other climbers. It is built around a wonderful historic building right in the middle of everything. A bit worn around the edges if you look closely, (like a lot of Mendoza), but a neat vibe and thoroughly great place to hang out.

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I am spending two days here: getting climbing permits, going through gear, meeting up with the group I will be climbing with, and enjoying the town. We leave Sunday morning for the mountains.

Some words on Aconcagua

Aconcagua, at 22,837 feet, is the highest mountain in North and South America. It lies close to the border with Chile, and attracts lots of climbers due to its height, prominence, and the fact that the so-called “Normal Route” does not require technical climbing skills. The main challenges on the Normal Route are altitude and weather. Aconcagua is very high, and the mountain can be extremely windy and cold. I will be attempting something other than the Normal Route, which will involve some additional challenges.

The route I hope to climb is called the Polish Glacier Direct. In addition to a technically challenging summit day, (more on this in a minute), a neat thing is that I will be circumnavigating the mountain. After spending one night near the trailhead in place called Penitentes, I will hit the trail in Punta de Vacas and trek three days up the Vacas and Relincho Valleys to base camp on the east side of the mountain. From there I will spend roughly 10 days moving up the mountain to progressively higher camps, climb to the summit (hopefully), descend to a different base camp on the west side of the mountain, and then trek down the Horcones Valley to Puenta del Inca. The attached photo from Google Earth gives you an idea – I will be traveling in a counterclockwise arc around the mountain.

For those of you who like specifics, here is more detail on how I am approaching the mountain and the choices I will face on summit day. (If this is more detail than you can stomach, feel free to skip to the next section!)

I am joining a guided group of six other climbers who are planning on doing the counter-clockwise circumnavigation while skipping the Polish Glacier on summit day. Instead, they will meet up with the Normal Route at high camp and summit from there. This is called the “False Polish” route and is by far the most common way people who climb Aconcagua from the east side do so. My plan, if the route conditions allow, is to split off from the group at high camp and climb the actual Polish Glacier. This is far more technical than the False Polish/Normal Route, and involves a long day of steep snow and ice climbing at 20,000-23,000 feet. I have arranged for a private guide to come along on the trip so he can climb with me on this day.

The photo below from Google Earth tries to show what I am talking about. It is effectively a “zoom-in” on the upper left corner of the previous photo. I will go to high camp with the group, then – if conditions permit – traverse across to the base of the Polish Glacier, climb it to the summit, and descend the Normal Route back to high camp. (Red line up, blue line down. ) Another mini circumnavigation of the mountain. The first half of the red line is a pretty flat traverse, then I will make a right turn and the real climbing will begin. If the route isn’t in good enough shape to allow this, my summit day will be on the Normal Route, (blue line up and down), along with the rest of the group. Make sense?

In the past, climbing a bending route up the left side of the Polish Glacier was a popular way for people with moderate technical skills to ascend the mountain. Unfortunately, climate change has caused the glacier to melt and receive less snowfall, making it icier and more exposed to icefall risk. This caused people to start choosing a more direct line to the summit up climber’s right side of the glacier; the so- called Polish Direct Route. While steeper, it has less icefall risk. However, the same climate change forces are making this route problematic as well, which is why few people attempt it these days. Conditions vary year to year. Sometimes it is pretty straightforward, and sometimes it isn’t. I am hoping this is one of the straightforward years.

Here is a stock photo showing the Polish Glacier Direct Route. This is what I hope to be climbing to the summit in roughly two weeks time. If this is one of the non-straightforward years, I’ll summit on the Normal Route instead. This will still be challenging and wildly rewarding, but my fingers are crossed for acceptable route conditions on the Polish Direct.🤞🤞

Off to Penitentes tomorrow. I will probably post next from base camp, (internet access permitting).

Early days in the gap year, but loving every minute of it so far.

I went into the office for the last time shortly before Christmas. Not a bad feeling. I’ve had a gratifying career but am also excited about the next chapter. Still, a clear sense of moving from one life stage to another.

The next day I headed up to New Hampshire to do some climbing with son Will. It was cold , beautiful, and exhilarating.

We spent the week after Christmas in Vermont. It was great to have the whole family together. I got in some good hikes with a heavy pack and some long cross country skis. I have been training hard for over a year and it is nice to feel the base solidifying.

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Now I am back in Dover, getting ready to fly to Argentina to climb the Polish Glacier Direct route on Aconcagua. Lots of packing and final details to fit into a few days. I am also still wrestling with switching email accounts, configuring a new cellphone, learning how to write a blog, etc.

The gap year is on!