An Alpine Start Defined, Sort Of

Several of you have asked what an alpine start actually is. Technically speaking, it has to do with getting up at miserably early hours in the miserable cold to attempt hare-brained stunts, generally involving mountains. But that's just semantics.

When I think of an alpine start - and the excitement, nerves, challenge, and yearning tied up in the idea - I think of this passage from the great French alpinist Gaston Rebuffat:

This evening, as I write these lines, the desire seizes me to breathe the night air for a few minutes. It is winter, and cold. Hemmed in between two black masses of houses, fringed by the roofs of my narrow street, the stars seem to be moving slowing as I advance. "It's cold," I say to myself, "that's a good sign. The snow will be hard."

How stupid of me! Am I not in Paris, in the Rue des Grands-Augustins? But my street leads on to the quays where the Seine, with its sentinel trees, and the quiet night combine to recall nature, even in the heart of this great city. It is both early and late. It is the hour when mountaineers go out on to the hut terrace to scan the sky, test the wind and the snow. It is cold, and cold nights mean fine days. It is the time to light the lantern and start out....

Here in Paris I dream of high hills.

- Gaston Rebuffat, Paris, 1953

It's nearly 2AM here in Seattle, and I'm off to the Himalayas tomorrow morning. I'll be off the grid for the better part of the next two months: I won't be posting to this blog or replying to your emails/texts/facebook pokes until late October. Catch you on the flip side.

Here in Seattle I dream of high hills.

Jay

Guest Blog: Up a River Without a Paddle

Eight people cling to a thin blue rope – the only thing keeping them from being swept away from the boat and each other – as they are tossed through whirlpools and rapids. Only their blue, bobbing helmets and orange life preservers are visible. No, this is not another of Jay’s Woofer scenarios, this is a part of our trip down the Thompson River.

Jay and I arrived at Kumsheen Rafting Resort, outside of Lytton BC, on Friday night to enjoy two days of rafting. Not only did we have an awesome tent cabin (complete with propane lamp) and a great view of the trains coming and going on either side of the Thompson (which have a surprising habit of ending up in the river), but we also found that the resort had a short disc golf course (1). Our first day was spent paddle rafting down the Thompson River, which includes rapids such as Devil’s Gorge, Jaws of Death, and Devil’s Kitchen (see a pattern?) (2).

While no one was tossed out of the boat, there was plenty of swimming (including a section, described in the opening paragraph, where everyone except the guide hops out of the raft and pulls it through the rapids). The only mishap we had was when Jay dropped his paddle into the river (3). The Thompson River was also great for wildlife viewing, and we saw four very cute black bears (including a mama and two young cubs), ospreys, and bald eagles.

The second day was spent power rafting (which allowed us to run bigger rapids and run them more than once) on the Fraser River, home of Hell’s Gate, the highest volume commercially run rapid in North America. While paddle rafting was a fun and exciting ride, power rafting was great if you like to be crushed and battered by massive walls of water. If you’re thinking of 15 feet high waves cresting (and smashing) over the bow of our raft, you have a good idea of what running the Fraser Rapids was like. Fortunately, for power rafting we were all given water proof coats and pants. The effectiveness of these additional layers was, however, brought into question when, after being spat out at the end of the Sailor Bar rapid, Jay emptied a quart of water out from the interior of each of his pant legs.

After surviving our two days of whitewater, seeing two gold pans that claim to be the largest in the world (one in Alaska and one in BC), and making a very damp drive back to Seattle, Jay leaves for his NOLS course tomorrow morning, where I hope that he is able to obtain photographic evidence of a yeti.

The sister of your man without a paddle,

Carrie

Notes:
1 Sadly, we appear to have been the only ones appreciative of the disc golf course, as we were the only ones to sign up for the tournament on Saturday night. On the upside, Jay came in 1st place and I came in 2nd.
2 Jay and I don’t have pictures from rafting as both of us actually like our cameras. These pictures, courtesy of the World Wide Web, should give you some idea of our experience.
3 He claims he did this in the course of saving someone else from being tossed overboard on a rapid. That's not exactly what I thought I saw, but who am I to say?

North North America

I spent the last week and a half in the great Alaskan unknown driving back down to Seattle with my sister after she finished her summer internship in Anchorage. The highway from Anchorage to Haines, AK (750 miles) took two days; the largest city we passed through was Tok, AK, a handful of roadside motels and a few gas stations. Things to do in Tok:

The weather, as it often is in Alaska, was inclement, and, as a result, we took few pictures during the drive. We were happy to reach Haines and found the town charming and the people consistently friendly(1). We had the better part of a day free, and I made a quick hike up a nearby mountain, Mt. Ripinski. Rain and mist were constant companions, but it was a good day out. Looking up towards the summit from the ridge:

Looking down on the town of Haines through the clouds:

I didn’t see anyone during the hike, and I was (justly) worried about stumbling upon a bear. Every few minutes I’d make noise and clap to make my presence known. As I was descending I started clapping as I rounded a corner… and found myself face to snout with a moose. This thing was huge: roughly six feet high at the shoulder and more massive than a horse of the same size. We had a few how’s-this-going-to-go-down seconds looking at each other before I slowly backed up around the corner. The moose trotted up the hill, and that was that (2). The gravest threats to life and limb came during the walk back from the base of the mountain through the outskirts of Haines in several encounters with unleashed “dogs” (3). Apparently the thing to do if you’re a dog in Haines is lie in wait for a lower-48er to come along and then sneak up behind him. Then, when you’re a few feet away and your presence is realized, bark and snarl like you haven’t been fed in days. This happened three times.

