Sir Edmund Hillary: 1919-2008

Sir Edmund Hillary, First to Scale Mt Everest, Passes Away

Among all his accomplishments, the adventurer has said his work with the Sherpa people of Nepal has been the most significant to him.
By Dennis McLellan, Los Angeles Times Staff Writer
January 10, 2008

Sir Edmund Hillary, the mountain-climbing New Zealand beekeeper who became a mid-20th century hero as the first person to reach the summit of Mount Everest, has died. He was 88.

Hillary, who made his historic climb to the top of the world's highest mountain with Sherpa mountaineer Tenzing Norgay of Nepal, died Friday, according to an announcement from the office of New Zealand's prime minister Helen Clark. The cause and place of death were not immediately reported.

Eight previous British expeditions had failed to reach the top of the 29,035 foot peak and a number of expedition members had died in the process, most famously climbing partners George Mallory and Andrew Irvine who disappeared on Everest in 1924. But at 11:30 a.m. on May 29, 1953, Hillary and Tenzing made it to the top of the world.

Hillary's first words, to fellow climber George Lowe, when he and Tenzing returned from the summit were, "Well, George, we knocked the bastard off!"

Word of the British Everest expedition's success reached England the night before the coronation of Elizabeth II, resulting in a memorable newspaper headline the next morning: "All this and Everest too!"

Hillary and John Hunt, the British Army colonel who led the Everest expedition, were knighted by Queen Elizabeth; and Tenzing received the George Medal, the second-highest award for gallantry that can be given to a civilian.

Hailed as one of the 20th century's great adventurers, the 33-year-old Hillary became one of the most famous men alive, with his long, rugged face appearing on everything from magazine covers to postage stamps.
The tall and lean Hillary never expected to become a world-renowned celebrity. "I was a bit naive, really," he told the Detroit Free Press in 2000. "I was just a country boy. I thought the mountaineering world would be interested, but I never dreamed that it would have that effect on people who didn't climb." And, he maintained, he never regarded himself as a hero. "I was a mountaineer who worked to reach the summits of mountains," he told USA Today in 1998. "Even in my 79th year, I don't believe a word of the rubbish printed over the years.'

In 1985, he became New Zealand High Commissioner (ambassador) to India and was based in New Delhi for the several years. But along with the triumphs came tragedy. In 1975, Hillary's first wife, Louise, and their 16-year-old daughter, Belinda, were killed when the single-engine plane they were flying in crashed on takeoff at the airport in Katmandu.

In 1989, he married June Mulgrew, a longtime family friend and widow of fellow mountaineer Peter Mulgrew, who had taken Hillary's place as a commentator on a 1979 Antarctic sightseeing flight and died when the plane crashed.

Over the years, Hillary served as a camping equipment advisor for Sears Roebuck, lectured widely and wrote a number of books, including "High Adventure," "The Crossing of Antarctica," "No Latitude for Error," "From the Ocean to the Sky," "Nothing Venture, Nothing Win" and "View from the Summit."

Over the past four decades, Hillary spent much of his time raising funds for the Himalayan Trust. He founded the nonprofit organization in 1961 as a way to give back to the Sherpas, one of the many ethnic groups native to Nepal, who served as guides for Western expeditions in the Himalayas. By 2006, the Trust had built 27 schools, two hospitals and 13 village health clinics, in addition to rebuilding bridges, constructing drinking water systems and providing student scholarships, among other projects.

"Nothing in life can be more satisfying than being the first," Hillary reflected in 2000, "but what I'm proudest of is my work in the Himalayas." The middle of three children, Hillary was born July 20, 1919 in Auckland, New Zealand. His father ran a small weekly newspaper in the country town of Tuakau, where the family lived on seven acres that included a half-dozen cows, a large vegetable garden and orchards. Hillary's father's hobby was beekeeping, and he eventually abandoned journalism to run what had become a profitable commercial beekeeping enterprise.

Introverted and bookish, Hillary did so well in grammar school that he skipped two grades. But the gawky boy who would one day conquer Everest was shorter and weaker than his classmates in junior high school. Inept at sports and gymnastics, he suffered hazing from both his classmates and his athletics teacher.

Intending to become an engineer, he entered the University of Auckland. But, he later said, his found it difficult to adapt and lacked interest, so he dropped out after two years and went to work in his father's thriving beekeeping business.

Hillary, who first saw snow at 16 when he went on a school skiing trip to Mt. Ruapehu on New Zealand's North Island, began climbing four years later when he, a friend and a guide climbed a small peak near a resort on the South Island. In 1944, he was called up for service in the Royal New Zealand Air Force and flew on Catalina flying boats in search and rescue operations in Fiji. After the war, he returned to climbing and scaled New Zealand's snow-covered, 12,349-foot Mount Cook, which he later described as "the ambition of all local climbers." "I knew right away that this is what I wanted to do, spend my life among the mountains and the snow and the ice," he told the Detroit Free Press in 2000. "I had never been happier in my life, and I couldn't wait to do it again."

Tenzing died of a lung infection in 1986 at 72.

In addition to his wife, Hillary is survived by his children Peter and Sarah and several grandchildren.

