On the first ascent of the Swamp Donkey Express, the South Face of the Moose's Tooth. Photo: Renan Ozturk.

Talkeetna in June feels like a slow afternoon at a forgotten country fair. The sky is alternatively bright and steamy, or dark and wet.  Typically a mosquito hatch is on and the kings are running.  Princess Tours pumps a continuous convoy of air-conditioned, 55 passenger buses down the spur road, buses teaming with anxious tourists behind high, tinted windows, depositing a fresh infusion of dollars into the town’s seasonal economic machine.  There’s not much to do. The tourists find a handful of bars, Nagley’s general store – with attached liquor establishment and the West Rib,  greasy-spoon deluxe, the park service building, river boat rides, overpriced pizzas and overloaded breakfasts. It’s a good place to celebrate. Or lick your wounds for a day or two…

Zack Smith, Renan Ozturk, and I flew into the Ruth Gorge on Monday, May 17th, psyched to find perfect conditions: hard freezes at night, but daytime temps that were warm enough to comfortably wear rock shoes. After taking a day to pack and scope in basecamp, we left camp at 6 a.m. the following morning in order to do the objectively exposed approach from the Gorge to the ‘Root Canal’ camp beneath the Southwest face of the Moose’s Tooth in the morning shade.  I had navigated this same ice fall seven years ago, and was surprised to note the amount of traffic it had apparently received this year. Several distinct boot tracks left by different parties criss-crossed up the glacial canyon – some more exposed to hanging seracs and avalanche slopes than others.

We arrived at the Root Canal by 1 p.m., and were soon ensconced in our friend Seth Hobby’s base-camp — Seth having arrived with two clients via the direct flight.  We waited out a day of squally weather, then crossed the bergshrund and began soloing up the snow slopes between Bear’s Tooth and Moose’s Tooth.  The South Face of the Moose’s Tooth is an obvious challenge that had been attempted sporadically for several decades. Badly rotten rock and a deceptive section of gendarmed ridge had defeated all teams within the first hundred vertical feet of climbing above the Bear’s Tooth / Moose’s Tooth col. The real challenge for our team was not letting these discouraging reports effect our morale before we even started the real business.

After two hours of soloing and simul-climbing, we arrived at the base of the South face proper. Zack transitioned to rock shoes and the show began. He found the rock loose and the climbing run out – but we were able to make progess. Then came a significant aid pitch that demanded the combined efforts of two men and one hand-drilled bolt six hours to overcome. Several more wet and loose pitches with challenging route finding followed. But then the angle of the climbing decreased and soon I was cramponing up for a few easy mixed pitches that lead eventually to the southern end of the M.T.’s summit ridge. Zack, Renan, and I stood just below the tip of the mountain’s highest dollop of cornice at approximately eight p.m.. We quickly rappelled Ham and Eggs (which, in it’s modern iteration, we found completely equipped with rappel anchors every thirty meters) to arrive back at the Root Canal camp around midnight. Though tired, we chose to press on and descend to the Gorge immediately in order to take advantage of the cooler night time temps. An hour after we had exited the canyon and skied out into the center of the Gorge, rockfall exploded off one wall, showering the glacier with debris.

“That was death on a stick,” Zack murmured.

Back down in base camp, the weather was good.  Then it got too good.  We started on our ultimate objective, a traverse of the entire Moose’s Tooth massif from Espresso Gap to Ruth Gap. Unfortunately, the glacier was barely freezing at night and we encountered deep, isothermic snow that made for frequent and frustrating transitions between rock shoes and mountain boots as we climbed the South Ridge (Ozturk/Smith, 2009) of the Sugar Tooth. Renan took an unexpected fall while seconding a bouldery gendarme, badly cutting our sole lead line. Then we dropped an ice tool. We eventually bivied very near the summit of the Sugar Tooth.  In the morning, somewhat disheartened by these setbacks and our generally slow progress in the sub-par conditions, we traversed across the summit and decided to rappel the couloir between the Sugar Tooth and the Eye Tooth to return to basecamp to re-supply and re-psyche.

The next day, as we were relaxing in camp and contemplating another attempt, something came down Hut Tower. Something big. I skied close enough to see flecks of color in a fresh debris field at the base of the ice climb Freezy Nuts. Later that evening, a NPS helicopter picked me up to confirm the worst: two climbers were dead. They had been camped a few hundred yards away from us and sadly, I realized, I never got their names. When we flew back to Talkeetna on June 2nd the Ruth Glacier had not experienced a hard freeze in over a week. We relaxed in town, drank more beer than was healthy, and enjoyed the company of old friends.  I don’t think any of us regretted our decision to leave the mountains early.

The tragedy happened almost exactly a year after we lost our good friends Micah Dash, Johnny Copp, and Wade Johnson in a similar event in China. Mountains become far more dangerous as the temperature rises – at an elevation of only five thousand feet, the Ruth Glacier is a temperate place despite its northern latitude. There is a definitive transition that occurs each and every spring when it simply becomes too dangerous to climb the Gorge’s gullies and couloirs. As individuals and a community, we should always remember to approach objectively threatened situations with vigilance and respect. For popular moderate mixed objectives like Freezy Nuts, Ham and Eggs, and the Japanese Couloir on Mount Braille, I strongly recommend the month of April as the optimal time to plan an expedition.

Sincere thanks go to The Copp/Dash Inspire Grant, The Lyman Spitzer Award, and the American Alpine Club for supporting this expedition, as well as Mountain Hardwear, Sterling Rope, Julbo, and La Sportiva for supporting me personally.

We’ll be back – hopefully in colder temperatures.

Summary of activity: First ascent of the South Face of the Moose’s Tooth via The Swamp Donkey Express: 5.9+ A2+ with some mixed. Climbed May 21st, 2010, by Renan Ozturk, Zack Smith, and Freddie Wilkinson.

Colin Haley in the Niponino Bivy, Torre Valley, January 2007. I originally did the following interview of my old friend  for the La Sportiva website… As often happens, the following conversation was condensed into an eight-hundred word piece for their print catalogue, but here is the raw-cut.

In North America, most of today’s climbing youth approach the mountains with a degree of respect that borders on trepidation – first spending the obligatory seasons in Yosemite and Indian Creek, learning to ice climb in Colorado or New Hampshire before venturing into serious alpine terrain.   Not so Colin Haley.

Colin’s meteoric alpine career began by spending as much time as possible in the mountains — by the time he was eighteen he’d already pulled of successful climbs in Peru, Patagonia, and logged serious time in his home mountains, the North Cascades.  And these early trips were only the harbinger of what was to come.  In 2007 alone, Colin pulled of major new routes in Alaska (The Entropy Wall on Mount Moffit), Patagonia (The first complete ascent of the Marsigne-Parkin/West Face route on Cerro Torre), speed-climbed established test-pieces (The Denali Diamond on Mount McKinley), and turned more than a few heads with his exuberant, outspoken personality and willingness to discuss alpine climbing’s addictive nature.

