Through My Eyes

2010-03-02T13:22:00.000-08:00

Culture, Culture, Questions

2009-12-11T22:19:00.000-08:00

First Ascent-a-thon in China

2009-12-11T21:42:00.000-08:00

Pakistan and the Porters of the Karakoram

2009-12-11T21:17:00.001-08:00

Holy crap, a blog post!

2009-12-11T20:10:00.000-08:00

It's been a while... Probably the most common line in any long forgotten blog. Well indeed it has been a while and although adventures have taken on new directions, life continues to motivate, educate, and be extraordinarily rad.

Coffee shop ownership is the forefront of my daily activities. New, exciting, and busy all packed into one didactic experience that tests patience, creativity, and balance. I am learning.
It seems climbing is also taking on new directions. Home from an epic season in Asia I have been given the privilege to write the feature article for next years American Alpine Journal. European mags contact me to write articles. All I want is to scale. I realize romanticizing the past with written words provides inspiration for others but I crave the future. Climbs, adventures, cultures, and camaraderie. Soon.

This post and the several above, I must admit, would not have been written had it not been for a wonderful opportunity I have been given by a friend of mine at KSL radio, Mr. Russ Smith. Tomorrow I will sit in on his Outdoor Utah program aired on AM 1160 and FM 102.7. He has motivated me to put the above pics from Asia on line and graciously given me the airtime to talk about the sport I love. Hope you tune in.

A dedicated return to the blog
Kyle

HELP! HELP!

2009-06-25T18:48:00.000-07:00

Two observations I’ve made:

1) Landfills in the United States are inundated, continuously, with items that do not belong, still have plenty of life, and/or are quite valuable to some.

2) There are people in remote mountain villages throughout Asia whose job it is to porter heavy loads over rugged terrain. They make climbing and trekking expeditions possible, their pay is negligible, and their equipment is appalling.

Maybe my two observations are blatantly obvious, especially for those of us that have traveled in remote mountainous Asia or walked around their local landfill in shock. In short, I am asking for monetary donations that will address these two issues; saving valuable goods (shoes, clothing, backpacks) from further contaminating the landfill and delivering these items to the Hispar village, a remote community in northern Pakistan.

My story:
In the fall of 2008 and with help from an AAC Mountain Fellowship grant, I spent three months in Pakistan on the Hispar Glacier trying to solo a big mountain. To heavily condense the experience, I spent twenty-four days living on a portaledge, lost forty pounds and the tip of my finger to frostbite, and tapped further into my physical ability than I ever hope to experience again. Climbing aside, the porters that made my expedition possible, by carrying heavy loads for five days to my climbing objective, were nothing short of amazing. On the strenuous return hike to the Hispar village, where many of them call home, I noticed one of the porter’s shoes. Tali Hussein’s footwear looked like some old tire scraps that he had fastened to his feet with twine. I looked at his 60lb “backpack” that was also twine-wrapped to his tiny frame. I glanced toward several days of rugged glacial moraine ahead of us. Then I noticed the appalling footwear of several other porters hiking nearby. “Their shoes aren’t going to make it,” I thought to myself.
Back in town, and through an interpreter, I found out that 22 year-old Tali Hussein had been using the same shoes for the last SIX years. I looked down at my FiveTen approach shoes that were new prior to this trip. In the last several months I had used them to cover over 200 miles of rough terrain and by American standards they were completely destroyed. Even still, my haggard shoes were far superior than anything my porters wore. And so, prior to leaving the wonderful Hispar village, I found Tali, gave him a hug, and handed him his first pair of “new” shoes, equipped with sticky rubber and all. He was ecstatic and my only wish was that I could thank the other porters in a similar fashion; after all, they had assisted me through the weakest physical event of my life.

Months later at home in Utah, I’m driving to go ice climbing with a friend who works in the return department at one of our nations biggest outdoor retailer. I am perplexed by one of his job tasks; taking slightly used clothing, shoes, backpacks, and other outdoor soft goods, and shredding them with razorblades so they are completely unusable. “The corporation has a policy that we can not resell the items, so we just throw them away,” my friend tells me. I think of the utter waste going to the landfill, I think of the countless in need, and I think of my friends in Pakistan. As soon as I get home from that day of ice climbing I begin writing a letter to the manager of the retail store where my friend works.

For the past several months the retail giant that was once destroying perfectly good items has been collecting them for the people of Hispar village, thus rejuvenating my faith in corporate policy. In September I am returning to Pakistan to attend to some unfinished business I have with a mountain. This time with shoes, backpacks, and clothing; saved from the landfill and presented to the hardworking porters that will happily use it.

Here’s how you can help:
PLEASE DO NOT SEND MATERIAL DONNATIONS. (I have collected the maximum amount of material donations that I am able to transport)
Monetary donations are graciously appreciated and will be solely directed toward costly shipping fees.
I AM ABLE TO COLLECT DONATIONS UNTIL JULY 22nd.
I can accept cash, check, or paypal.
Upon request I am able to provide contact information for the manager of the store providing the material donations.
Upon returning to the US I do plan on sharing my experience in the form of articles, slideshows, video presentations. From both a climbing and donation perspective.
I am willing to discuss any desires for reciprocation that the donator might have in mind.
Please feel free to contact me directly with any questions:

Kindly send monetary donations to:
Kyle Dempster
6228 Haven Moor Cir.
Salt Lake City, UT 84121
801-599-9043

Back from the Moonflower!!!