Mt Rainier West Side Highway

This past Saturday, a small team departed from Seattle at 5am and headed up the West Side Highway at Mt Rainier National Park. Arriving in heavy snow at the Nisqually Gate, we were greeted by Deb Dunlavey, the Special Permit Coordinator for the park and who expressed a great deal of interest in telling us about the volume of snow that the park had accumulated over the past few weeks, and the expected foot over the next day. I think she may have been a little taken aback by all four of us looking back at her with excited expressions instead of either turning back or looking defeated. A little snow? Come on, it'll take more than a little snow to turn us back. We provided sat phone #, intended travel route and a quick list of our technical equipment. Once past the Gate, we moved the short distance to the West Side Highway turnoff, and prepared our equipment.


About a mile in from the Nisqually Gate, a gravelly road turnoff nestled in a woody band of thick brush that begins at 2,500'marks the start of West Side Highway, and in our case, the beginning of our trail. In summer months, a gate is opened, the road cleared, and vehicle traffic can continue another 4 miles up the West Side Highway to an intermittent parking lot. However, in winter months the snow frequently descends down to the start of the Highway- more of a name given to this one lane'd stretch of gravel from it's beginnings than to describe today's 8 lane monsters. The only winter traffic the West Side Highway sees these days are cross-country skiiers or in our case snow shoers. Judging from the lack of even a footprint in the snow where we were parked, I'd hazard a guess that we were the first group of people to visit the West Side Highway in quite some time.

We noticed straight away that the snow- falling all the way down to where our vehicles were parked- was fairly deep. So we threw on snowshoes from the get-go and loaded up. We had two snow sleds along, which were to supply us with miscellaneous technical and overnight equipment we might have needed as well as extras of what was in our pack. We were prepared to spend quite a bit of time out in the Rainier outlands if the weather soured and it came down to it. But given our mode of travel and ability to back navigate using GPS, there really wasn't much of a need for 6 days of white gas all things considered.

The West Side Highway winds its way through the deep vegetation of a Pacific Northwest forest. Filled with old growth trees so large four people couldn't touch hands by wrapping themselves around, thick, ferny underbrush completes the denseness of of what amounts to a wide range of pines, oaks, and other trees
stretching to the sky. Moving upward from the trailhead, the road only puts on a few hundred feet of elevation before reaching the intermittent parking lot but those few miles were slow going. Snow getting deeper and softer, our team pressed on breaking trail and slowly coming up behind were the two sleds.

Finally reaching the intermittent parking lot somewhere in the neighborhood of 10:30, we noticed that the snow was already 3' deep and added our snowshoe "tails"- specifically designed to add floatation to softer or deeper snow. Given that several of our team are larger and heavier guys, we were already at the upper limit of what snowshoes are designed to support. I think that's funny in a way- everything seems to be rated for an average male of 165 to 170. I weigh in at over 200, thanks to muscle mass. So for snowshoes that are designed for a little, thin guy wearing a pack, I'm already at the top end of the rating scale without even a pack on. What that means is that I sink in deeper while the little guy floats on top of the snow, happy as can be. Ugh.

We moved through the parking lot and then spent 1 1/2 hours chest deep in snow, routefinding through a half mile piece of trail that had been completely washed out by the river. It is here that you see the true unharnessed force of moving water. At one time, the Highway was able to lazily wind through the forest alongside the river. However, some time in the early '90s, winter floods erased a portion of the roadbed, thereby closing the road to vehicle traffic onward and upward to Round Pass. Over the ensuing years, the park hasn't gone in to upgrade or repair the West Side Highway, so it has continued to deteriorate. Two years ago, the washout was roughly 1/4 mile long and truly just flanked the river. After last years flooding, another full 1/4 mile of road has completely vanished, replaced by gullies and rocky strata as a new arm of the river now bubbles down what used to be a gravelly and graded path. Someone has taken a log, flattening one side to make a rudimentary bridge over what used to be an established overpass capable of vehicle traffic. 50 yards downstream, one of the 8 foot wide galvanized steel containment tubes lies haphazardly in a jumble of rocks where the flood tossed it as if a giant hand had swatted a fruit fly. Today, the waters remained calm and snow silently fell while we broke trail to the log and shoveled 4' of snow off so we could pass.

After regaining the trail and recharging for a few minutes, we continued across another ravine and then up, up, up through a series of switchbacks passing through 3,500'. Trees and branches were covered in a thick white blanket, the skies were grey and swollen with more snow to come and acting as an insulator, everything was deathly silent. Beautiful, but completely still other than the sound of our voices or the sleds scraping along behind us. Off in the distance, the sky was alive with more snow heading our way.

Still quite low considering the sheer height of the 14,410' mountain immediately adjacent to us, but with the snow building up and coupled with trail breaking, the day became long and hours more tiring. Because the nearest person was miles away, the snow was our own- pristine powder where we set the pace, broke trail and had to drag our infernal sleds behind us. God almighty those things were frustrating at times. Good because having them meant we weren't putting all that extra equipment on our shoulders, bad because sled gear would fall off, the sled would flip, or generally weigh you down. After stopping at Tahoma Pass to set up camp for the night, I could feel the sled tugging on my pack for hours- almost like the swaying one feels after spending the day on a boat.


Once at Tahoma Pass, we went about setting up camp for the night. Doc Peterson turned to on kicking off our snow shelter, Leonard and I started shoveling out a cook shelter, and Rick gathered wood and matting. We quickly learned that our snowshoes were deceiving- while we were tromping around happily, the snow layer had a current depth of over 5 feet. As we dug down, the shelters became deeper.. and deeper.. and deeper. First to be completed was the cook shelter, which we built with ledges to sit on and relax our weary legs. It had been a full 8 hours to go the 6 miles that we had traveled so we were collectively looking forward to a steak dinner, some scotch, and a warm camp fire.