I first met Colin in 2000, when he was a fifteen year-old high-schooler with an awkward, seventies-glam-rock haircut. But it was obvious even then that he was completely captivated by the mountains, and committed to learning the diverse skill-set necessary to climb them as quickly and efficiently as possible.  It’s been thrilling to watch his early years of apprenticeship pay-off big time, and I know there will be much more to come from America’s most promising alpine talent.

1. Talk to me about the North Cascades. I have a ton of respect for them, mostly from all the time I’ve spent with Bart and Miles. Is it the terrain, accessibility, or having a vibrant alpine scene with climbers from the older generation who are willing to mentor, or all three?

Actually, I consider the lack of easy access the only thing that makes the North Cascades not a world-class climbing destination. At the same time though, I feel that I owe most of my alpine experience and route-finding skills to long, rugged approaches that the North Cascades require. The North Cascades are the only real alpine-climbing in the Lower 48 – period. The approaches are long, the weather is foul, but if you want to prepare for Alaska or the Himalaya the North Cascades are the only area that will give you a relevant experience. This is of course why so many of the US’s best alpinists have come from the Cascades: Fred Beckey, Tom Hornbein, Willi Unsoeld, Ed Cooper, The McNerthny Brothers, Doug Klewin, Todd Bibler, Rob Newsom, Steve Swenson, Jim Nelson, Kit Lewis, Mark Twight, and Steve House – to name just a few of the many.

2. Name the three most influential partnerships in your early years as a climber.

1. Bart Paull was willing to attempt big routes with me when I was only sixteen. He showed me the determination and pragmatic approach to alpinism that allowed us to attempt almost anything in the Cascades as a day trip.
2. Mark Bunker became my regular climbing partner when I was seventeen. On countless trips into the Cascades in winter he taught me all the techniques of full-blown, cold-weather, multi-day routes. These are the skills that I feel prepared me for climbing in Alaska, Patagonia, and the Himalaya.
3. Rolando Garibotti is the most talented climber I have ever tied in with, and the person whose advice I trust most in discussing what might be possible to try.

3. Your epic with Bunker on the NE Buttress of Mount Johannesburg seems like it was the full expression of how committed you can get in the Cascades… How did that prepare you future trips farther a field?

Yes, our winter climb on the NE Butt of J-berg still remains one of the most intense climbing experiences I’ve ever had. After that climb, things like the south side of Denali no longer seemed like impossibly big objectives.

4. Having meet both your parents, my impression is they are each pretty unique and free-thinking personalities to let their son have so much freedom in high school. Your first international trip was to Peru, right? Do you remember if you had to work very hard to convince them to let you go?

I went to Peru by myself when I was seventeen. I didn’t have to convince them at all – I just told them I was going to Peru! My parents have both lived incredibly adventurous lives – in many ways I am actually quite cautious and conservative relative to both of them.

5. Describe your first trip to Patagonia.

I went to Patagonia for the first time with Bart Paull during my winter break from my freshman year at the University of Washington. I only had 2.5 weeks actually in El Chalten, and we had no amazing weather windows, but we still managed to summit Poincenot, Guillamet, and Aguja de la S. It was an incredibly successful trip for me at the time, and really opened my eyes to what I consider to be the most beautiful mountains on Earth. I’ve been a Patagonia addict ever since.

6. The time you came over and stayed with us in Chamonix was around the same era. You are definitely an extrovert, and enjoy hanging out in other cultures, meeting people, trying to learn the language… how much of this appealed to you when you began to do lots of expeditions? Does the travel ever get old?

The travel itself gets old – the planes, buses, and baggage fees. But once I’m there, I love it. Chamonix and El Chalten especially are such fun places to hang out between the climbs – with whole communities of people that are alpine junkies, just like me. In many ways, I feel more at home surrounded by other alpinists and skiers in Chamonix and El Chalten than I do surrounded by generic Americans in the US.

7. Empanadas or dumplings?

Whatever it is, if it’s free I’ll probably eat it.

8. It seemed like something happened a few years ago, when suddenly, you just went on a tear. I know that it’d been quietly building for sometime before, but was there a tipping point, sometime you realized that you really wanted to raise the bar?

I think it appears that way to someone else, but I feel like I have been steadily applying the same determination and energy to alpine climbing that I have since I was fifteen. It’s just that a few years ago the climbs I was doing starting getting media attention, but I was operating the same as I always have. Now that I have finally finished school, however, I hope to devote more time to climbing than I’ve ever been able to before.

9. What’s the most committed you’ve ever felt on an alpine route?

The first ascent of The Entropy Wall with Jed Brown (on Mt. Moffit, in Alaska’s Hayes Range) was definitely the most committed I have ever been. Two climbers, two ropes, in an extremely remote area, with no radio, attempting a super-technical, unclimbed face that is almost 8,000 ft. tall, with precipitation every day, and the hike out involved two days of tundra and a serious river crossing.

10. Doing the Torre Traverse with Rolo, and Emperor Face on Mount Robson with Steve, climbing two of the most iconic mountain features around with two of the sport’s current legends – that must have been pretty cool for you. What lessons did you take away from partnering with each of them?

The Emperor Face was a really great climb, but I don’t think it was a particularly significant climb for either Steve or I. The Torres Traverse, however, was far and away the best climb I have ever accomplished, and I felt that I learned a huge amount from climbing with Rolo that season. I’ve never seen someone so “dialed,” with extremely proficient climbing skill and also extremely calculated attention to detail.

11. What’s the appeal of alpine soloing?

Alpine soloing is an extremely satisfying game. To put it simply, it is the most difficult style in which you can attempt a route. I think that climbing a difficult route with a partner is always more impressive than an easy route by yourself. But still, I think soloing is the ultimate demonstration of mastery in your climbing discipline.

12. Let’s talk about the Himalayas. You’ve done four trips to Pakistan, and in your own words, failed each time… But, by the scale and commitment of the objectives you are attempting – Nanga Parbat, Ultar, the Ogre, Latok 1 – It’s obvious you thrive on throwing yourself into the deep end, going after some of the most impressive unclimbed lines in the Karakorum, especially on the 7,000 meter peaks. Why would you rather fail on the truly gnarly beasts, versus picking objectives where you know you would have much better chances of success?

There is no adventure, and therefore no appeal, in attempting a route that is easy for you and ensures almost certain success. Climbing in the Himalaya is an extremely large commitment of time and money, so why would I waste it on climbing something easy? Climbing the standard route to the summit Cho Oyu would feel like a failure just as must as climbing half-way up the North Ridge of Latok I.

13. Are you content calling the Seattle area and Washington State in general “home”?

My financial situation at this point in my life dictates that I live with one of my parents when not on climbing trips, who fortunately are kind enough to let me do so. I would love to live in Chamonix if I could, but I am pretty grateful that my parents live in Seattle and Bellingham, as the only place I’d rather live in North America is Squamish.