2009-05-24T09:13:00.000-07:00

One reason Alaska kicks ass!

Oh yeah, and stuff like this:

Managed the North Butress of Mt. Hunter to the top of the Bibler Come Again Exit in 38hrs roundtrip from Kahiltna! Stoked!!!

It was a blast climbing with Montanan Nate Opp (first time we'd ever met) and I look forward to future adventures!

Only eight weeks until CHINA!!!

Danger in the Desert

2009-03-31T21:21:00.000-07:00

Spring in the desert

2009-03-22T20:41:00.000-07:00

2008-11-12T16:43:00.000-08:00

Mothers have it the hardest. “I’m going climbing in Pakistan by myself. I’ll be home in three or four months,” I told mine. It’s an easy thing to say when you’re 25, curious about the world, and fired-up to climb. I can’t imagine what it’s like to hear when you’re 51, you’ve lost a nephew to climbing, and you have an addicted-to-adventure child. In the last 11 years climbing has taken a lot from me: most profoundly on an Arctic trip together in 2005, my best friend, fell 250 meters into his next life; and most recently 35 pounds and the tip of my finger. I regained the weight and I will adapt to the loss of a finger, but not a day has gone by that I don’t miss my cousin, my friend who opened my eyes to climbing. Conversely, climbing has given me my spirit, my reason- something my mother both understands and supports.

After a refreshing four-day hike from the town of Hispar, the porters deposited my overwhelming amount of gear at the junction of the Khani Basa and Hispar glaciers. The date was July 19. We exchanged handshakes and Inshallah’s, and I watched them disappear over the moraine. It would be seven weeks until I’d see them again. By choice I had no cook, guide, or partner, I was entirely alone. From base camp I made six carries on the East Khani Basa Glacier to the base of Tahu Rutum, a distance of eight or nine miles each way. Conditions on the glacier were good and I was able to hike about half the distance wearing only approach shoes. I never found an elevation for the base of Tahu Rutum (sometimes spelled Ratum) on a map or anywhere on the internet. I prefer to climb without an altimeter watch, so I am not sure of the peak’s vertical gain. My best guess is that it rises maybe 1,350 meters from base to summit, but it doesn’t really matter, it was long enough. I spent a month shuttling loads, waiting out a week of heavy snow, and fixing 300 meters of rope up mellow aqua-blue 50–60° ice. On August 20, I committed to life in the vertical world. I brought approximately 20 days of food, an underestimate for which I would later pay the price.

The lower 640 meters of ice involved seven days of battling significant snowfall, constant sloughing, and tedious hauling through small rock bands. I was glad to be finished with low-angle hauling as the weather finally cleared. For several days I followed a beautiful slightly left-leaning crack system. I tied four 70-meter ropes together and climbed using the continuous loop method. This allowed pitches to be as long as 140 meters, but my relatively small wall rack typically resulted in 80-90 meter pitches. Pitches were steep with cruxes around A3.
The mental rhythm I had fallen into received a little spice when a nut that I had weighted, popped. To me, the sensation of gear ripping feels like riding a bicycle across railroad ties. So I rode along, jolting through the air and finally hitting the brakes when a screamer ripped on a small nut. These were my most enjoyable climbing days: High quality granite, fantastic weather, and flawless hauling. How I had envisioned climbing in Pakistan had become reality. Unfortunately, my vision soon became cloudy.
Hanging at approximately 6,000 meters I sat through my first four-day storm. Sloughing snow quickly accumulated on my portaledge and the walls would flatten claustrophobically close to my face. The snows made any outside activity impossible, so I dangled, fighting the weight of the monsoonal precipitation accumulating on my bivy. Assessing my upward progress from a digital photograph I had taken of Tahu Rutum, it became apparent that I was not going to have enough food. While sitting out storms I’d eat just enough to keep the stomach pains at bay. Days when the weather permitted climbing I’d treat myself to a small breakfast, a few GU’s, and a small dinner, all of which totaled around a thousand calories.

My progress was definitely slowing. I was hungry, had terrible diarrhea, and hauling at altitude was becoming extremely laborious. Even still, the views of the mighty Karakoram and a few days of good weather were motivation to keep climbing. After another 200 meters of steep aesthetic crack systems the wall began to roll over. I set up my portaledge at approximately 6,200 meters and almost immediately another storm blew in.

September 10, my 21st day on Tahu Rutum. I awoke early to a completely cloudless sky and immediately began my summit attempt. I had one energy bar, two GU’s, some Tang, a stove, snow/ice gear, and the infinitely important summit costume. After I had jugged a previous day’s fixed line and climbed another 70-meter pitch, the snows returned, the wind was howling, and the temperature had dropped. I managed another 170 meters of climbing through deteriorating rock quality. What I had thought was going to be slabby terrain in-fact remained quite vertical yet still amazingly featured.
At 6,500 meters I reached the steep snow and ice ridgeline leading to the summit…and I had had enough. It was snowing with 40 mph winds, the earth had rotated the expanse of the Karakoram into complete darkness, and my headlamp was near dead; I was dehydrated and malnourished. I was stoked on my effort and the decision was easy. I bailed.
The isolated hours rappelling in the dark had a bleak joyfulness to them. I was worked beyond any previous understanding of the condition, but I was headed toward family, friends, and most importantly, food. Thirty hours after leaving I returned to my portaledge, ate the very last of my food, and passed out. The next day, I embarked on what I hoped to be a three-day, foodless, return to base camp.