For as heavy as they are, we were all thankful that we had humped in DuraFlame logs to help get a coal bed going and judicious use of white gas had a fun effect that could warm up the entire cook shelter in a matter of seconds. Ever see a 5 foot high flame? Toss some white gas on a DuraFlame for a great photo op. The one on the right is titled "Where's Leonard?" So warm.. 20 degree night air and easily in the 40s around the cooking shelter where wet clothes steamed off moisture and after a few minutes all of us were asking "hey, are your toes burning inside your boots?". Using the fire, we cooked up steaks- although the first few were seared on the outside, raw on the inside. Is this what it was like for cavemen, gnawing away on a slab of Wooly Mammoth? Nasty. While Doc P and Ricks steaks were well cooked the entire way through, Leonard and I ended up looking like something out of Survivorman- gnawing away on our steaks to tear off the cooked parts, returning a scary looking piece half the size and looking like it had been beaten with a hammer to finish cooking on the flame. Doc even went so far as to marinate his in Scotch. Serious comfort food.



After the evening whiled away, we crawled into the sleep shelter and then our bags for a restful night sleep. I think we slept for close to 10 hours that night, waking up at 8 and realizing that we had received another inch or so of snow. We finally emerged from our shelter like Groundhog Day, rubbing our eyes, yawning and blinking at a beautiful morning sun dancing off the trees a few hundred feet above us. We made my favorite mountain energy meal: bagels with cream cheese and bacon. Yum. You can't eat too many of them back down here, but up in the mountains there is little guilt to a meal that provides plenty of slow-burning fuel to sustain several hours of march. As the team packed up, the sun streamed through the trees to make our departure from Tahoma Pass a bittersweet moment. Shoveling in our area, we started making our way down the trail we had carved the day before, looking back one last time before turning the corner and striking back out on the long trip home.

Everest Schedule

As things shape up, an itinerary for Mt. Everest is beginning to form. Training ongoing, here are some of the major events:

January 05-06: Mt Rainier West Side Highway to Gobbler's Knob fire station lookout.

January 19-20: Mt Rainier summit climb up Gibraltar Ledges with Seattle Mountain Rescue teammates Scott Staton and Gordy Smith, both highly experienced mountaineers in their own right and technically competent on Rainier. Gib Ledges follows the same line as the DC route up to Camp Muir, but then ascends straight up the spine out of Muir rather than follow the DC route across to Cathedral Gap. Gib Ledges can only be climbed in winter when snow accumulates on the ledges allowing passage to the summit.

February 20-26: Mt Fuji summit climb up the Yoshigaduchi Route. Typically climbed in the summer months, Mt Fuji transforms itself into a technically challenging mountain in the winter when it is rarely climbed. Last winter I attempted this climb with Dana Demer but was turned back when the day grew late and we recognized we didn't have adequate gear for an overnight. Flying to Japan with me will be teammates Scott Staton (SMR), Sgt Brent Huntington, HM2 Pat Peterson, and LCpls Peter Leonard & Scott Schactler (A Co, 4th LSB). Staying at the New Sanno in downtown Tokyo, we will transit to the mountain via Kawakujiko Station and depart from the base of the mountain, rather than 2/3 of the way up as is possible in the summer months. Based on weather conditions, we will be overnighting on the mountain and returning to Tokyo the following day.

~March 20: Travel to SE Asia (Singapore, Shanghai or Bangkok) for stepping off point on journey. While there, meet up with old friends and enjoy familiar cities not seen in several years.

March 24 – 27: Arrive Kathmandu and check into the Yak & Yeti Hotel (http://www.yakandyeti.com/), located in the Durbar Marg district. Meet up with Henny, one of my friends who lives in Kathmandu for some shopping and touring through places like Swayambunanth Stupa, a Buddhist temple with prayer flags descending from the highly ornate steeple and situated on a small hill that offers outstanding views of the city. Durbar Square, a World Heritage Site is also a wonderful place to visit with its surrounding temples and markets. Henny and I will be grabbing dinner at one of the local restaurants and catching up while I force myself onto local time. We will also be wrapping up last minute paperwork & the prohibitively expensive Nepal Government climbing permits at this time. More on Kathmandu later- it's a wonderful city and deserves further description for sure.

March 28: The team will fly to the Himalayan foothills where we will begin our trek into the Khumbu region. After landing in the village of Lukla (9,350'), the team will meet our porters and continue on ~2 1/2 hours to Phakding (8,700').

March 29: Continue trekking along the banks of the Dudh Kosi, crossing this majestic river many times on wild suspension bridges laden with prayer flags. After entering Sagamartha National Park at Jorsale, the trail climbs steeply with breathtaking views up to Namche Bazaar. The gateway to the Khumbu region at 11,300', Namche Bazaar is a colorful village with dozens of shops and vendors, fabulous food and views of the surrounding mountains and where we will rest for a few days. If of interest, this is where we can take an early hike above town before the clouds move in to reward us with a reportedly spectacular Himalayan sunrise and views of Everest, Lhotse, and Aba Dablam. On the way down, we can visit the Sherpa Museum that displays an exhibit on traditional Sherpa lifestyle as well as a fabulous photography collection that concentrates on Sherpa traditions and Sherpa high altitude climbers.