14. What other personal challenges or goals have you set for yourself in 2010?

I’m about to head to Patagonia for three months, to hopefully climb with Rolo most of the time. I’m also planning a big Alaska trip for this spring. I am taking a year off from the Himalaya though, and during the summer I hope to keep improving my rock climbing skills.

Having achieved historic action with the healthcare bill passed last month, the Obama administration wasted no time re-focusing on new priorities. Last Friday, April 16th, leading conservationists, environmental groups, outdoor recreation advocacy organizations and industry representatives were invited to Washington DC, for the White House Conservation Conference.  During the event, President Obama signed a Presidential Memorandum establishing America’s Great Outdoors Initiative, a national effort to “promote and support innovative community-level efforts to conserve outdoor spaces and to reconnect Americans to the outdoors”.

For all its fanfare, the event did not mark an immediate shifts in policy, but rather the beginning of a dialogue.  In what has become a political hallmark of the Obama presidency, the commander-and-chief said that his first goal was to listen: “We’re not talking about a big federal agenda being driven out of Washington. We’re talking about how we can collect best ideas on conservation… we’re going to build on successful efforts being spearheaded outside of Washington”.  Sitting in the diverse audience were not only the expected players like the Sierra Club and the Nature Conservancy, but also representatives from the ranching and timber industries, the National Rifle Association, urban green-space initiatives, and a host of smaller advocacy groups that are typically left out of the Washington policy-making bubble.

As a committed rock and alpine climber, I was surprised to learn that even my own modest constituency had a voice: our man was Brady Robinson, executive director of the Access Fund.  Compared to the Sierra Club (membership: 1.3 million; annual budget: $44.6 million) the Access Fund is a small organization, with 10,000 members and an annual budget of roughly one million dollars – making it just the kind of grass-roots, beyond the beltway organization Obama seemed to be appealing to for fresh ideas. Yesterday, I got Brady on the phone for his take on the meeting.

“It was organized on extremely short notice,” Brady told me, “The press releases went out on March 26th, and invites went out around April 1st. For the Access Fund it was an honor to be included. It’s a sign of the times that human powered recreation is being taken seriously, that conservation and recreation go hand and hand.”  In fact, the Access Fund’s presence was thanks in part to a policy strategy it adopted four years ago, when it co-founded the Outdoor Alliance, a policy-advocacy group formed with the American Canoe Association, American Hiking Society, American Whitewater, International Mountain Bicycling Association, and Winter Wildlands Alliance.

Our man inside the beltway: Brady Robinson, Executive Director of the Access Fund

“For a longtime, human powered outdoor recreation groups weren’t very organized – undermining our own efforts,” Brady explained, noting that motorized, equestrian, and hunting /fishing communities have been well organized for years.  “With the Outdoor Alliance, we’ve worked out a joint policy platform and have a constant presence in Washington. Each organization may be relatively small, but if you take a look at who participates in our respective activities, we represent the recreational interests of 1 in 3 Americans. By combining our efforts, we have a lot more traction.”

So, with the President asking for fresh ideas, what did Brady propose? The conference, he was quick to say, was more of a rallying-call and networking opportunity than a serious policy workshop. However, in smaller breakout sessions after the main event, each representative was given a minute and a half to speak.  “Like others, I spoke of the need for full-funding of the Land and Water Conservation Fund, and also more emphasis on low-impact recreation from the US Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management. Unfortunately, we frequently find that the talk coming from Washington doesn’t always match the management practices on the ground. A lot of their time goes into resource extraction and other obligations versus consistent recreational land management.”

What direction the conservation movement will take in the twenty-first century is still to be determined, though opinions are already being voiced. Carl Pope, Chairman of the Sierra Club wrote of healing the divide between rural conservationists – farmers, hunters, and anglers – and urban environmentalists. Others noted that Obama, the first president in more than a generation to come from a truly urban home, would likely make green efforts in cities and close to large population centers a focus of the initiative.

And Brady spoke of money: “The budgetary crunch is obviously a huge issue right now, so it would be a mistake to expect a big influx of funding right away. But for me, the take away point was that the administration thinks conservation and access to outdoor recreation for all Americans is important. They want climbers and the human powered outdoor recreation community to be represented. We have a place at the table, and the ability to help set the agenda.”

Rescuers boarding a Black Hawk during a SAR in the winter of 2007. Although the New Hampshire Air National Guard volunteers their time for rescues, they are frequently deployed overseas and unavailable, necessitating more costly measures.

It’s fair to say Scott Mason bit off a little more than he could chew.

In April, the Eagle Scout embarked on an ambitious one day traverse of the northern Presidential range in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. Early into his hike, he twisted an ankle, but chose to continue. A few miles later, Mason re-considered and opted for a quicker route back to the road, only to find the trail blocked by numerous streams swollen by spring snow melt.

While the young hiker settled down for an uncomfortable night without a sleeping bag, ensolite pad, or tent, a search effort was launched. His parents reported him missing, and soon New Hampshire Fish and Game officers, aided by an army of volunteers, were combing the mountains. A helicopter was brought in from neighboring Maine. Finally, after three long days and nights of difficult back-country travel, Mason reversed his route and rendezvoused with a search party not far from the summit of Mount Washington. When he was reunited with his parents, several network television crews and a phalanx of reporters were on hand to capture the drama.

It appeared that the Mason SAR had reached a happy conclusion. The boy was found, alive, and while he had certainly made a serious error in deciding to continue into a remote area after spraining his ankle, he also exercised some good judgment that allowed him to emerge from the experience unscathed. The embarrassment at making the A-section of the Boston Globe and being on the evening news seemed like the right dose of punishment to ensure that he would learn from his mistakes and mature to become a better prepared outdoorsman.  The New Hampshire Fish and Game Department, meanwhile, got to bask in some positive PR. And dozens of volunteers got to skip work for the day and play hero.

Then came the fallout: two weeks ago, Mason received a bill for $25,238 from the State of New Hampshire.  “It was his negligence that led to him getting into that predicament,” Major Tim Acerno of the New Hampshire Fish and Game recently said, adding that a helicopter used in the search significantly increased the cost of the mission. Mason has until August 9th to pay settle up or challenge the bill in a court of law. His family has declined to comment further on the matter.

In the meantime, the situation has ignited a minor firestorm that continues to smolder as the Mason family considers their options. Not only was the teen – who, at age seventeen, was a minor at the time of the rescue, but has since turned eighteen – suddenly saddled with a bill equivalent to a year’s tuition at a private college, but he was also subject to a second round of ruthless Monday morning quarterbacking.

“If you go to these isolated areas to be “away from people…” then be prepared to die or if we have to come rescue you then get ready to pay,” one online poster opined in the comments section of a Boston Globe article. “The kid lacked basic sense. Maybe this fine will discourage other macho stupidity,” a second wrote. “It’s about time these unprepared bozos pay,” said a third.  Everyone from newspaper columnists to experienced guides have been sounding off with their own opinions on what happens when the government attempts to regulate adventure.

