On Belay

January 2015, Argentina - Two obvious paths presented themselves in front of us at 21,000 feet on Cerro Aconcagua in the Argentine Andes. Wind blowing, our climbing team perched on a large talus slope of scree and rock. Not the most aesthetic climbing, but the normal summit route up the peak was the most obvious weakness on a mountain that boasts the highest altitude in both the southern and western hemispheres. A way to the top for climbers like myself.

"It's got to be over to the left" I called out to our guide Johnny, eyeballing what I thought looked like the easier of the two unappealing options. He hesitated for a moment, and we went to the right...

At first it was a relief as our selected path began at a shallower angle. Climbing for hours already, the sun just rising, I was grateful for this momentary respite. Soon, however, the angle began to steepen and the quality of the terrain deteriorated even further. Gone was the nicely compacted "path", as if you could call any surface at 20,000+ feet a path. In its place was pure struggle. An abhorrence of deep, loose gravel impeded forward and upward progress. Step up, slide back down. Step up again, slide back down...again. No matter how carefully I placed each foot it was a real challenge to string more than two or three effective steps in a row before a costly stumble.

"For the first time in my life I could literally feel my body starting to race out of control in a frenzied panic. My heart beating at a furious rate, my lungs gasping for oxygen that just wasn't there."

My initial frustration soon turned into an ever escalating exhaustion. For the first time in my life I could literally feel my body starting to race out of control in a frenzied panic. My heart beating at a furious rate, my lungs gasping for oxygen that just wasn't there. It was almost a sensation of drowning. At this point I was still over an hour from the summit in one of the most hostile environments on earth. Creeping doubts entered my head, loud enough to register over the blood thumping in my ears: "After months of planning and training, a small fortune, weeks away from friends, family and work is this how my Aconcagua dream comes to an end?"

November 2017, Seattle - Almost three years later I can remember my trip to Aconcagua like it was yesterday. Small details stand out with a clarity and starkness equal to the mountain itself. And so goes for the many dozens of mountaineering trips and expeditions I've been on since my initiation to the sport. That first trip back in 2009 when I strapped on my crampons, most likely backwards, and dragged myself to the top of Mount Rainier in the Washington Cascades. My water bottle had opened inside my pack, soaking my clothes. Climbing in the moonless night with a wet jacket, shivering for hours, and totally awestruck by the experience. A neophyte in the most perfect sense, and I was hooked.

I'm starting this website to share these experiences with anyone who might be interested. Mountaineering and climbing can seem like a pretty esoteric club at times, so my goal is to de-mystify the high mountains with an authentic telling of my trips to these extreme and wondrous places. Let's climb!