March 31: The trek continues along the Dudh Kosi with rushing clear blue rivers and magnificent views of the mountains. We will stay the night at Thyangboche monastery at 12,887' where we will receive our Bhuddist monk blessings and find what is reportedly one of the best views in the world. Inside the monastery are incredibly ornate wall hangings, a 20-foot sculpture of Buddha, and the musical instruments and robes of the Lamas. If our group is lucky, we will get to see the Lama perform a ceremony and listen to the mystical chanting and music.

April 1: From Thyangboche, the trail drops to Debuche, crosses a wild bridge on the Imja Khola River, and then climbs to the village of Pangboche where incredible mani stones line the path. The uphill trek continues, taking us to the quaint traditional Sherpa village of Dingboche (14,250') with its exquisite views of Lhotse, Island Peak, and Aba Dablam. We will rest in Dingboche with the opportunity to take additional acclimatization hikes for valley and mountain shots if of interest.

April 3: From Dingbouche, the trail traverses along farmlands and meadows before continuing up the terminal moraine of the Khumbu Glacier. Our path skirts along the glacier’s edge to the Italian Research Station where we will dine on great Italian food and get into showers and real beds. Ahh, the Italians..

April 4: After an early morning start, we ascend Kala Pattar (18,450') and enjoy famous views of the Himalayas; then descend from this viewpoint and continue on to Base Camp on Khumbu Glacier, at the foot of the icefall.

April 5 - May 4: Doug celebrates his 38th birthday by arriving at Everest Base Camp (17,500') on the jumbled moraine below the infamous Khumbu Icefall. There we spend some time acclimatizing. The next several weeks are spent negotiating the Khumbu Icefall, entering the Western Cwm, and climbing to Camp III (23,500'). Our objective for the next 3 to 4 weeks is to establish and stock three camps above base camp and to acclimatize for the climb to the summit. We sleep at Camp III for a night or two before heading down to base camp to rest before our summit bid.

May 5 - 9: With everybody fit and acclimatized, we head back to base camp. For the next 5 days rest is top priority. We visit with trekkers, eat, rest, eat, rest, and prepare for the summit bid.

May 10 - 31: Somewhere in here, our team will climb to Camp II, then to Camp III and finally to the South Col where we place our final camp at 26,000 feet. Our summit target date is between May 15 through the 25. We will stay at base camp to wait for good weather or until the monsoon arrives at the end of May. After summiting, we will spend 3-5 days moving back down to Kathmandu, flying out of Lukla.

May 31: Return home and rejoin the working world.

Everest Beginnings

In 1996 I was in the process of leaving active duty and looking on to the next chapter in my life- Business School at William and Mary. Things were relatively quiet in the world at the time, so a 20-something single life in 29 Palms wasn't exactly something to be excited about. One of my roommates from those days- a guy named Jim Etten- was big into mountaineering and had also left active duty, heading back to his family in Chicago. The two of us were close, and over the course of several dozen telephone calls we decided to go take a shot at Mt McKinley in the Alaska Range. We planned and planned, but because of school prerequisites and other transitional issues there really wasn't any way I could have joined him for the climb. So in June 1997 I picked up the phone, and learned from Talkeetna that he had succeeded in his dream of making the top of 20,320' Mt McKinley. I was definitely jealous. But I was also very proud of my friend, who I met up with a few weeks later to hear story after story from his experiences driving the Trans-Alaska Highway and taking on the West Buttress Route. In return, I supplied him with gripping stories of Accounting and Stats class.

Two summers later, the McGilvray-Freeman IMAX movie on Everest was released, which represented the first time an IMAX camera had ever been taken to the top to bring stunning images from the top of the world on a beautiful, windless day. While watching that movie, I thought that the traditional route- the South Col Route via Nepal, would be the eventual route that I would most like to take if and when I was ever given an opportunity to climb to 29,035 feet. Of course, when living in the ranks of starving college students surviving on ramen noodles, it didn't make that sort of goal realistic. So to seriously consider Everest remained for years just an elusive dream, something that seemed attainable but not with much serious thought or effort attached.

But in October 2000 that all changed. I took a trip from Japan to Kathmandu for a week long vacation with the girl I was with at the time, and while in Nepal we took a mountain flight where you actually see Mt Everest up close and in person. What a strange experience. After breakfast at the downtown Hotel Yak & Yeti, a car arrived and whisked us off to the domestic terminal of Kathmandu Int'l Airport, dropping us off at the security line. Here's hoping "security" at Kathmandu Int'l has upgraded since 2000: You walk into a room, where you find a door with a metal detector that just so happens to be turned off. You have two lines- one for men, and a curtained one for women. What women did behind the curtain is a mystery of the ages but it seemed like they would always go in together and I'm sure that nestled away back there was a couch, nice wallpaper and a place to discuss feelings. Anyway, I walked straight through the turned off metal detector, into a holding room and was shortly thereafter shuttled onto a smallish turboprop with assigned seating. Slipping skyward from the runway, it only took a few seconds before the plane had gained enough altitude to leave the lowland clouds behind and see giant Himalayan monsters unfold in front of us. As our tiny plane climbed higher and higher, the air thinned considerably and temperature dropped in a way where everyone could see their breath inside the cabin, the tiny windows frost over and feel adrenaline surge through veins. Climbing and banking right, a line of 8,000 meter mountains line up off the left wing for a plane load of awestruck passengers to peek out at, staring with unblinking dinner plate-sized eyes. One at a time, legendary peaks roll by until there before you is the tallest one of them all. Unquestionably Everest, the pilot offers for people to come up front where a small part of the frosted over cockpit window has been wiped away. Cramped and leaning to stare in wonder, the summit seems literally meters away from the plane and it is incredibly easy to make out fine details of snow, ice and rock contours. After a few lazy turns the plane noses southeast and drops quickly back toward the mists of Kathmandu Valley, where the air is heavy with oxygen and bathed in subtropical warmth. And then it's over. 1 1/2 hours after having breakfast, you are seated back in the same restaurant having tea, unsure of exactly how you could quite possibly communicate to everyone seated around you about what you just experienced. And seriously, how do you? Especially given all the stories of yesteryear where mammoth expeditions spent months slogging through leech infested forests with backbreaking loads of climbing equipment- just to reach a point on the mountain where they could position themselves within striking distance? Here we sat, taking 1 1/2 hours to have breakfast, fly to the summit, snap a few pictures, and then make it back to the safe confines of the hotel. Surreal. But definitely tantalizing and in that brief encounter, a serious long range goal was born.