With that in mind, I’ll offer a few thoughts of my own.  The following is just my private opinion.  It’s based on my own general experience as an outdoorsman and guide, but also on the fact that, as a volunteer rescuer, I participated in the search for Scott Mason. And moreover — by a combination of circumstance and plain luck — I was the person who happened to find him.

It turns out Scott Mason did not need to be rescued.  When I spotted him, he was approximately a mile below the top of Mount Washington, moving towards the summit at a steady pace. I have no doubt that he would have reached the observatory located there under his own power, irregardless of the massive search operation that was under way. (I don’t mean to imply that the search effort was inept. The same swollen creeks that had boxed Scott into the Great Gulf had boxed search teams out; for three days everyone was caught in a frustrating and inadvertent game of cat-and-mouse.) But regardless of the circumstances of his “rescue”, the State has held Scott liable due to his original decision to continue into a remote area with a sprained ankle. By the letter of the law in New Hampshire as things currently stand, that is probably true.

It sets a dangerous precedent when the government assumes the authority to regulate personal decisions made in the wilderness.  As Edward Abby wrote: “A venturesome minority will always be able to set off on their own, and no obstacles should be placed in their path; let them take risks, for Godsake, let them get lost, sunburnt, stranded, drowned, eaten by bears, buried alive under avalanches–that is the right and privilege of any free American.” I whole heartedly agree.  And having worked alongside many Fish and Game personel during SARs, I’m convinced they don’t want to have to police the backcountry for negligent hikers either.

But even an adventure libertarian like me must acknowledge that rescues cost money, and our personal decisions can carry greater social repercussions that demand all outdoorsman assume responsibility for their actions. In the midst of a recession, land management agencies at the local, state, and federal level are all experiencing severe cash shortages.  Scott’s 25,000 dollar bill was a re-imbursement, not a penalty or punishment. The simple fact is his search cost a lot of money, far more than 25,000 dollars, and someone needs to pay the bill.

While the dispute may be headed to court, lost in the controversy is the fact that a third option does exist. If you’re in a car accident without car insurance, or get sick without health insurance, you are likely to face big financial problems whether it’s your fault or not. One can also purchase rescue insurance.  Though not commonly carried in the United States, that is the standard in Europe, and even here in the US some organizations like the American Alpine Club offer its members a basic policy. Just as I think it’s irresponsible for anyone who can afford it to not have a minimum catastrophe health insurance, outdoorsmen who choose to engage in risky adventures should make sure they are covered in the event they need help.

Nobody – not outdoorsmen, not tax payers, not the land managers themselves – wants government to be in the business of regulating adventure. But it’s clear through rising special user fees and search and rescue repayment laws that that is the direction we are headed in if the outdoor community doesn’t take responsibility on its own. Organizations like the Appalachian Mountain Club and the Sierra Club should offer their members rescue insurance. Adventurers should also have more choices for purchasing a rescue/evacuation rider on their existing health insurance plans (many do already exist). These kinds of improvements would protect the individual from big fees like the one Scott Mason currently faces, but also help prevent government agencies from applying rigid legal definitions like “negligence” to wilderness situations in their effort to re-coup costs and stay under budget.

In the meantime, be warned: if you choose to roll the dice by continuing into the wilderness with a sprained ankle and no insurance – you may unfortunately have to pay the price.

K2: The Savage Mountain

Charles Houston/Robert Bates, McGraw-Hill 1954; Lyons Press 2009

Brevity is one quality frequently lacking in modern adventure stories – yet this book succeeds in recounting the epic American 1953 K2 expedition in a snappy 140 pages. In decided contrast to the big European siege assaults of the era, the trip was a lightweight venture undertaken by a tightly knit and well organized group of friends. K2 was unclimbed at the time, and they succeeded in establishing a high camp within spitting distance of the summit, only to be struck by a powerful storm.  The ensuing descent quickly became an all out fight for survival. Houston and Bates alternatively narrate most of the story (a device that works brilliantly when Houston is knocked unconscious and suffers a concussion in the midst of the descent), and two other team-members contribute individual chapters as well – a reflection of the low-key, humble attitudes that made the expedition so successful. The story is a powerful reminder of how hard 8,000 meter climbing was in the age before SAT phones, gortex, or specialized forecasts, but the clear-eyed voices that speak from each page harken back to a more innocent time.  K2: The Savage Mountain is a fitting testimate to a true high watermark of American Himalayan climbing.

Young Men and Fire

Norman Maclean, University of Chicago Press 1972, 1993

Clearly, novelist Norman Maclean knew a thing or two about how to tell a good story. In Young Men and Fire, he does not try to keep the reader in suspense. Rather, he begins his tale by taking the reader on a walk through the burned-out landscape of Mann Gulch, the day after a forest fire killed thirteen smoke jumpers in an unexpectedly violent blow-up. By acknowledging the “what” so early on, Maclean frees himself to concentrate on the “why”, and the following account of his thirty year obsession with the tragedy becomes as much a musing on his own mortality as it is a search to reconstruct the final moments of the young men’s lives (the meticulous research into the science and physiology of fires begs comparison to The Perfect Storm). But the reader should not be surprised if, by the end of the book, they are more concerned about the fate of their narrator than the “thirteen lonely crosses”: this is non-fiction of the highest order.

The Long Walk

Slavomir Rawicz, Lyons Press 1956, 1997

Epic is a word thrown around a lot in on the covers of adventure non-fiction these days. For a true definition of the word, I suggest reading Slavomir Rawicz’s The Long Walk. A Polish cavalry officer on the eve of World War II, Rawicz was captured by the Russians and sent to labor camp in Siberia. Before long, he and a small band of compatriots hatch a plan to escape… and walk to India. His journey across Asia, including the Siberian arctic, the Gobi desert, and the Himalayas is nothing short of incredible. It would be tempting to revel in the undeniably grim circumstances of the venture, but with World War II raging beyond the horizon, Rawicz never forgets that it is a far better fate to be a man battling nature than a man battling men. The Long Walk is a refreshing triumph of simple human dignity and courage.

It’s all that, plus they kill a deer with an axe.

In Memory of Wade Johnson, Micah Dash, and Jonny Copp

Friends, family, and climbers around the world are mourning the loss of Micah Dash, Wade Johnson, and Jonny Copp. The trio were last seen alive when they left their basecamp in the Gongga (Minya Konka) Range of the Eastern Himalaya in Seuchuan Province, China, on May 20th. Jonny and Wade’s bodies have been positively identified by search parties. It is likely all three perished in an avalanche.

In their home city of Boulder, Colorado, friends mobilized as soon as it was discovered they had missed their flight home. Some immediately flew to China, while others stayed awake for days on end to coordinate information, procure travel visas, collect donations, write press-releases, and provide comfort within the close-nit adventuring community. The outpouring of love and support on their blog has been staggering.