As predicted I took two full days to rappel the wall. No supplies or gear were left except for three bolts and one rivet that were placed on the descent. Wrestling haul bags and stuck ropes required me to take a full day of rest once I had reached level ground. My body was rapidly weakening and the universe still had a hefty test in store.
The snows that had fallen during my last 24 days of vertical living, now lay unconsolidated on the East Khani Basa Glacier. Assessing my rapidly deteriorating health, the continuously falling snow, and the eight-mile trip to base camp, I decided to leave my two haul bags of climbing gear in a rocky outcropping. Deep down I knew I couldn’t return-at least not this year. Who knows? Maybe the porters will make a winter siege of my equipment, and if they do, I will not be bummed. In a country with an 8% unemployment rate and an even greater underemployment issue, there is surprisingly a market for climbing gear. In the northern villages where opportunities for work are slim, the earnings from the sale of my equipment, would definitely help with their difficult lives. Not to mention be hard earned.

Fasting is defined as “the complete abstinence from all substances except pure water, in an environment of total rest.” I have a problem when it comes to exercise and climbing, I tend to binge, and this year I came close to overdosing. I hadn’t been in an “environment of total rest” in eight months, and for the previous two months I hadn’t even received a break.
I packed my backpack with necessities: sleeping bag, stove, clothes, and electronics. With intense hunger I began postholing toward wellness. It took me two painfully long days to make it back to camp; they were my fourth and fifth days without food. My pace slowed to “dangerous.” Many times I fell to the ground, taking several minutes to stagger back to my feet. Anytime I stopped painful diarrhea would start, blood red entwined with white gooey stuff that I presumed was muscle. It was obvious with each slow and agonizing step that my body was shutting down, eating itself. It’s amazing how the universe always has a way of balancing itself out; my physical strength had been taken but my mind had never been more clear. I was never worried or frightened for there was no sense in it. Motivated by friends and family, focused on food, and deeply conscious of necessities, I just kept trudging.

Two weeks later, at the Salt Lake City airport, tears were streaming down my mother’s face. It was obvious that she had been fighting her own battle dealing with the stress that comes from having a child at a physical breaking point, alone in Pakistan. It was then that I realized I had had it easy.

Out there... Way out there

2008-07-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

At 7 p.m. the light in the city of Islamabad dims to a hazy yellow. So too, drops the incessant mid-day heat to a manageable blend of humidity, temperature, and breeze. The day is closing and the crickets rejoice from the cool depths of the cities overwhelming and abundant greenery. The hour apparently marks a shift change for the flying animals of the skyline. Crows, hawks, and robins collapse their wings and lower their intentions to ground level thus allowing airspace for the fruit bats. Medieval monsters with four foot wing spans who stalk the carcasses of mango, peach, and apple. The melody of the streets changes from the midday buzz of automobile horns and street vendors to the sounds of days end. I enjoy being constantly lost in translation but I find evening the most rewarding time to lurk about. Men and children stroll about the streets with the intention just too; women elaborately cloaked in beautifully colored and embroidered shalwar kameez follow, always slightly behind their husbands and his male acquaintances. On any and every block one can join, or in my case, watch a game of cricket. I am as confused watching this as I am watching the Pakistani sportsman’s other option, field hockey. The national jasmine and rose garden has become a personal favorite and its purifying aromas have cleansed my mind almost every night since I have been here. I can only imagine the garden’s vibrancy during peak bloom, however with precise care the ground crew has managed to maintain a kaleidoscope of pastel, splashed against a towering eucalyptus tree back drop and low hanging light, it is Elysium on the outskirts of chaos. This polarity is not unique to Islamabad, nor Pakistan from what I am told and read. Heartening poverty and gaudy wealth disturbingly intertwine. Landcruisers and rickshaws, Armani and rags, hair gel and fleas, over fed bellies, skin and ribs. It is difficult to find a westerners place in it all, do I give money or lecture on greater good? It is not my place.

My place has been a difficult one to find. This is by far the most intimidating (at first) culture I have ever submersed myself. Pakistani Muslims pass me on the street with a look of stern curiosity. I have exchanged their glance with a very humble and half hearted smile, quickly followed by a shy lowering of my vision to the step ahead. I wish I knew what my hosts think of my ‘greeting’ (or lack thereof) but either respected or rejected I am realizing it does not get me any deeper into this culture that both myself and much of the Western world needs a better understanding. Sad to say, but I imagine 25 years of American media scare tactics have had an effect on me. But my eyes are beginning to open. And while I still do not openly admit I am from the ‘big bold’ UNITED STATES (I have chosen Spain as my home country, which apparently was a good decision because as I was told by an elderly Pakistani, “Muslims once used the Straight of Gibraltar as an immigration route.” To which I replied, “Yes of course, what a beautiful part of Spain”) I do feel I am warming up to my hosts. I can only thank them for this as everyone I have met shares only kindness, willingness to talk, and generosity. This is backed by confirmation again and again that Pakistan is a safe place to travel. Pakistani newspapers speak of America’s bullying of the country and opinion articles express residents fear and opposition of the “homeland” moving in to fight its “war on whatever.” “If it wants to help, American should do as Mr. Mortensen,” I heard yesterday.