In 2001, IBM assigned me to a project in the Pacific Northwest- what turned out to be about 19 months, actually. Living in Silverdale, WA isn't exactly Seattle by any stretch. It's another 29 Palms, only this time much wetter and without 120 degree summers. About an hour away from Seattle, Silverdale is way out on the Olympic Peninsula, across Puget Sound via either a long drive across the Tacoma Narrows Bridge of Galloping Gertie fame, or via one of the charming yet antiquated and amazingly expensive Washington State Ferries. Silverdale is perfectly positioned for work at SUBASE Bangor, home to Pacific Fleet-based Trident Nuclear subs. But if you aren't married or have several kids it has zero social life. As a result, in my free time I focused on getting out into the mountains and over the two summers I was in Silverdale knocked out almost all of the major Pacific Northwest peaks in one fashion or another, meeting climbing buddies and gaining valuable experience along the way.

One day in 2004, I descended from a summit climb of Mt Rainier and when I finally had cell coverage, turned on my phone and found six voicemails from my then Battalion Commander. I called him back and heard the good news: "Pack your bags, you are heading to Iraq". After I returned, I was casually talking with Christine Boskoff, the outgoing, personable and high octane owner of Mountain Madness climbing guide service. While we were catching up, I expressed frustration at once again seeing another season slide by without the chance to pull together a viable team to go for McKinley, which I still had in my sights. She mentioned that Mountain Madness had scheduled trips, and actually had slots available if I was interested. It took me a few days to deliberate (a guide service?! Come on) but then recognized the opportunity before me and seized on it. What a great trip. I had found myself with a highly professional, extremely strong team that were focused and well prepared. Typical summit assaults of McKinley take up to 21 days round trip. We made the summit in 9, and were back off the mountain in 11 days with 6 of the original 10 making the top.

After returning from my second deployment to Iraq in 2006, I caught up again with Chris and asked her about the flag that I mailed her from Al Taqaddum, then talked about her upcoming climb in China. It was great to hear from her and she had just returned from more exciting adventures that she was excited to share. Chris is one of those people who amazes. A woman from Wisconsin who worked in a typical corporate job, she had caught the climbing bug and wanted to do something with her life. Convincing her husband that there was much more than the day-to-day grind, they approached Mountain Madness with an offer to purchase the climbing company- then in the throes of upheaval in the wake of Scott Fischer's passing made famous in the 1996 storm captured in Jon Krakauer's book "Into Thin Air". After a few attempts, the owners agreed to sell to the Boskoffs, and Chris became happy owner of a mountaineering firm. Her husband passed away, and as a result Chris dedicated herself to finding herself and putting 100% into her company. In the process, she transformed herself into a world class female high altitude climber, successfully scaling more 8,000 meter peaks than any other female in recorded climbing history. She summited Everest, too. But in iron lady fashion, she had to climb to Camp 4 four times before conditions were acceptable for a summit attempt. Her partner Peter Haebler commented that "Christine takes pain very well". Her personable nature, ease at approaching total strangers and ability to communicate her experiences in a manner that inspired others made Mountain Madness a financial success and globally one of the top guide firms focusing on mountaineering adventures.

On 1 November, 2006 I returned to IBM, and was eventually placed on a US Coast Guard job working in Elizabeth City, NC. As I flew back and forth across the country from Seattle to NC, I happened to glance at the front page of USA Today somewhere in December and my gaze stopped at a quick one sentence quip at the top: "Hope withers for climbers lost in China". As soon as I returned home I did an Internet search, and learned that the same day I had traded emails with her in China was the last day she had been heard from. Over the next few weeks I learned that she and Charlie had pushed into unclimbed territory in China and were swept away in an avalanche on unclimbed Genyen Peak. She lived as she passed, in unique settings living her dream with people celebrating her and leaving behind one hell of a legacy.

In the wake of that tragedy, Mark Gunlogson, the President of Mountain Madness and no slouch in his mountaineering experiences himself, continued to talk with me about climbing opportunities as time wore on. Inevitably, Everest came up. We spoke about it and then spoke about it some more. Other climbs and opportunities arose, and when we talked about a USMC climb to Aconcagua, he kindly offered to assist with logistics support for that trip and even offered to assist with Seattle Mountain Rescue however he could. He mentioned that the 2008 Everest climb would include another hard-charging team of strong climbers led by Willie Benegas, an Everest veteran with 6 summits under his belt and a tremendous amount of experience. The story goes that last year, he climbed to the top with his team, safely returning and then turned around with another teammate and made the summit a second time. After working with Mark and ensuring that everything was going to work out timing wise, I committed to joining the Mountain Madness team and take on the Nepal-side South Col Route.