From Haines we caught an overnight ferry to Prince Rupert in British Columbia. We camped on the deck...

... and the views were spectacular:

The ferry’s bar was the icing on the cake. If I'd been of age in the 1973, I hope I'd have been drinking in places like this:

We were on the ferry for a total of two and a half days. It was a great experience I'd recommend to anyone with a few days to kill in that corner of the continent.

Your (usually dog-loving) man in AK,

Jay

Notes:
1 Close to a polar opposite from my visit last winter to Valdez
2 In combination with the Wyoming Moose Incident, I think this means "I Got Moose in Different Area Codes"
3 Term used loosely here. Cross-breeding with wolves was clearly evident; additional breeding with other large land mammals (e.g., bison, bear, hippo) not unlikely

woofering

It’s early evening in the Tetons. The sun is setting over a hill to my left. A picturesque creek gurgles in front of me; I’m walking across the uneven rocks of its bed. The sky is azure and cloudless. Flecks of blood dot the pale stones. There is no wind. A woman to my right is on her knees, screaming uncontrollably. The temperature is dropping as the sun sets pleasantly. Blood flows down from her cheek from her eyeless socket.

The 10-day curriculum of the Wilderness First Responder (1) course - an intensive crash course in wilderness medicine - is packed with hands-on scenarios intended to simulate the actual stress and chaos of an emergency in the backcountry. The exercises are creative and, like the one above, use realistic makeup and props. It may sound hokey, but the theatrics work: I graduated from the program on Wednesday but can’t get some of the images out of my head, even if they were just training exercises. One of my other favorites was when, one cloudless morning, the instructors mentioned that it looked like it would rain and we should probably bring appropriate gear. I was puzzled but threw my jacket in my bag. During the exercise - a rescue of an unconscious patient at the bottom of a waterfall - they soaked us with hoses.

The course itself was terrific: the curriculum was practical, focused and thorough, and the instructors were top notch. I'd enthusiastically recommend it to anyone with an interest in leading groups in the backcountry.

The highlight may have been the nighttime rescue scenario. It was nearly dark as we were treating our patient's compound fracture when a bull moose popped out of the bushes 40 feet from us. Despite the very real danger - bull moose are actually the most irrational and dangerous wildlife in the Tetons this time of year - it was thrilling to watch from a distance (our patient was magically healed and we got out of the way) as it ambled through where we had been, lazily eating leaves. I didn't have a camera, but fortunately one of my teammates is a talented artist and captured the moment:
After roughly a month in residence at the Grand Teton Climbers' Ranch, I'm back in Seattle today. I'm flying up to Anchorage, AK tomorrow morning to meet up with my sister, and we'll be driving down through Alaska to Haines, AK and then taking a ferry through the Inside Passage to British Columbia. After a few days of river rafting in BC, it's back to Seattle by the end of August and then off to the Himalayas on Sept 2.

Your man in AK,
Jay

Note:
1 Wilderness First Responder = WFR, or "woofer" to those in the know

Not Bad to Wake Up To

The Tetons this morning, coming out of the fog after a mid-summer storm last night:

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Down in the Bayou, Pt. 2

When we told people at the wedding reception that we were going frogging, we got a uniformly reluctant and concerned laugh. Finally one person said, "Have y'all heard of [non-blog appropriate four letter word] water moccasins(1)?" I stayed in the boat.



[Press the caption button in the slideshow to get photo comments, or double click on the slideshow to go to the Picasa album]

Thanks to A. Barnette and J. Vail for photos.

Note:
1

Down in the Bayou, Pt. 1

Down in Louisiana with Pomona classmates T. Woo and A. Barnette for the wedding of our college friend L. Bishop. After a cursory tour of Baton Rouge, we drove northwest, three men in a rented, midsize soccer-mom minivan, purposely sans-navigation to encourage exploration. Our first stop was at Wal-Mart to buy frogging clothes (more on that later), and we scored these sweet hats:
We running early, so we took a turn off the highway towards a blank area on our subpar map from Avis. After we turned onto the backroads, T. Woo decided he'd be more comfortable with the door open. A. "Your Safety is Our Priority" Barnette capturing the moment (while driving with other hand):
We got pretty backwoods:
We happened upon this cool old general store...
... and after we told them we were going frogging that night, they showed us this vintage frog "gigger" (the sharp metal jaws at the end snap shut):
Later that night we had a cookout with crabs, shrimp, etc., and T. Woo pressed the locals into service (1):
The real highlight of the day was frogging at night. Suffice to say it took place on the bayou under the cajun moon, and there were gators involved. Pictures and details forthcoming in a post soon.

Your man on the bayou,
Jay

Note:
1 Sadly, this is not T. Woo's first brush with questionable child labor practices. Several years ago in Baltimore leaving the Preakness Stakes horse race, T. Woo found himself behind his group after stopping to buy a burger. For a few dollars, he enlisted the services of a Tracy McGrady jersey-wearing 10-year old with a shopping cart. Witnesses report T. Woo sitting in said cart, repeatedly shouting "Hurry up, McGrady" between bites of burger as the kid pushed him up the hill.