You Can't Always Get What You Want: A Patagonia Photo Journal

I returned a few weeks ago from a climbing trip to Argentina with Liv Sansoz and
Freddie Wilkinson. This photo journal below is cross posted from Mountain Hardwear. Liv also wrote a great report about our trip here and Mountain Hardwear compiled some of our team Instagrams here. 

In El Chalten, Argentina, life for climbers revolves around the meteogram, or weather forecast. The first topic of conversation at any time of day is the weather. Climbers download the chart to their phones daily and decipher it with the thought and care of a neurosurgeon. Will there be a window for climbing? When? For how long?

[Mate. Required when waiting for a weather window. PHOTO: Freddie Wilkinson]

This was my third trip climbing in the Argentine Patagonia. In the first two visits, over a combined time of about 11 weeks I’d climbed for about 8 days, picking off several of the sub-peaks of Fitzroy. From afar they create a breathtaking skyline, and up close, those sub-peaks exist in a shadow beneath Fitzroy’s greatness. Climbing those other peaks, I realized, felt like some kind of flirtatious dance, like I kept seeing her, locking steps with her, but could never really touch her. And when I thought of it that way I became obsessed. I wanted to climb Fitzroy and only Fitzroy. The obsession became so engrained in my psyche that all my internet passwords included some form of her name by the time we left for this trip.

[The one and only Fitz Roy Massif. PHOTO: Freddie Wilkinson]

I tell everyone I go to Patagonia for the amazing splitter granite, and it’s true, it is unmatched. This year we arrived just in time for Summer Solstice, trading photos over Instagram with our friends up North who were praising the return of light and lamenting the long darkness and cold, while we snapped shots of lupine in bloom and green, green grass. I think those long, energizing days account for as much of the reasoning that draws me back again and again. Sure, the place has changed since my first trip in 2005. There are infinitely more climbers and trekkers around, the roads are paved and there’s a bus station, (uber slow) wireless internet has arrived and established its attention-sucking influence, and there are even landscaping services and nannies! But that splitter rock and the capacity to ‘find summer’ in a plane flight remain, and will likely make it only more popular as an alpine rock climbing destination over time.

[El Chalten rest days. PHOTO: Freddie Wilkinson]

As nice as long days were for our psychological wellbeing, the weather this year just did not cooperate. We’d wake up and look up the forecast with hope, and then our shoulders would slump and our moods would sour as we saw more of the same: cold, wind and precipitation, day after day after day. Eventually the ‘meteo’ just became relative, and the best of the bad started looking good. So we’d pack our gear and head up and try to climb.

[Weather slogging. PHOTO: Freddie Wilkinson]

At one point we even deployed our own new tactic: Tortuga Style. With conditions so cold and snow so deep and cracks so icey and wind so maddening, we thought that if we intentionally brought extra clothes and food and an especially posh bivy set up (read: a two-man tent and two sleeping bags for the three of us, plus extra fuel for the stove), and if we purposely paced ourselves more slowly, it might increase our chances of getting a big summit despite the bad conditions. It seemed brilliant and fool proof – perhaps in the same way that a somewhat less terrible forecast seemed manageable while looking at a meteogram on a computer screen from the comfort of our cabana.

[Janet Wilkinson and Liv Sansoz climb Tortuga style. PHOTO: Freddie Wilkinson]

So, in the end, although we got a couple good attempts on her flanks, we didn’t get to climb Fitzroy. We did soak up plenty of summer sunshine, logged hundreds of miles of walking and some nice pitches of climbing too, enjoyed some intoxicatingly beautiful bivy spots, and had lots of laughs with each other and with friends old and new. Although I realize that I now should probably change my Internet passwords, the obsession remains.

To be continued…

[One of the many beautiful bivies. PHOTO: Freddie Wilkinson]

The Practice Trip

As I prepare for another trip with Liv Sansoz this winter, I look back on our first ‘practice trip’ this past spring. We’d been trying to plan something for 18 months, but because of our hectic schedules (lives of professional 30-somethings!), injuries (lives of active people!) and other plans, a trip had eluded us. Finally, Liv just suggested we climb in her home mountains around Chamonix. Perfect!

The ‘practice trip’ is a ritual many mountain climbers undergo. The point is to learn climbing compatibility, but that’s not all. It is also about learning and working with each other’s personalities, daily rituals, dietary preferences, sleep and work schedules and more.