The South Col Route is the one made famous in 1953 by Sir Edmund Hillary who along with Tezing Norgay were the first people to step on the summit. Steeped in history and one of the more popular routes to the top, our team will move from Kathmandu via air to a landing pad ~30 miles from base camp, hiking up through Namche Bazaar and Thyangboche monastery to Everest Base Camp at 17,500'. After spending several weeks of training and climbing to develop acclimatization to Himalayan high altitudes, the team will ascend through the Khumbu Icefall into the Western Cwm, up the Lhotse Face to the South Col, across the Hillary Step and onward to the summit. All things considered, we will be targeting a summit somewhere in mid May timeframe.

So now the difficult part begins. Preparation, training, and coordination. Long hours in the gym, trips to REI and Feathered Friends and calls dealing with sponsorships. Three months may seem like a long time depending on where you are (3 months in Iraq was not a right around the corner timeline), but in planning and preparing for this event, it will be over in the blink of an eye and then I'll find myself on a plane crossing the International Dateline enroute to Nepal. I'm extremely pleased with all the support and encouragement I have received from friends and family, and haven't even bothered to think about know-it-alls who think that the South Col route isn't that tough, or pish-posh the use of Mountain Madness to get to the top. In response to those people, go slay your own dragons and grow a set so you can speak from experience. As for me, I'm pretty damn psyched to take on my next adventure and am truly amazed at how the stars came into alignment for this, in the manner that they did. To me, this is more about me climbing for those who can't; seeing things that others may never have the chance to; and in a small manner, this is an adventure for all of us to celebrate and experience together.

"It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat."
- Teddy Roosevelt "The Man In The Arena" Speech at the Sorbonne Paris, France April 23, 1910

London in an afternoon

A few nights ago, I had one of those blue moon moments come along where you truly relish being alive. One so memorable that even while you are experiencing it, you know that 30 years into the future you will look back and feel like it happened yesterday- where you can still see and feel the details, remember specific sounds and in some cases, smells. I have had that feeling before, but the difference was that this time I was actually moved and overwhelmed by the environment to the point where I felt the true and intended spirituality.

On Sunday I boarded a plane for London, and was honestly not that interested in this trip. I have always used a simple litmus test as travel barometer to let me know if I just need a break: If I step off a plane and someone were to hand me a ticket for Paris, would I turn around and get back on? If the answer is yes, then I'm still ok. If the answer is no, then I need to stop to recharge. On Sunday, I was still unpacking from a previous business trip and trying to look toward December 17th, my sister's birthday and last day with IBM. Given that this trip was for an IBM conference, I was definitely having difficulty getting motivated. I still have several thousand chores to take care of before my last day- my email alone looks like what you might encounter if you decided to go clean out the attic of a home that has been in the family for 100 years. I decided that the opportunity cost of not going would far outweigh the benefits in the long run, so after 15 travel hours jammed into a window seat and San Francisco layovers, I arrived at London Heathrow 14:00 local time. There were a considerable backlog of planes waiting to land and our flight swerved this way and that to coordinate a slow downward spiral towards Heathrow’s runways on slot availability. Light, puffy clouds dotted the landscape below and one quick glance out the window in any direction revealed no fewer than seven heavies carving contrails through the sky with 747s zinging by barely four hundred feet above us.

Making my way from Heathrow to the hotel, I decided that the entire afternoon was still open for exploration. Slamming a Red Bull and grounding my gear, I hopped onto a Heathrow shuttle bus and then armed only with a map, camera and a few random Pounds boarded the next Heathrow Express train heading to Paddington Station. The London rail network is efficiency at its purest definition with each station maintaining it’s own unique charm. Paddington Station is an 1800s Victorian Era rail station that looks similar to many European open air train centers- most reminiscent to me of Gare du Nord in Paris with the major difference being in the prolific abundance of shops and bistros that have popped up.

Walking directly off the Heathrow Express platform it is possible to immediately descend down into the Underground Bakerloo Line where you can pick up a day pass ticket for roughly 5 Pounds. The Underground warrants a story all to itself given the culture that surrounds it, but that’s for another day. I moved quickly along the jammed corridors in between the Bakerloo and Central Lines marveling at the unique paintings, friezes and mosaics specific to each stop and enjoying the musicians playing away on different instruments and to different tunes. It’s so great to hear them down there, happy notes bouncing off the concrete walls 200 meters before you stumble across them. Quickly and efficiently, I made it to my target stop located within blocks of the British Museum- a top pick based on the wealth of material inside and free entrance- quite appealing in the age of a weak US Dollar.

London is nowhere near as organized as Paris or New York well squared blocks and wide thoroughfares. In many ways, London still reflects its medieval beginnings with a tight nest of streets that interlock with no particular organization. Main areas, like Piccadilly Circus are open and easy to find. But at the height of rush hour with a crush of hurried locals the streets can become intimidating and it is ridiculously easy to find yourself turned around barely 50 meters from your hotel.