I could go on and on. I am quickly falling in love with Pakistan. But in order to wrap it up, the reason for my coming to Pakistan looms to the north of where I sit here and write. I read more and more about the mighty northern mountains but it does no good, I know the stories, I’ve seen the pictures. My appetite will soon be catered and I will ravenously feast upon buffet ala’ Karakoram… Tahu Rutum will be my first plate.

Wow, that last line was a little outrageous. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the North. I’m quite excited and unsure when we will speak next my friends. Please know I am thinking of you all, I love you all, and this is the time of our fucking lives!!!

Lastly, but certainly first in importance I want to tell you about my Pakistani friend Karrar Haidri who has been jumping through the many bureaucratic hoops required to attain a climbing permit here in Pakistan. He has been more than kind and I encourage you all, if considering an expedition to the Land of Purity, to contact him. He has two websites http://www.saltorosummits.com/ and http://www.k2climb.net/ Contact him and dream big!

Woohoo!
And a Stone Chicken bakaaaaa!
Kyle

A Mental Flight

2008-07-01T16:26:00.000-07:00

Just ended a 40hr workweek…construction, driving to Wendover NV as I type, I almost wish it were to party, but no, more work, concert stuff. Could not be more psyched! It seems as though Denali was ages ago, how time flies, sometimes too fast for my speed, do you ever wish it would just slow down? I’m sitting in the back seat, watching the sun go down over the distant salt flats. Quite a different setting than a month ago, freezing cold and all fucked up from the altitude, oh how quickly you forget the suffering when its sooooo hot. 95+F these days! Zack passes me the cornhusk pipe and I loose myself in the tunes. My mind drifts…..

……summit day was amazing, completely unexpected, and fucking unreal! My lil’ sis wasn’t faring so well; a good three thousand feet higher than ever before, she awoke at 17,100 ft with debilitating nausea and terrible cold. I helped her into her harness and put her crampons on for her. So stoked she had even made it this high, what a bad ass! Erin and I looked at each other and both knew there was no way we were going to make it. We have to at least try. One foot in front of the other, one step at time, each taking us deeper into the purity and further from oxygen. 20,320 at –30F is a trip, feels kinda like doing some drug for the first time, in fact it was a first for all of us. How could it be any better, two weeks of clear and cold weather, ahead of the crowds, with great family, and deeply inhaling the cleanest air my lungs have ever absorbed. The cold didn’t matter, standing on nature’s outstretched finger pointing out of the clouds and toward the bright sunshine. If heaven does exist it can’t be this high, people wouldn’t make it. Never before had I felt such a sense of pride as when I hugged my sister, she spoke simply of the trek, having forgotten her condition 10hrs prior.

My body shuddered and my legs became weightless as Erin withdrew the zip lock bag from his backpack. For three years I had been curiously anticipating when this moment would come. It caught me off guard, the tears and snot started streaming down my face, it was the second time Alaska would make me weep. Mentally, the remembrance of my cousin Drew, his spirit, and his teachings have been and will continue to be thoughts that I carry with me and disperse about the world. But physically, the scattering of his ashes, his being, is an occasion I’ve always felt more appropriately initiated by his immediate family. Still it is an event not chosen by human desire, but selected by the universe, Drew, and the majesty of the mountains. The summit of Denali is natural perfection, Drew chose well. Erin knelt, his younger brother scattered below him on the immense south face of Denali, he screamed toward space, healing I suppose. My sister stood tall, a puffball of cloths. My tears and snot froze to my jacket and I smiled, in love with the sweetness.

Couldn't be better
Kyle

Alone

2008-06-24T16:44:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have felt the need, to be alone and away, you understand. It’s when the confusion, noise, and fuckedupness of the world get to you. You’re drowning in the rat race and chocking on its meticulous bullshit. Or maybe it’s when you get hurt and you feel like you could explode.
I really don’t have any of these feelings, and I’m totally psyched on life’s sweetness, but I have in the past and definitely understand the benefits of being alone. It’s a mental cleanse. There’s a deep healing that comes from being about and away and by ones self. Loneliness it is not, you have your thoughts quiet and clear as the natural world you submerse yourself in. Incorporate wall climbing into your solitude and your brain as well as your body, gain a challenge that both success and failure will bring you to a new understanding about the world and an individual’s abilities.

When I first stumbled on the photo of Tahu Ratum captivation took hold. Then I read the caption, “The West face of Tahu Ratum (6651m) viewed from the Khani Basa glacier. The face is unclimbed and unattempted with the mountain's first ascent coming from the south-east by way of the Tahu Ratum Glacier (in 1977). The centre and right peaks have no name.” I was instantly committed, my heart has found its place and I am going to Pakistan.
I tried to tempt my newly discovered granite sweetness, in the face of my friend Mike Libecki, but it didn’t work. Mike and I had planned a trip to China this summer but due to the Olympics, our permit was denied, security reasons; no rock climbing terrorists or something. Yet another reason to protest this years games. Mike is headed to Greenland for some solo time, he is following his heart and that is why he is my friend and I hold him in the highest respect.
All my life I have heard about the political and military instability of Northern Pakistan. Most recently, the media portrays a war torn world where misguided missiles kill innocent civilians, an area on the brink of full chaos. Yet books I’ve read, visitors I’ve spoken with, and the Pakistanis I’ve been emailing, speak of a beautiful land of towering unclimbed peaks. Shimmering alpine lakes smothered in green grassy valleys. Kind, yet poor, people who are willing to help for their meager daily wage.
I am going to climb and wander, to see and judge Pakistan for myself, by myself. I will be thinking of you all, my friends, and allude to you my discoveries, both location and personal.