Day 1. She picks me up at Geneve airport from my Boston redeye, with a smile and a hug. What climbing partner doesn’t make their friend take the bus?! Walking to her car, we look like twins, each lugging one end of my duffel bag, wearing jeans, same-colored Mountain Hardwear puffies and Sportiva Raptors. We even drive the same type of car (Golf TDI). Of course we talk about the weather forecast and mountain conditions, which are both shit, on the ride to her house. Her house in Les Houches is comfy and cute. I get my own room. After a nap she feeds me a delicious fresh vegetarian meal and we go cragging.

Day 2. We knew May in the Alps could be hit or miss, but we had no idea just how ‘between season’ it was. The extended weather forecast is terrible, and all of the peaks are mid-melt. There’s no safe alpine climbing to be found, so we go to a multipitch sport crag call La Maladière instead. We start late and get lost on the approach. We rappel in 6 pitches, and have a 10 pitch climb out. Of course, a “wall of hate” races in from the north when we’re halfway up and about to start a steep, traversing pitch. We stop at the belay, consider our options and make a decision. We’re going up.

Suddenly, we’ve replicated the dynamic necessary for serious mountain climbing. We kick it into high gear and the natural division of labor needs no words – lucky thing since English is Liv’s second language and ‘merci’ is the extent of my French! Though we are both undoubtedly scared, there is no panicking or arguing through hail, wind gusts, rain, thunder and lightning. We are like a well-oiled machine, using any tactics necessary to BE SAFE, GET UP and GET OUT.

Day 3. Conditions are still crap for alpine climbing. Besides, with yesterday’s storm survival we’d basically accomplished the primary purpose of the trip, proving to each other that we’re compatible in stressful, high stakes situations. What to do? Road trip south for Spanish sport climbing heaven!

When she is the driver, Liv moves her seat all the way forward and upright. In her sweet, soft French accent, she explains it is so that when she goes fast, she can brace her knees to the sides, like a racecar driver. We stop at a natural food store and load up on local, organic vegetables, brewers yeast, whole grains and all types of healthy goodness. Liv hardly ever drinks alcohol or caffeine either. She is undoubtedly a good influence on me. We take turns driving through the rainy night and are climbing in the sun the next morning.

Day 4. You may recognize Liv’s name from her amazing sport climbing career. She’s a couple years older than me and was one of my heroes as I learned to climb during college. In recent years, her focus has shifted to mountain activities like skiing, alpine climbing, ice climbing…and the insane (to me!) world of flying and free fall sports.

Come to think of it, why in the world would she want to climb with a gumby like me?! Perhaps because she has no shame or ego, two more admirable traits of hers. We are both at about 5.11 sport climbing fitness when we arrive, and we just go to work, getting scared on the spaced out bolted climbs of Siurana and Montsant, taking huge whippers in Margalef.

In the morning and at night and on rest days, we both work on our computers. There may be nothing more comforting for me on climbing trips these days than when that kind of rhythm is possible. The reality of life for many middle-aged climbers is that a work-life balance means working when not climbing on most trips. It’s not all fun and games like it might have been when we were true climbing bums in our 20s, but the reward of having work that we love and still have the adventure lifestyle is worth the sacrifice. By the end of 4 climbing days, we’ve both gotten stronger by almost two number grades.

Day 11. Our last stop on my short European vacation is Lake Annecy. She organized a weekend of parapenting training with friends to try ‘stunts and acrobatics’ with the safety of the lake below. I want to tag along and check it out, since more and more of my friends are into this stuff. Her dad is there too, operating the rescue boat (which, lucky for the ulcer I’d certainly get from watching a falling incident, isn’t needed). I get to take a ride (!!!!), and love it. And I also get to see Liv in her prime –learning new skills, assessing risk, using good judgment, and laughing and having fun through it all.

That was all I needed to see. I’ll follow this girl anywhere in the world.

Shoshin

Shoshin (初心) is a concept in Zen Buddhism meaning "beginner's mind". It refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying a subject, even when studying at an advanced level, just as a beginner in that subject would. –Wikipedia

Emilie Drinkwater on a failed attempt of Peak 6135, Ladakh, India

My initial thesis for this blog entry was that attempting first ascents is the ultimate way to seek the unknown, and so failure is one of the most beautiful tragedies. Luckily it was my driving shift, somewhere between DC and Fayetteville, WV, so I had a few hours to think it through and conclude that I was completely wrong.