The British Museum is a treasure trove of unique items that are proudly on display for the cultural advancement of society at large. However, many items in the museum are direct descendants of the Great Britain days of imperial worldwide rule. Even today, you can do the who’s who of governments that have an issue with some items here which are in dispute. “Hey, how about returning those _____ that you stole in 17xx?” For example, in 2004 Athens was deep in conversation with England to return priceless marble carvings that had been pulled directly off the Acropolis. The British response? Nope, they stay in the UK. Sorry, Charlie.

Walking into a giant atrium that welcomes visitors to the Museum, I tried unsuccessfully to gain entrance to the current exhibition “The First Emperor: China's Terracotta Army” that runs through April 2008 and features a selection of 120 objects as well as 20 prized Terracotta warriors on display, part of the 8,000+ soldiers created to adorn the Emperor of Qin’s mausoleum in 210 BC. Discovered in 1974, these larger than life statues are located in X’ian Province and is widely considered one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of the twentieth century. Since the exhibit was sold out, I took this pic of some clay figure takeoff on the warriors and then moved on to some of my other favorites in the British Museum which no matter how many times I see them am still moved by their uniqueness, beauty and cultural significance.

Topping that list is the Rosetta Stone, which is displayed right off the main gallery. The Rosetta Stone was originally discovered by French explorers in 1799 in the port town of Rosetta, Egypt and resulted in How the stone ended up in English hands remains subject to debate but all rumors point to some shady dealings in a back alley. Regardless, here it stands in all it’s splendor- the first useable tool capable of laying out a path to translate between two forms of hieroglyphic and ancient Greek thereby unlocking the secrets of the Pharaohs.


Across the museum is “Hoa Hakananai’a”, a smaller Moai which in native tongue means “Stolen or Hidden Friend” that the Brits essentially swiped off Easter Island in 1868 when the HMS Topaze arrived. The story I heard from locals on Rapa Nui were that Hoa Hakananai’a was on a long boat enroute to the Topaze before locals understood that it had been moved although given it’s 4 ton weight I have a tough time imagining the crew was able to throw the statue onto their shoulders, making off with it under the noses of the locals. Furthermore, at the time the Topaze was at anchor Easter Island natives were still actively practicing cannibals and appear to have developed a taste for the occasional shipwrecked sailor. So if I were on the Topaze crew I doubt I’d do much to press any issue, let alone outright theft of a spiritual icon knowing full well that I might end up a main ingredient in the evening’s stew. More likely, Hakananai’a followed the more common British model of moving items home from their origin: They paid off a Chief with some random item like a musket or nails who then approved of the transaction. By a strange twist of fate, outright taking this Moai from the island likely saved it from the fate of its brothers still on Easter Island. When Captain Cook first visited Rapa Nui on Easter of 1774, Moai were all upright with their ahu topknots firmly in place. But by 1868 and thanks to internecine conflict, the Moai had been intentionally toppled with many breaking in two pieces when they hit the ground. Finding such a transportable and exquisitely carved Moai likely seemed like a prize opportunity and the potential to save a piece of cultural history to the crew. Indirectly, they also kept it from eroding away thanks to lashing by the elements and sea air. With the exception of a select few that I saw on island, Hoa Hakananai’a continues to be the best conditioned of all Moai that I have seen and its intricate carving designs are stunning. You can read more about Easter Island here.

At 16:30, I stepped off again and headed quickly via the Central Line to St Pauls Cathedral, where I had a plan to finally pick up Light of the World Christmas Cards for mom. Light of the World is a painting by William Holman Hunt, completed around 1900 which shows a figure of Jesus standing by an overgrown and long closed door, prepared to knock for entry. The symbolism of the painting is that the closed door with no outside handle stands for human conscience, which can only be opened from the inside and represents that only we can let God into our lives. The St Paul’s painting is the 3rd iteration of Hunt’s masterpiece created toward the end of his life and the large painting takes up a dominating position in the well lit North Transept as part of the chapel located there. Last year when I was travelling through London I had arrived too late in the day to hit the St Paul’s Gift Store and pick up a stack of Light of the World cards for mom, who I know would love them for sending out her annual Christmas notes to family and friends.



Now determined to get to the store with adequate time, I moved quickly through the Underground corridors, emerging streetside about a block away from the cathedral. Transiting the iron gates at the back of the building, I quickly just as I heard the bells toll 17:00. “Uh oh”.. I put on a charming smile and approached a woman manning a side door that leads directly to the cathedral shop. Despite her polite, clippy dialogue, she couldn’t have cared less that I had just flown in, wasn’t getting downtown again, and knew exactly what I wanted. In typical British regimented because-that’s-the-way-it-is methodology, she proceeded to tell me that it really was pretty much tough crap that I had missed the opening hours by one minute, and I guess I’d just have to wait until my next trip to London. Asking for alternatives, she then sent me on a wild goose chase across the greater St Paul’s area to several card stores that she insisted housed many St Paul’s cards and items. After walking 10 minutes down Fleet Street past 50 Starbucks stores that have popped up like crab grass to one of her “suggestion” stores, I finally realized that she was more interested in just solving her problem by making me scarce long enough to shut her door and never then dealing with me again. Why not just send this gullible tourist on a 10 minute walking tour to a store less likely of carrying St Paul’s Light of the World cards than a Hallmark in Des Moines would. But, it worked and I left her alone to walk the streets, getting more and more pissed off at her ruse with every step.