I never had the opportunity to meet Wade. But I can imagine the excitement he must have felt to be going into the mountains with Micah and Jonny, who I knew through years of haphazard encounters while traveling and climbing. I would bump into Jonny in Alaska or Micah in Yosemite Valley, share an evening of revelry, and then not see them for another nine months or a year. I am grateful for the few chances I had to tie into a rope with them at the crags, and saddened I never shared a true mountain adventure with either of them.

2003: Some friends and I were slumming it at Kahiltna International Airport when Kelly Cordes and Jonny arrived.  Most of the West Buttress expeditions had been keeping a dignified distance from our slushy hovel, but Jonny and Kelly came right over to say hello and socialize. We watched them blaze up to the third-ice band on Depravation on Mount Hunter, then they headed to the East Fork of the Kahiltna for something a little more remote. That was so Jonny: he seemed like he’d rather go see what was around the next corner, instead of wasting all his time on the obvious, popular objectives like Hunter. I remember watching as they skied back into BC several days later in swirling grey clouds. They’d found adventure, all right. After FA-ing a 4,000 mixed route, Kelly had gone into a crevasse while skiing down in a white out. After hauling his partner out, Jonny found their tiny bivy tent. They crawled inside to brew up, and, though they were out of food, Jonny reached into a stuff sack to present Kelly with… a can of beer. That was also Jonny. You knew he was capable not only of leading the crux pitch or haulling your arse out a crevasse but he also had the class to produce a malted beverage in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness.

The first time I met Micah was in Indian Creek, back in the early 2000-s… Somebody had fallen near the top of a hard, tricky to protect finger crack, and they asked Micah if he wanted to go up to finish the lead. “Sure”, Micah responded, “– but pull the rope because I want to place my own gear on this… “. He sent. A couple of years later he was pacing around the Camp IV parking lot, waiting for temperatures to cool so he could go try the Phoenix. “Is it too warm? It’s still a little too warm, but it will take an hour or two to drive over there and warm-up, and by then it might not be too warm…” He was mostly talking to himself, twitching with excitement, and by the end of the conversation he had convinced himself that temperatures were really not too warm to go climbing. That was Micah: hyper-frenetic, with the infectuous joy of a golden retriever, impossible to stop from doing whatever he wanted.

This February I drove with Micah from Ouray to Boulder.  At that moment Micah didn’t have formal living arrangements in town.  Which is to say he wasn’t paying rent anywhere. Of course we would normally stay at his girlfriend Nellie’s apartment, but her mom was in town. No problem, Micah said, we can stay with friends.  I normally feel a little awkward about crashing a friend’s house or invading their personal space, but Micah waded into his friends lives in South Boulder with such gusto and genuine love. He heckled Zack about when he was going to marry Sasha, heckled Nick about going to college, heckled me to become a better sport climber.  He had the same frenetic energy for the people around him as he had for climbing.

I think one of the most revealing things about both Jonny and Micah is that they were always in the company of accomplished, independent, and extremely intelligent women.  If you only see someone’s climber-personality, it is easy to think of them as just another passionate, talented dirtbag. But it was obvious from their girlfriends that they had their shit together and their priorities in line. My second-to-last day in Boulder, Micah got more nervous then I’d ever seen him. He was going to dinner with Nellie and her mom, and wanted things to go perfectly. “Here’s what you do,” I offered. “Two-thirds of the way through dinner, get up to go to the bathroom and slip the waiter your credit card, so the bill is already taken care before you’re even brought the check.”

“That’s a good – fucking – idea, ” Micah said, totally captivated, like I had just given him the key beta for free-climbing the Salathe headwall.

Micah passed me off to Jonny for the evening. We did a crushing Mountain Athlete workout, then went to dinner with his girlfriend Sara. The evening passed in a blur of talk about the various non-profit organizations they each were involved with. I don’t think we mentioned climbing once. After eating, we went to rendezvous with Micah. He was beaming. “Dude — I killed it with your check trick! She loved me!” he said. I cracked a smile myself, realizing that Micah Dash thought more highly of me for this little piece of advice then anything else I had done in our short friendship.

Before we headed back to South Boulder to crash, Jonny grabbed me. “Let’s go do the Daily Camera Chimney,” He said, leading me through an alley and down the street. I protested that I was drunk, and we’d get fined if the Boulder Police caught us. “Come on, you’ll love it,” he said. An inset brick arch around the entrance to the building made for a nice climb, something I could indeed pull off even after a few beers. We started on opposite sides and met on top, right where the apex of the arch formed a little perch to stop and look down on the street. We lay there on stomachs, catching our breathe, taking it all in.

“See, isn’t it cool up here?” Jonny asked.

One day last spring it was discovered that several anchor stations at Cathedral Ledge’s popular north end practice slabs had been removed.  Furthermore, the party responsible had left behind an unsightly mess of bent studs and battered hangers.  The rock surrounding this carnage was chipped from visible hammer blows, and – most alarmingly – a two word warning was scrapped into the rock at the base of the crag, just to the right of the start of Henry Barber’s famed route Recluse:  “NO BOLTS”.  An immediate reprisal was mounted by several local guides, who re-installed the bolts within twenty-four hours of their violent departure.  These new fixtures were promptly bludgeoned as well.

North Conway’s climbing community has always enjoyed a feisty ethical discourse.  Bolts are periodically added and removed from the cliff.  When the action gets too hot,  disputes are settled in the true New England tradition with a town meeting.  But say what you will about chopping bolts, there seemed to be little rationale for doing such a bad job of it.  Past choppers have been good enough neighbors to fully remove the hanger and stud, taking care not to damage the surrounding rock.  A few pebbles and a speck of glue later, and the hole was never there.  But this was different. This was a crime of passion.  And an inability to understand the other side of the argument often leads to a more violent reaction against it.

A likely perpetrator, well known on the local coffee shop circuit, was identified.  Indeed, this individual readily implicated himself in a string of self-damaging and baffling posts on an area internet site.  Tensions mounted.  A few leftist firebrands suggested a second wave of retaliation bolting, several conservative commentators called for this to be the start of a general cliff-wide cleansing of retro-bolts.  Most sensible-minded folk merely rolled their eyes and waited for cooler heads to prevail.  Perhaps we just all needed to sit down and work this one out.  Regretfully, there was no attempt at holding a local forum, nor was there any attempt to open a dialogue with the perpetrator.

A small group of offended locals did take action, however, and the incident was quietly brought to the attention of State authorities.  A case was built, and by summer’s end, misdemeanor charges were filed against the perp for committing acts of “vandalism” within a state park.  In an interesting twist, these developments were kept quiet from the general community.  The majority of climbers in the Mount Washington Valley never knew that their local climbing ethic was about to be decided by a county judge down in Ossipee.  The defendant waited quietly for his date with justice, and when it came, the swift arm of the law delivered a 360 dollar fine upon him.