Lastly, I want to mention an amazing organization that provides its members with some wonderful benefits. The American Alpine Club has been helping climbers pursue their passions for over a hundred years, and they are helping me with mine! Check out their web site, DREAM BIG, and they will help you get there. www.americanalpineclub.org/

Counting the days
And loving each one of them
Kyle

Addictions

2008-06-16T16:55:00.000-07:00

I have an addiction, well actually, I have many addictions but this one is my most recent and involves alpine climbing. It’s the middle of June, the summer solstice is a week away and it’s 90 degrees in Salt Lake. The ice has long since melted, the rivers are full rage, and the hills are as green as another one of my addictions. Any alpine climbing that’s happening in Utah is going to be sitting in front of a television watching home videos of my recent trip to Alaska. Unfortunately this craving could not be subdued with a remote control in hand, I needed to swing an ice tool.
The Utah alpine buzz was a total downer so we packed the car and headed to Nevada. It almost seems fitting that in a state where people are entertained by blue men banging on empty oil drums, whiskey is cheaper than water, and people can loose their entire savings on a little red square, that one can also get their alpine climbing fix in June. Far from the perpetual glow of casino lights and obnoxious blingity-blink-blank-blink chime of slot machines is a sweet little alpine oasis that rises over 8000 feet above the stark Nevadan desert. Great Basin National Park is a mountainous island, it contains Nevada’s only glacier, and supports a spectacular grove of bristlecone pine trees that date to several thousand years. It’s desolate, it’s never busy, and rising to 13,063 Wheeler Peak would satiate our need for the alpine. We hoped.

Hope hadn’t gotten Erin and I too far on our first two attempts at the Northeast Face of Wheeler. Last New Years had been our best effort, making the nine-mile approach ski only to come within a mile of the snowy Canadianesk quartzite face. I remember standing amongst the ancient bristlecone, gnarled and brawny, their resilience to the approaching nighttime cold far superior to ours. It was close to 5p.m. we were worked and the face was far too committing for the level of suffering that we were willing to take on.
However in June the road is open, so we drove on up and made the short three mile approach on mostly dry ground. During every approach, just as the face of intention comes into view, I am reminded of why I climb. Like a child arriving to a new playground, my eyes widen and my pace quickens, I am suddenly less occupied with the trail ahead and fixated on the face looming above in the distance. I trip. My heart races and I am complete, life is simple, pure, exciting, and lovely. Climbing without a topo and a complete lack of route description, as we were, spices the package.
Standing under the face it became obvious our timing was a few weeks late. Sweating in T-shirts was also a good indicator. A large curtain of ice sat plastered to the top of the second pitch and bled downward soaking the first 300 feet of climbing. Maybe higher in the shaded gully/chimney system conditions would be good? And indeed they were… good and interesting.
For most the climb, our ice tools were holstered on our harnesses. Fun 5.10 climbing with crampons and on marginal rock was the norm. With very different climbing styles, I enjoy watching my cousin solve, for himself, the puzzle that is mixed climbing. Switching from free moves to dry tooling, I can observe the solidity and strength in Erin’s climbing, Alaska and a season of ice have taught him well, but we both have much to learn.

And Wheeler would not disappoint. Ice, albeit thin, was found. I overdrove both tools watching sparks smolder between rock and veneer, ahhhhh, reminiscent of the amazing ice season I had just experienced. We simul-climbed the final six hundred foot snow and ice gully and Erin lead the last pitch, whose rock quality resembled stacked potato chips.

Climber or not, everyone should visit Great Basin NP. The scenery, solitude, and incongruity of its surroundings are definitely something to experience. In my opinion, climbing in the park is an excellent outing with the best season being as soon as the road opens (May), or I suppose, anytime you need your fix.

Follow your feelings
Loving It
KD

Denali

2008-06-01T18:13:00.000-07:00

I’ve been having a hard time (i.e. procrastinating) composing my thoughts about our amazing time on Denali and surroundings. So for the time being, or until I log some hours at the coffee shop, here are a bunch of photos that explain our totally bitchin AK adventure!

Molly and Erin enjoyed a very senic, 'not so direct' flight to Kahiltna Base Camp via the Ruth Gorge. I had flown in a few days prior and was excited for their arrival. It's impossible not to be impressed with the relief of the range, especially considering Talkeetna (elevation 350ft) is a twenty minute plane ride. Can you say tectonic collision?

Kahiltna International (7600ft) is just visible on the glacier and under the impressible North Butress of Mt. Hunter mmmmmmm! Big Bro and Lil' Sis getting prept to slog. Our fastest camp pack up was two hrs, slow morning sloggin!

11,300 ft. Gettin ready to hump a load to 14,000ft. Were done with the skis and psyched to settle into camp for our push on the upper mountain. 14,000 kinda marks half way to the summit and the start of the more strenous climbing, i.e. cold and altitude. Mt. Foraker in the background, AK is Soooo beautiful!!!

The trail ahead with the summit far in the distance. And on the right our home for a week at 14,000 feet.