So this is how I finally led back up to St Paul’s. Redeye tired and bloodshot, poor from the US Dollar weakness, a little sweaty from my speed walking and greatly irritated from the helpful ha-ha-on-you suggestion Easter egg hunt. I was concerned that I hadn’t looked carefully at the evening schedule for Evensong, the nightly service held at St Paul’s that I had been able to sit in on last year and which won me over as one of the most unique services I had ever experienced. To me, Evensong is up there with Good Friday at West Side Presbyterian, Christmas Eve at National Presbyterian, Cao Dai services in Vietnam and Buddhist prayers at temple in Rangoon. Last year I literally stumbled on Evensong and wasn’t even sure I was allowed to sit in until asking one of the ushers, who happily invited me to take a seat and observe. Since it was my first time at a St Paul's service, I naturally thought that I would have to sit well in the back of the church but then saw a bunch of people walking straight up front and into the center dome area. So I followed, and found a seat smack in the center of the domed area where you aren’t just sitting in a service, you are quite literally absorbed into your surroundings and feel overwhelmed by the enormity of setting. In an event that closely follows my trend of always screwing up communion no matter where I happen to be, I managed to do that in St Paul’s by walking to the front of the communion line, taking the wafer directly out of the hand of the priest, keeping it in my hand, stepping right, then taking the goblet out of the hand of another priest for a drink and then realizing that at this church, they place the wafer on your tongue and then guide the chalice. Great. Walking away, I looked down and still had the wafer in my hand. Chalk up one more church that I need to brush up on Communion For Dummies.

I was looking forward to all of this, and figured that at the very least, I’d be able to sit in on Evensong and then afterwards grab some quick food before heading back to the hotel for sleep to line up on London local time. Little did I know that I would soon experience a service so moving that I literally wanted to quickly freeze time, call home, have the family hop onto planes and then have everyone join in to experience such a memorable occasion. There are too many times that I have looked out across a mountain to a sunrise, seen a painting so moving, or laid witness to something so beautiful that the first thoughts are “I wish someone were here to experience this with me”, and that was what went through my mind within minutes of the 18:00 Advent Procession starting. Fortunately for me, I had arrived at 17:30, literally not knowing what to expect but definitely noticing that something was different this night. As I had arrived 30 minutes early, I walked with experience straight past all those people who did the same thing I did initially on my first service- sit in the outlying rows well down the corridor and away from the rotunda. Within minutes though, the entire cathedral filled to the gills and you could tell it was going to be special- the Nave, North and South Alleys and both Transepts began to fill, ultimately leaving standing room only with easily over 5,000 people in attendance.










From my central Dome seat facing southwest I slowly drank in my surroundings, relishing in how much I detail and labor had gone into the tremendous history behind this building. Gazing to the Golden Gallery 280 feet upwards from the Cathedral floor, the St Paul’s dome is one of the largest in the world supported by eight pillars and weighing over 65,000 tons. Sir Christopher Wren, chief architect of the Wren Building at William and Mary is the individual most responsible for the success of St Paul’s and it’s greatness as a structure. Working for over thirty years on the building and through tremendous challenges, he finally saw his son place the final stone block at the top of the dome in 1708 when he was 76 years old. Even at an advanced age, he still insisted on being lifted in a basket to the top of the dome at least once a week to inspect construction progress. He was that interested in the absolute perfection of his building. But here’s a man who despite the massive undertaking, obstacles and his personal status still ended up being humble enough in his beliefs that his final resting place located deep in the southeast corner of the crypt with a simple stone marker.

Between the arches spanning the main hall and continuing around the inner dome are mosaics of prophets and saints, installed between 1715 and 1888 in an area known as the Stone Gallery. Today, these paintings and murals depicting the life of St. Paul look down on you with silent approval and add to the magnitude of the event. Light sparkles off the gold and down onto the standing congregation while priests begin the service and a chill goes up your spine, thinking about how you had somehow managed to quite literally stumble upon this event after forcing yourself to gin up the energy to make the trip into town.

As the service began, the pipe organ gently played out several tunes composed by Bach, Wagner and others, the notes bouncing and echoing off the white-grey limestone walls in a manner where you feel the music, not just listen to it. The lights slowly dimmed as the priests and choir assembled at the front of the cross-shaped church, ambient light streams in through colorful stained glass windows and reflecting off gilded gold statues, paintings and ornaments. Candles lit along the aisles and within the choir lofts assume a softer flickering glow when sequenced with mahogany pulpits. In this manner, with 5,000 hushed souls captivated by the sequence of events about to unfold, a muted spectrum of colors create a uniquely warm environment in dim splendor.

Identified by St Paul’s as one of the years most dramatic services, the procession then slowly moves from darkness into the light with service aspects focusing on Advent themes of life and death, heaven and hell, time and eternity, judgment and healing. Speakers alternate between priests, choir members and selected members. All have profound pieces and articulate through thick British accents to make their words carry even more weight. Over the next hour, the congregation alternates between captivated interest in speaking roles, singing hymns and looking on with silent awe as the cathedral comes to life through lighting additions.

And then it was over and the time had arrived to leave the confines of the church. I walked with the crowd out into the evening air and made my way via the Underground back to the hotel, looking on at mildly bored riders across from me and feeling energized with new found excitement for a new day, a new experience and a new adventure that down the road I would love the opportunity to repeat. The unique aspect of this memory though is that unlike a one of a kind sunrise, this one can be repeated.

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