And suddenly the vandal enjoyed a stunning change of fortune.  Word finally got out, almost overnight.  His status in the local community went from amateur hack to celebrated martyr.  A collection was taken up.  Those who had been against the bolts contributed.  Those who had been in favor of replacing the bolts contributed.  All sides were suddenly united in their belief in the right to self-government.  17 individuals committed twenty dollars each, reducing the vandal’s loss to an equal twenty dollar share.  Local consensus may tolerate the odd bolt chopping,  but it certainly does not abide the odd tattle tail.

It’s early January now as I write this, and I’m still not sure exactly what kind of statement the vandal was trying to make by chopping those bolts, nor do I know if anyone’s bothered to replace them yet.  Nor do I really care.  It’s ice climbing season now, and hey, live free or die.

Originally published in Alpinist Magazine.

Like most first-time visitors to Argentine Patagonia, I was lured south by the legendary reputation of its two greatest peaks, Cerro Torre and Fitzroy.

Beyond them, I knew next to nothing about the geography and climbing on the subsidiary summits beneath these giants. After three weeks of waiting, the wind gods mercifully provided a two day weather window that allowed my partner and I to make a quick dash up Cerro Torre’s infamous Compressor Route. But during the course of our climb, I found myself continually gazing across the Torre Valley at the ten kilometer ridge of needled summits that stretches south from Fitzroy: Aguja de la Silla, Desmochada and Poincenot, followed by Innominata (also called Rafael Juarez), Saint Exupery, and de la S. I didn’t even know all their names then, but it was precisely that element of the unknown that captivated my imagination.

Of course, there was established routes from the Torre Valley to all the summits of these peaks, but I was overwhelmed by the amount of climbable rock that remained unexplored. Most of the major faces had only a single established route on them, yet the crack systems that could yield a potential new line were too numerous to count. At the same time, the terrain looked intimidating: there were vast swaths of third and forth class terrain guarding the steep stuff, and many crack systems dead-ended on sub-towers below the main peaks. And because of the limited information, vague topos and inaccurate route photos available, just repeating an established route could be a hell of an adventure. For the next two seasons, I returned to Chalten, dutifully schlepped my equipment from town to the Polacos bivouac, and commenced to explore these intriguing towers for myself. I had some great days repeating a few of the established classics, and was lucky enough to establish three new lines of my own.

What follows is an abbreviated, unofficial and incomplete guide to the area based on my own experiences. For rookies, the established trade routes on Innominata, Saint Exupery, and de la S are a great way to get experience and become comfortable with the harsh demands of climbing in Patagonia. Hard-cores will gravitate towards the steep, splitter and often unclimbed features that still remain for future generations. Rather than try to supply the kind of minute beta for specific routes that people have come to expect in the age of Supertopo, I have instead focused on providing information about the general strategy and tactics that might help lay the groundwork for a successful ascent. Hopefully this approach will preserve an element of exploration and discovery for everyone’s experience, even if they are climbing on a well-traveled route. I make no claims that all the following info is accurate – be careful, be accountable for your own actions, but most of all be adventurous.

Travel Logistics:
The best way to get to Chalten is to fly through Buenos Aires to Calafate, and then take a bus (approximately 4 hours). As of this writing, round-trip plane tickets from New York to Calafate were going for 1200 – 1400 dollars. Ideally you can leave home around mid-day, have an overnight flight to B.A., a morning flight to Calafate, and catch an evening bus to Chalten. The travel is surprisingly straight forward and all necessary supplies can be bought in Chalten.

General Strategy: Accurate weather forecasts can be readily obtained via the internet in town. Most modern teams eschew the traditional basecamp-style expedition and opt to cache climbing gear, bivy equipment, and hill food at one of the high bivouacs and then wait in town for good weather. With a light load, most bivy sites are a 4-6 hour hike from town. Bring some heavy “contractor” trash bags from home to waterproof your cache and remember to discretely hide your equipment among the boulders. Some theft does occasionally occur.

Approach To Polacos: To reach the Polacos bivy, locate the major trail that begins at the southwest side of Chalten and leads towards the Torre Valley and Campo d’Agostini (formerly Camp Bridwell, about two hours from town). Just beyond d’Agostini, cross the Tyrolean traverse over the river that is the outlet for Lago Torre, and then follow a well established trail that skirts the lake to the left (south). Once beyond the lake, drop down onto the glacier and follow its left side, at one point negotiating a loose moraine trough to circumvent the first major icefall. Once above this obstacle, bear right and head across the glacier towards the upper valley, heading towards flat-topped El Mocho. Once you are directly beneath Saint Exupery, on your right, head right and climb talus off the floor of the valley. The Polacos bivy is located approximately 500 vertical feet above the glacier, beneath Poincenot and just up-valley of the gully between Innominata and Poincenot. Caution! The exact route of the final climb to Polacos is extremely loose and varies from year to year. Careful route-finding is important. Several injuries have resulted from falls and rockfall in the unstable talus. Take care to limit your exposure to rockfall from above.

There is plenty of room for numerous parties to camp at Polacos, though finding water can sometimes be an issue. If there is no running snowmelt available in camp, hike uphill — Small running trickles can normally be found at the base of the slabs approximately 20 minutes above camp.

Approaches Above Polacos: To access the south face of Poincenot, Innominata, Saint Exupery, and the north ridge of de la S, hike directly up hill from Polacos, then move left at the base of the lowest slab to the beginning of a giant fault-line feature that slashes up and right. Identifying the start of this approach gully in daylight before you make an alpine start will help. See photo for details. For Desmochada and the north face of Poincenot, hike up underneath the gully that separates Poincenot from Desmochada, then scramble up the rock buttress left of the gully (lots of 4th class with some short 5.6; consider breaking out the rope and simul-climbing if you are not comfortable soloing this kind of terrain).

Climbing Strategy:
Most teams choose to tackle routes on the smaller spires (Desmochada, Innominata, Saint Exupery, and de la S) in a single long day from Polacos. This strategy normally means that you will leave camp between 2 – 3 AM, do the approach by headlamp, start the technical climbing at first light, summit in the late afternoon, and hopefully have enough time to descend before it gets dark. Many teams do end up rappelling in the dark; total camp-to-camp efforts of around 24 hours are common. Having a warm belay parka and some espresso beans helps make the mid-night rappels go smoothly. Get an early start — those approach gullies are longer than you think.

Most teams will ditch extra crampons and ice gear, one pack, and all other superfluous gear at the start of the technical climbing, and pack all their stuff into a single backpack for the second to carry. The leader goes packless, or with a very light load. Climbing on a single rope gives the second the option to jug. While it is undoubtedly more enjoyable for the second to free-climb pitches, if you are carrying a heavy load of ice gear and/or bivy supplies it is quicker and more efficient to jug. Leading in blocks of 3-6 pitches helps everyone to stay warm.