The route from 14,000 climbs up a steep headwall where the park service maintains fixed lines. Then along a knife edge ridge to 17,200 feet. The mile and a half climb took us eight hours and
awarded us with this view-

The journey to the summit took us far above the clouds and high into the purity of lofty elevations. The clean air, even though quite thin, did our lungs well. On the right is the final climb from the Football Field 19,100ft to over 20,000.

Looking at the final ridgeline toward the summit and cellebrating!!!

After some rest and recovery from Denali, Erin and I headed up the Southeast Fork of the Kahiltna to check out the Mini-Moonflower buttress. The route we had planed to climb was occupied by a slow moving two some, so with no topo or route info we 'went for it' on the main face. It was May 19th, three years to the day that my cousin Drew (Erin's brother) had passed while he and I were climbing in Baffin. Climbing with the spirit of our fallen hero, on difficult terrain, and on a beautiful day was the was the perfect culmination of six weeks of climbing in Alaska. In my life, the loss of Drew as a climbing partner is a void that will never be filled. While it wasn’t a perfect fit, on this day, his older brother filled his shoes well. It was truly a joy climbing with you, Erin, an effort that I’m sure Drew is proud. And a day I will never forget.

Pursuing emotional joy
Kyle

The Next Chapter

2008-04-26T19:30:00.000-07:00

It’s been a while friends. Hello, salude, cheers! For those of you who missed out(?) on the “loving life” and “totally engrossed” emails from my March icecapades in the Canadian Rockies, well, don’t be discouraged because here they come again!

Alaska is the wild chapter currently unfolding before my eyes and passionately being played. It has been a big winter for myself with many educational exploits preparing and bettering my mind and body for this foray into North America’s grandest range. However, so far, Alaskan climbing remains in a ball park of its own. Hell, it’s an entirely separate sport! Thirty minutes after landing in Anchorage this mysteriously beautiful trance began. Moose and bald eagles within the city limits hallucinated the appearance and aura of this industrialized boom town. Was the wildlife out of place or the buildings?

I tripped on, backcountry skiing one day and shopping at Fred Meyer the next. Seemingly as out of place as moose near skyscrapers I curiously pondered the living intentions of Alaskan residents, so much diversity in such a wild place. Then it was explained, people move to Alaska for one of three reasons: 1) They’re running from something 2) They’re here to make money and leave 3) or they just like living off the radar here in AK. Suits me, people are friendly, talkative, and welcoming.

Taking off from foggy Talkeetna in our chartered Cessna, the glistening summit of “The High One” or Denali rose through the clouds with colossal purity and Himalayan magnitude. Flying into the Great Ruth Gorge, Andy Chapman and I gawked at its massive size and impressive cleanliness blanketed by a coat of fresh snow. We landed, high five’d, took a pull of Glenfitich, settled into our home on ice, and slept away deeper into nature’s delicate thundering landscape.

Newbie’s to these mountains Andy and myself had two weeks with many objectives and a hope that at least one would work out. For the non-climbing readers, the nature of Alaskan climbing can be described as Alpine. Hopefully you’ll encounter ice, often times you’ll find some rock, usually snow, and always hazards. Crevasse, avalanches, storms, cornices, and seracs all contribute to the delicate perfection of conditions necessary for a safe and successful experience.

Each day and night the spectacular scenery surrounding camp drove me deeper into captivation and further from chaos as I closed my eyes. Maybe I’m fucked up but often in these remote and rugged natural places, so commonly labeled harsh, I find a deep sense of comfort and I sleep sound.

That is until the alarm beeps at 1:30a.m. Our first objective was Shaken Not Stirred on the Moose’s Tooth. We found the route in poor conditions (meaning more snow than ice) but still good fun climbing. My personal high-light was at hour 16ish, and our last pitch of the day, watching Andy surmount a difficult chock stone section succeeding with a woohoo and an ice axe above the head! Real, Pure, Personal, Stoke! So cool! We came within a few pitches of the top of this amazing 2000ft. corner system. Extremely content with our first Alaskan climbing effort we returned to camp at hour 25 or so. Goodnight!

For the last few days, sitting here in snowy Talkeetna, I’ve debated the appropriateness of sharing with you the events of our second week of climbing. I realize that sharing my passion with friends and family often creates conflict, confusion, and distress. Please know that that is not my intension and forgive me for any harm that my actions and my re-telling of these experiences instill in the people I love.

Our second objective was the Southwest ridge on Peak 11,300. Nearing the end of our several mile, pre-dawn approach ski, the sky to the west blossomed, hypnotizing us with shades of violet, sapphire, and magenta. The colors warmed my body and churned my mind. Staring mesmerized and belittled at nature’s immense perfection I became loose and disconnected, life took over, and living deeply in the moment became the only preoccupation. Ahhhhhhhh. The sun was hot mid way up the 4000 foot ridgeline. We climbed easy rock and snow skirting back and forth from the east and west sides, always following the skyward direction of the beautiful route. At about 8p.m. we repelled a very short distance into a small col (snow in between two rock outcroppings) at about 10,100 feet. This was to be our home for the night. I repelled down first, set up an anchor with a number one camelot, clipped into it and motioned Andy to come down and do the same. We took our packs off and placed them on the snow. It had been a long day of climbing and as we put on our extra cloths the sun disappeared behind the westward mountain face. Andy reached in his bag for the stove to begin melting water and I took a few steps down the east side of the col to begin shoveling a flat spot for the tent.