Our trip to India was framed by failure. Kirsten, Emilie and I were given a photo of a beautiful mountain halfway around the world and spent more than a year planning an expedition to try to climb it. We day-dreamed and night-dreamed about it. We emailed, conference called, wrote lists, bought gear, trained, raised money, gave up work, strained relationships at home and went into debt to get there. We trekked for days, built trails and kairns, stashed gear, slept poorly and endured headaches while acclimatizing, established a high camp and sat and watched the mountain for days.

Finally, we attempted it. Several times. The reasons why don’t matter for this story, but we failed. We turned and walked away, leaving a mystery behind for another party, another year. 

But by going to plan B for the remainder of our trip, I had one of most memorable and successful weeks of mountain climbing in terms of summits attained, lessons learned and fun had. Success because we failed.  

We went to the mountains thinking our goals were to do all-women first ascents and to go rock climbing. Plan B involved letting both of those things go. There was a literal period of mourning. But the outcome we were really after – pushing our physical and mental selves through remote exploration – was what mattered, as it turns out (duh!).

Each and every decision we make, every day, is an opportunity to assume a beginner’s mind and tread into the unknown...and I am pretty convinced that failure is the best path towards it. 

I’ve talked to middle-aged people who say they understand less now about life than they did ten or twenty years ago, and to divorcees who regret assuming they understood the nature of their partnerships or the recipes for a successful marriage. Beginners at poker tables around the world make the pros livid when they win the entire pot.

The intentional return to a beginner’s mind feels almost religious in practice. As the expedition drew to a close, I journaled obsessively about modeling my life after basecamp living. I thought creating days in my normal life that are like rest days in basecamp - defined by simplicity, rest and thoughtfulness - would encourage boldness and open-mindedness (I've been trying to not start my car or answer my phone or turn on my computer one day every week to get started on this). But it is not just the physical, structural space that makes the beginner’s mindset possible. 

In a beginner's mind, failure is not tragedy at all. Failure probably cannot even exist in such a mind. But I'll be damned if I don't find myself still daydreaming about what might have been if we'd kept going up instead of down that mountain that day...

Bivied at our high point on 6135

6135 - A mountain for another day, or day-dream 

Favorite gear from a summer in the Karakoram:
Mountain Hardwear W's Phantom 15 sleeping bag
Polartec test jacket
Sterling Fusion Nano Ropes - especially the PINK one!
Petzl Myo XP Headlamp
La Sportiva Ganda Guide shoes

New Tricks

My friend Mark has been on a major climbing expedition for 18 of the past 20 summers.

He and his savvy wife Teresa also own a hugely successful and highly respected custom woodworking business in Massachusetts that they built from scratch. The high value they place on travel means that the business has always been able to run with or without them (One of their great adventures was pulling their teenage daughter out of school for a year to tour Teresa’s home country of Peru in a Range Rover). I dig their style; living ‘outside the box’, always accepting of risk, and having a ton of fun along the way, and I consider them among my strongest role models.

I will be lucky enough to share base camp with Mark this summer in India, and my husband Freddie will be one of his climbing partners, so we’ve all been training together when possible.

Freddie and Mark spent the night in Huntington Ravine on Mount Washington in January to test some gear, and Freddie suggested they use alpine touring skis for the approach and descent instead of hiking (an alpine touring set up has special bindings that allow one to wear mountaineering boots or ski boots, and can be set to hinge on the toe like a cross country ski for climbing).

“You really think it will be faster to ski?” Mark asked Freddie.

Freddie said he should have known that Mark hadn’t been skiing much when he asked that question. Their descent did take about as long as hiking would have, as Mark was slow and took several falls.

This past weekend the three of us went to Mount Washington again and decided to again use touring skis. Mark, who’d spent 20+ years religiously hiking the Tuckerman trail to approach winter climbs on Mount Washington to train for his expeditions, was fully converted. He’d only used skis since that day with Freddie.

We had a blast climbing Huntington Ravine and on to the summit in whiteout conditions, but when we got back down to our skis it was my turn to be nervous about skiing in mountaineering boots. I’d only recently switched to an alpine touring set up from telemark, and was still feeling claustrophobic about having my heels locked down. Picturing a torn ACL or worse, I told them I was content to leave my skins on and glide slowly down, or even carry my skis if necessary.

“You really should just try it,” urged Mark. “It is a great opportunity since you have a light pack and the snow is in good condition…and it will be fun!” he said over his shoulder as he slid off.

‘Great opportunity’, I grumbled to myself.

I realized there were two ways to think of it: 1) I’d had a great day and could leave it on a good note or 2) Why not allow the possibility for a great day to end even better, and learn something along the way?