Equipment:
Rack: A standard rack for most technical Patagonia routes consists of a double set of cams to #3 Camalot, and one each of #4 and #5, plus a full set of nuts, 8-10 slings and free biners, and 3-4 cordelettes. On the trade routes, you can normally get away with less. For establishing rappel anchors, I find doubles of large nuts (BD size 9-13) to be especially helpful, as well as lots of cord to sling horns and equalize gear.

Footwear: In favorable mid-season conditions, you can get away with wearing a lightweight gortex hiking boot or approach shoe — Last year I summited Fitzroy twice wearing a pair of the La Sportiva Onix GTX-XCRs. On most routes from the Polacos bivy, you will need a pair of lightweight aluminum crampons and one ice axe for the approach. Remember that at night temperatures are frequently below freezing and there is often very hard snow conditions in the approach gullies. Don’t try to get away with doing any of these approaches without the proper gear. If your route looks to be pure rock climbing, you can leave your ice gear and approach shoes at the bottom of your route. For rock shoes, I wear a pair of oversized Barracudas that I can comfortably wear with socks on.

Other equipment notes: A piece of surgical hosing is invaluable for siphoning water from small trickles or cracks in the rock. Consider investing in ultra-light aluminum crampons and a light ice-axe: conventional steel ice gear becomes very heavy when you have to carry it on your backpack up technical rock terrain. I like to have a light, tight fitting pair of gloves that I can rock climb moderate terrain in — either mixed climbing gloves, or neoprene work gloves from the hardware store, work great. Even if Bilbo taught you not to tape for cracks at the Creek, the coarse Joshua Tree granite of Patagonia will make you think again…

Selected Routes:

North Ridge of de la S: at only five technical pitches, this is one of the shortest routes in the range, with one of the longest approaches. Still, it is worth considering as a warm-up route or a reasonable objective on marginal weather days. Approach as for Claro de Luna, but continue moving south under Saint Exupery into the diagonal gully between Saint Exupery and de la S. At the top of the gully, move onto the east face and ascend easy snow and mixed terrain for one pitch. Then climb a beautiful 5.6 crack to reach the broad upper shoulder of de la S. Walk across the low angle talus to reach the upper spire. You can choose to either follow the true crest of the ridge (5.9) or climb one of several chimney features to its right (probably easier but less fun). Descend by rappelling the route – only one 60 meter rope is needed.

Claro de Luna, Saint Exupery: an all-time alpine classic, with twenty-odd pitches of rock climbing that goes at mid 5.10. Probably the technical crux is a thin corner on the second pitch (can be avoided by going around to the right), though expect some loose rock and route-finding challenges higher up. Simul-climbing the moderate terrain in the middle section of the route goes a long way to helping avoid the all-night rappel party. Rap the top part chimney portion of the route, then go fall-line over a steep face festooned with anchors to reach the bottom ramp of the Kearney-Harrington some 400 yards higher up the approach gully.

The west face of Saint Exupery, showing Claro de Luna (red); The Super Trek variation (yellow), and The Last Gringos Standing (green).

The Anglo-American Route, Innominata: A popular route, but bring a number 5 Camalot and beware of the stiff off-width lurking right below the summit.

The northwest pillar of Innominata, showing 1) Artezebella, 2) Blood on the Tracks, 3) Corallo, 4) the Anglo-American Route.

The Sound and the Fury, Desmochada: A really cool route, which perhaps got a bad reputation because Dave Sharratt and I epic-ed on the first ascent. The route ascends a beautiful crack system on the SW face, which nevertheless goes at a surprisingly moderate 5.11 A1, with loads of classic crack climbing and aid necessary on only two pitches (freed by Will Stanhope and Jason Kruk at 12b). Also check out its sister line Golden Eagle, and the properly burly looking El Falcon.

Enter the arena: Desmochada from the southwest, showing 1) El Condor, 2) Golden Eagle, 3) The Sound and the Fury, 4) Dieta del Lago, 5) El Facon.

The Future: Alpinists are often limited by an irrational desire to end their climb on a major summit. But if it’s adventure and new exploration you seek, consider the numerous unclimbed lines that end on the gendarmed ridges between and below the other peaks. Two good places to start looking: the sub-towers below the West Ridge of Poincenot, and the ridge in between Innominata and Saint Exupery.

Resources:
http://www.climbinginpatagonia.freeservers.com/ — an unbelievable resource, with many topos.
http://ktml.freeservers.com/Patagonia.htm — Kevin has some good stories, photos, and a few topos.
http://209.20.70.87/AAJO/ — the American Alpine Journal search engine. Searching for a specific route or peak name will yield lots of information. Make sure you have the spelling correct.

The flame’s ascent to the 29,028 foot apex of the world’s highest mountain on May 8th was a singular triumph for the Communist Party of China’s propaganda machine. Spring is the traditional season to climb Everest, and typically the mountain’s northern (Tibetan) and southern (Nepali) sides swarm with an international mix of expeditions vying for the top. Would-be summiteers pay peak fees of 5,000 – 10,000 per person to each respective government for the right to climb Everest. Moreover, they are a vital source of money for the local economy, through the hiring of cooks, porters, and logistical services. This spring, however, the rules of the game changed. Citing several reasons, including “increased environmental pressures”, the Chinese Tibet Mountaineering Association issued a ban on all expeditions until after May 10th. The CTMA “requested” that their Nepali neighbors to the south do the same.

Poor Nepal. It’s not easy being a landlocked country in Asia — especially when you’re sandwiched between two aspiring hegemons like China and India, and have to deal with the public humiliation of being the only country in the twenty-first century to undergo a communist revolution. How embarrassing. The Nepali government appeared to waffle for several weeks in March, during which time the Ministry of Culture and the Ministry of Tourism made conflicting statements and as many as thirty different expeditions waited in Katmandu for a definitive decision. By early April, the Ministry of Tourism announced that it would be issuing permits for Everest, but with a few strings attached. All expedition leaders were forced to sign a document stating that “the team shall not carry and exhibit any things like flags, banners, stickers, pamphlets or any audio visual devices that may harm bilateral relationship between Nepal and China.” It went on to specify that until after May 10th, all electronic equipment – satellite phones, computers, and video cameras – was to be temporarily held by the police in base camp and no climbers would be allowed beyond Camp 2 at 21,000 feet onto the upper mountain. All news reports broadcast from base camp first had to be approved by the Ministry of Tourism. To enforce these rules, a garrison of soldiers was dispatched to the mountain.

As spring progressed, rumors of censorship and escalating tension on Everest flew through the global mountaineering community: Nepali soldiers were cleared to use deadly force on any climber interfering with the torch’s ascent, Chinese security guards and plain clothes policemen were flooding base camp, snipers were stationed at Camp 2. A few voices in the mountaineering community criticized the media censorship surrounding the Olympic torch’s Everest climb and China’s blatant meddling in Nepal. Reinhold Messner, the grandfather of modern Himalayan climbing and a former member of the EU Parliament decried the ascent as an insult to the people of Tibet. The prestigious French organization, the Groupe de Haute Montagne issued a statement calling on all mountaineers to condemn the ascent.