After nineteen hours of being on the move we felt surprisingly well, slightly tired, slightly dehydrated, but awake and loving it. And it was a good thing as our day was only beginning, as I dug deeper into the col, suddenly and unexpectedly, the ground in front of me, a 40ft by 25ft section of firm snow that supported our gear and my friend, erupted and broke loose down the 3500ft west face. From deep within my gut the acidic barfing feeling arose as I watched my friend and our gear disappear over the edge. My greatest fear was subdued as the rope stretched tight and I heard Andy’s calm voice from 30ft below.

After a warm embrace, we assessed the situation. Our possessions were minimal: 3 ice axes, 1 snow picket, 1 shovel, 2 pins, 1 camelot, ropes, some slings, and a few thousand feet above the ground. Stove, tent, sleeping bags, thermarests, water, food, headlamps, and camera, all of it was gone. To summarize a little; we descended the east face in the dark using lighters at repels, we then walked around the base of the climb and to the base of the west face were we found very little of our gear, and then we made it back to camp some thirty hours after leaving. Alive and safe.

Digestion. While down climbing the east face that night my eyes swelled and tears streamed down my face. The events of the day felt too closely similar to the spring of 2005 under the Arctic sun, when my cousin made a mistake that cost him his life. “I cannot loose another friend in the mountains, I can’t deal” I shouted! Greed always follows so closely on the tails of passion. I realize my greedy activities cause pain and have the potential of devastating the relationships I have with others, and I am conscious of this disturbance. So how do I fix it? It is not something that will go away with time, climbing is my ecstasy, my creative joy, my happiness. Devastation was avoided that day by taking precautions for the unknown. Securities were placed in a timeless state, during the present. It is this protection of future possibility and watching proof of its functionality that breeds mountain wizardry. Andy and I are fine. Nature taught us an indispensable lesson that day and we are both better because of it.
For those of you who don’t know me as well as others, sorry for the deep psychological ranting. If you made it this far, congratulations, hopefully you too are now more mountain aware. I want to let you all know that I am psyched and feel deeply perceptive of where I am in life. The present is the time of our lives! Do not fear life, do not fear the struggle of new experiences, think contrary to established patterns and let the spirit of adventure burn intensely!
Andy is sitting here next to me drinking a beer and excited about returning to Utah for some desert sunshine. I am headed to Denali tomorrow for a month with my sister and cousin. We will be receptive and aware of every moment and return safely. Talk soon my friends!

Immersed and loving

Kyle D

Learning to Fail

2008-03-26T17:00:00.000-07:00

With a snap of the fingers, another ten days has past since I wrote you all. Loving life I am indeed. Tomorrow is my birthday and sitting here in the Canmore coffee shop, I can't help it but reflect on lessons learned and a month in the Canadian Rockies. For myself, numerical age is as insignificant as another number, yet this year brings about a special consideration. Tomorrow, I'll be twenty-five years old, a plain jane number indeed, but it will be the start of a year of life that my cousin was never able to experience. Imagine passing so young, so inexperienced. The worst thing about premature death is that it robs the unfortunate of education that life bestows. In its wake, the living gain understanding, yes, but are also occupied with a void that can never be filled. I can't help thinking about how spectacular my last year of life has been and this past month in Canada. I greatly miss my cousin, my best friend, I often picture him here with me singing and dancing on these frozen vertical rivers. Raise your glass, to Drew, to twenty-five, and to Life! Drink it UP!

"Canmore time," as we've come to call it, definitely parallels hyper-speed and one month here is rapidly coming to an end. The mountain education I've gained this month culminated this past week on my first and second attempts at the alpine route The Andromeda Strain on Mt. Andromeda. (See photo) Supposedly with a bit of reputation here in Canmore, as a difficult climb, the Strain did not disappoint. Skylar and my first attempt had us awake at 1:30 am and making breakfast in the warmth of a nearby hostel. While preparing, the route's first ascensionist and alpine legend, Barry Blanchard walked into the kitchen, sat down with his book and claimed that, "the full moon had him unable to sleep." Classic, and what a good way to cast off. Sunrise (see photo) had us at the top of the easy climbing and debating which way to go, an ugly rotten chimney or 150 meters of traversing that avoided the chimney and arrived at the top of it. We traversed... for five hours. It was some of the scariest, unprotected, and unpredictable climbing either of us had done. Arriving at the top of the chimney, we were bloody, beaten, and frozen. Halfway up the route, battered by spindrift, and with more pitches of hard climbing, we bailed. Repelling down the chimney, it became obvious that we went the wrong way. The chimney had possible gear, security, and was much more direct.

"Another rest day and another cup of coffee," and Skylar was back in the game. This time we camped at the base of the climb. At 3:30 am we both popped a pink Caffeine pill, made tea, and jumped out of the tent. Shit! Zero visibility, six inches of snow over night, and the rumbling of nearby slopes, the decision was easy, we bailed. Lesson learned, don't take caffeine pills until checking the weather.

Alpine climbing is rad. It's like a Dairy Queen blizzard, everything sweet all blended into one, it tastes really good but at the same time it'll give you a nasty brain freeze. It's also frustrating. Of all the types of climbing, it requires the most patience, the most perfect conditions, restrained commitment, and logistical preparation. It's simplicity, is beautifully dangerous. An ascent is natures rarest gift.