I peeled the skins off, locked the heels down and went for it, and that day Mark passed the ‘most recent convert’ status on to me. He also proved, once again, how to be a role model.

Photos by Freddie Wilkinson

Gear for climbing Mount Washington:

• Mountain Hardwear Test DryQ Jacket
• Mountain Hardwear Via Rapida Backpack
• La Sportiva Spantik Boots - all three of us!
• Polartec Test Vest
• Petzl Vasak Crampons
• Sterling Marathon Half Rope

Breaking The Cycle of Pain

I grew up riding horses competitively. So naturally, as pre-teens, when we weren’t riding horses we were acting like horses. We’d have slumber parties and set up furniture jumping courses in our parents’ houses. We perfected a four-legged galloping pace (not unlike this family ) and jumped over chairs and tables, up and down staircases, just like horses: ‘front legs’ first, back legs next. Pain and intuition pretty quickly kicked in though, to tell us the jarring of repetitively landing on our arms was probably not good for our shoulders, elbows and wrists. Thus, we returned to galloping and jumping with two legs (like these guys , except that we kept our shirts on) and didn’t think much more about it.
Fast-forward almost twenty years to this past spring, and my left forearm tendonitis flare up. I was in my third of twelve bimonthly sessions of structural integration therapy , and on full rest from climbing.
“My friends who are doctors or med students think I should just get a cortisone injection in my elbow, can you believe that?” I said incredulously as my therapist friend worked on my arm.
Cortisone, after all, was what the aging horses’ hocks were injected with to get them through just one more competition season when I was growing up.
“Ugh, you don’t need that,” she said. “It’s just a band-aid. Just give it some more time and rest and you will completely recover from this.”
Three full months of rest from climbing wore on me though. I missed my evenings at the cliff with friends. I wanted to get back to my projects. I was sick of the frowns and empathy when people learned I was injured, again. I just wanted my ‘normal’ life back.
So yesterday I visited the orthopedist. I needed to know that I was doing things right, that I wasn’t missing something.
“Well, it started in early May,” I explained to him, sitting on the exam table. I’d taken two weeks off and then tried to climb (it hurt), then three more weeks off and tried to climb again (it still hurt), but had not touched rock since early June. I’d been good about ice, ibuprofen, all the requisite tendonitis exercises and stretches, the various massage therapies...I’d even done a colon cleanse to try to oust whatever was lingering.
He poked and prodded until I pulled away wincing, and he immediately confirmed the diagnosis as medial epicondylitis, golfer’s elbow.
“Has it gotten worse?” he asked.
No.
“Has it gotten better?”
Not really.
A long pause.
“Well, it seems to me you have done everything right the past three months, without the results you want. So I recommend that we try an injection of cortisone.”
I shot a disgusted look at him before I could even think to stop myself. He paused again.
“It is time to break the cycle of pain,” he said simply, looking me straight in the eye, a slight frown on his face.
That was all it took.
I walked out fifteen minutes later with a band-aid on my elbow and tingling fingers from the lidocaine. I drove home imagining the moves of my favorite Cathedral Ledge climbs, and made weekend cragging plans to try out my new fix.
But in the back of my head was another voice: Had my intuition that told me to stop jumping jumps on all fours as a pre-teen disappeared completely? Am I really going to pretend that I am back to normal now?
My massage therapist friend, after stifling a ‘NO!’ and pushing her lower jaw back up when she learned I’d gotten the shot, immediately encouraged me, saying this is my opportunity to take control of the healing process. What she meant is that I can’t just head out and climb tomorrow, sending my project like the aging gray mare, all dosed up to be able to finish her last jumping course.
A moment of hope was illuminated by the promise of breaking the cycle of pain. But I will be good and see all my friends off on their summer climbing expeditions now. And I will walk around here on just two feet for a little longer in hopes of permanently ending that cycle instead of taking a break from it.

Dedicated to Brinah, Whitney, Bobbi, Amie and the rest of the horsey girls from those Turning Point Stables days.

'For Climbing'

A feature article about climbing in Cuba that I wrote was just published in Rock & Ice magazine. The article explores the threatened Cuban climbing scene, and the extraordinary efforts being put forth by a few Americans and Cubans to make climbing there possible. The lovely and talented Anne Skidmore took all the killer photos.
You can pick up the June 2010 issue on news stands now, or download the PDF of the article at the new and improved Cuba Climbing website.
And then you can go to Cuba and experience that magical place for yourself.
Special thanks to Tino Fiumara for lots of help reporting and writing this piece.