What’s truly remarkable, however, is the degree to which Everest climbers willingly submitted to these strong arm tactics. Hardly any major expeditions voluntarily canceled their plans to climb Everest from Nepal on moral grounds, and there was virtually no talk of boycotts or organized protest in the Everest climbing community. So far there’s only been a single report of a climber being arrested for civil disobedience: a twenty-six year old from Virginia was forced to leave the mountain and given a two year ban on climbing in Nepal for carrying a small flag that reportedly read: “Free Tibet / fuck China”.

The Himalayan climbing community’s tacit acquiescence to the will of corrupt Asian regimes is nothing new. In 2006, a young Tibetan nun attempting to flee into Nepal was murdered by Chinese soldiers at advance base camp on nearby Cho Oyu, the eighth highest mountain in the world. Despite the fact that tens of Western climbers were on hand to witness the murder in broad daylight, it took days before the story was reported to the international media.

The changing demographics of Himalayan climbing has something to do with this appalling sort of abdication of moral responsibility. Once the domain of a few iconoclast, counter-culture adventurers, the Himalayas of today are overrun by commercial expeditions, with wealthy cliental paying a premium to be escorted all the way to the summit by a small army of high altitude Sherpas and western guides. Expedition leaders, anxious for a smooth, hassle-free climb, are highly conscious that they are obliged to cooperate with the government’s demands. Today Mount Everest means big business, and few appear willing to put their livelihoods on the line for political conviction.

Others are quick to point out that the dollars they bring to the local economy are the best possible thing for the impoverished people of the region. After all, Nepal isn’t hosting the Olympics and it isn’t occupying Tibet, so why should it be punished for the actions of its bullying neighbor? The essential point here – engagement over isolation – parallels wider western attitudes towards the Olympics this summer. With the Games only ten weeks away, talk of boycotting the event has been largely deflected by those scheduled to compete or attend. Many athletes have publicly stated that they are against a boycott and will compete in the Games, not as any endorsement of China’s policies, but as a statement that athletic excellence and global unity should transcend politics.

But this argument does little to absolve those climbing on Everest this spring of some small share of complicity in China’s human rights violations, and its systematic attempts to cover up those abuses. The Olympics are a chance for global athletes to come together and compete on an even playing field regardless of their race, nationality, or background. These principles stand in rank contrast to current cost of doing business on Mount Everest, where enough money, and a willingness to sacrifice a few ideals along the way, can buy you a place at the top.

Originally published on the Huffington Post on May 27th, 2008.

With the recent economic hardships affecting Americans everywhere, it makes sense that there should be a renewed national impulse towards thriftiness. And what is more thrifty than a localized recycling of goods? For the seller, yard sales offer a low-overhead, non-taxable income source. For the buyer, they are the perfect way to pick up everyday household consumer products at bargain basement prices. And for the environment, yard sales provide a means of saving the landfills and reducing the heavy, fossil-fuel laden footprint of global manufacturing and shipping.

Nevertheless, the skeptic can’t help wondering: do we as Americans really have it in our national spirit to spend our holiday weekends cruising the land for used mattresses and old stereo equipment? Will the easy consumption of big box stores prevail, endlessly spewing out more Chinese-manufactured cheap plastic goods, destined for the landfill in less than three years’ time? In my home state of New Hampshire, I took to the back roads on a sunny Memorial Day afternoon to investigate.

“Nobody’s around”, said Tim Baker of Albany, New Hampshire. “The parking lots are empty. If people don’t travel, money doesn’t flow.” As we chatted, a man approached with a large plastic wall clock bearing the logo for Schlitz beer. He liked the clock, but didn’t have enough cash with him to pay the twenty dollar asking price. “How much you got?” Tim asked. “Twelve dollars? Fine. It’s yours. Hey, you interested in this garage tent?”

Just a little way up the road in North Conway, Bob and Jackie Goode had several tables of items set up on their driveway. Jackie offered a more nuanced analysis of the market: “It’s been hit or miss… There are some low bids, but then other folks will come along and pay the price.” Jackie said they held a yard sale twice a year, each spring and fall. Were yard sales going out of fashion? “Not in this day and age!” Jackie responded. As proof of the flourishing yard sale economy, she pointed to the success of internet sites like eBay and Craig’s List.

The couple’s children had all moved out, so yard sales made practical sense as a means to downsize the family clutter. But it was also clear that Jackie loved the thrill of the bargain hunt. “These days, people are digging for good deals. If you keep looking, you can find anything. See that hat?” She gestured to a friend wearing a handsome leather cowboy hat. “I found that for three dollars at the flea market in Old Orchard Beach last weekend – three dollars!”, she told me proudly.

Others, I soon discovered, see the yard sale business as a sheer philanthropic necessity. Later that afternoon, I followed signs advertising a “Huge Lawn Sale” down a dead-end street with cracked pavement. I parked my truck in front of a driveway packed with dusty piles of children’s clothes, boxes of books, and tables of electronic goods. A man with a far-away look in his eyes and an impressive tattoo of a Scottish coat-of-arms on his neck greeted me.

“Do you need a stroller or any baby clothes?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a response, but kept right on talking in soft, slightly resigned mono-tone statements. I don’t think he was being rude or impatient – it just seemed that he could tell at a glance that I probably wasn’t going to take any of the junk he had neatly arrayed around him.

The weekend had been pretty good, he said. “This has been my first lawn sale in two years, and I got plenty of stuff to get rid of.” In fact, most of the stuff he would give away, for free. He just wanted to make sure that it got used. Times were hard and he knew there were people who couldn’t afford things. He began to point out various items he had saved: Four baby strollers, a walker, a couple of boxes of Christmas decorations.

Ron, as he eventually introduced himself, just couldn’t stand throwing away items that were still useful. As a last resort, he would take things to the thrift store at the local dump, but they often charged him 5 dollars to leave a working refrigerator or lawn mower. “How about that?” he asked. “Having to pay somebody else to take your stuff…” He shook his head sadly.

In all, Ron said that he had probably made around forty dollars that weekend. But financial success was a secondary concern. Ron had two rented storage units filled with more stuff that he was going to clean out that week. If he didn’t get rid of the stuff in his garage this weekend, he would have no place to put the new junk coming in from the storage units.

“I just don’t understand it… I’m willing to give this stuff away, and people still won’t take it.” His voice drifted off. I stood there in silence with him for a few moments, then took my leave. The drive home took me past the local Wal-Mart, and I couldn’t help noticing that the parking lot was full, bustling with eager Memorial Day shoppers.

One thing’s for certain: the yard sale economy has plenty of room to grow.

Originally published on the Huffington Post on June 6th, 2008.