This email is getting long. Tomorrow I will be twenty five, I will be in the mountains, and I will be totally infatuated in every moment. Where ever you are, I hope you can share this day with me, breathing amongst nature and celebrating life. I have no desire to leave yet the next adventure is looming. I'm leaving here March 28th and I will be in Salt Lake City until April 10th, I hope I can meet up with you and share in the sweetness!

In the now!

Kyle

Rockin Ice

2008-03-15T00:21:00.000-07:00

Hey folks-

Everything continues to be glorious up in the great white north. Snow is falling outside and my head is aching from the inside. Mostly because of the mind blowing beauty/possibility of the Canadian Rockies, but also from last nights Disposable Hero's show. Yes that's right, the 'Ultimate Metallica cover band' played here in small town Canmore and let me tell you, Canmorians know how to f*#kin ROCK! (See pics)

This last week has been quite productive, Andy (my partner for Alaska) and his friend Jared came into town. The three of us have been enjoying some totally bitchin loooonnnnggggg days in the mountains! We tried a linkup of two of Canada's biggest and most beautiful ice routes The Sorcerer (same route as last week) and Hydrophobia. It involved a long approach into the Sorcerer, topping out and then cross country over some ridge lines and descending into the Waiparous drainage where the second daunting ice climb towers, repelling and climbing Hydrophobia and then retracing back over the ridges and descending the Sorcerer. A BIG DAY. We'll we didn't succeed. At around 2p.m. we were standing at the top the Waiparous drainage looking down at the intimidating Hydrophobia, and decided we didn't want to pull the all night epic. Who knows, the climbs are in great condition and I still have two weeks in this icicle wonderland?

A few days of ice craging and mixed climbing had us ready for another big adventure so we strapped on the skis in very early morning light and headed up to the Stanley headwall for an attempt at Nemesis. The Stanley is by far the most unique treasury of formidable ice routes I've seen so far. Detached free hanging ice daggers separated by steep difficult dry tooling, and often several pitches in length! Ahhhh nature! We settled for the 'easiest' route on the Stanley and skied past Nightmare on Wolf Street, French Reality, the Suffer Machine, and Acid Howl (Holy Mother!). Nemesis was the most amazing ice route I've ever climbed. 70 meters of interesting climbing leads to a cool rocky cave followed by another 70 meters up a really steep headwall with ice mushrooms and a hanging belay, a forearm inflator for sure! (See pics)

Apologies to the non climbers for all the lingo, my hands sweat with excitement when I type these words and my hopes are to reciprocate this passionate enthusiasm for this delicate frozen world. When climbing these suspended blue slivers I can't help it but feel so fortunate to be alive, healthy, and doing. Ascending winter's paralyzed waterfalls seems confusing, 'I can't believe this is possible!,' I often remark. In the mountains and around every corner, natures sweetness perpetually awes, I gain a slight understanding of it's complexity on every Winter Dance. I realize some people's difficulties and lack of understanding with ice climbing, and while I don't fully comprehend it myself, I know that it has captivated me beyond belief. I appreciate your occasionally strained, but always perpetual support for my activities and always your love.

Two more weeks in Canada! Back in SLC for a week and then onto AK! I'll keep them coming.

Totally complete and always loving

Kyle

More week 2 photo

2008-03-15T00:03:00.000-07:00

Submersion

2008-03-08T23:25:00.000-08:00

Hello all, one week deep in the heart of the Canadian Rockies has come to an end. Passing thoughts have crossed my mind like the partly cloudy skies we’ve had, still the experience has, so far, been crystal clear. Healthy folks living in a secluded town, smiling and exchanging stories of adventure, excitement, and mental and physical growth learned in the mountains. I’m taking my first rest day to share with you the world where I am submersed but more so, to thank you all for helping me get here. So, thanks! Much like your continuing love and support, I will try and continue with the emails, updating you about my perpetual psych and deep passion for all angles of the natural world.

Currently, I’m staying here in Canmore with my friend Skylar and his girlfriend Vanessa, both were captivated by the local beauty and have been here for the last few months. Many languages are spoken here but all speak of the magical frozen waterfalls, icy monoliths that come and go with the seasons which attract climbers just as much as they instill fear. Whatever their sport, occupants of Canmore share the same motivation, a pursuit of healthy living in a beautifully pristine mountain environment.

We climbed several ice falls this past week and all have been amazing. The Ghost Valley is particularly spectacular and Skylar, Vanessa, and myself did an amazing long climb called The Sorcerer (see photos). Anyhow, instead of boring you with what has been done, look at the photos and create stories for yourself. But do know, I am deeply in love with this lifestyle, and while being suspended two hundred meters above terra firma on a frozen river has been slightly fearsome, curiosity for uniqueness captivates my soul and I anticipate the adventure that tomorrow’s sunrise will bring.
Thanks Mom, Dad, Molly, and Brad for your loving nucleus of support. Thanks friends for your motivating lives and continuing curiosity for mine. Special thanks to Nate at LM and Connor for the gear support which helps subdue fear, increase safety, travel further and adventure deeper. I’ll try and keep them coming! Good by for now, and to quote a friend, “The time is now, pursue passion” and dream big!A psyched friend!

Please pass this around to anyone, and I look forward to hearing from you.

More week 1 photo

2008-03-08T00:09:00.000-08:00