Final Countdown.

WHOA!

ONLY FOUR AND A HALF WEEKS LEFT!!!

By now I should be used to the sensation of seemingly far-off plans sneaking up on me before I have even decided where exactly I will be going or what I should be packing… But, evidently, I am not. Yet again I find myself buzzing with nerves and excitement at the prospect of facing unknown challenges and landscapes. My eagerness for new experiences and adventures is caught in a heated battle with a fear of failure and a fear of the unknown. The battlegrounds that they have chosen are the pit of my stomach and the space between my shoulder blades – I find my stomach crawling with butterflies and my shoulders rolling themselves out in an attempt to relieve some of the tension that they hold. But above the butterflies and itchy shoulders rises an electric enthusiasm and gratefulness for the opportunity to face these fears and see what I am able to learn from them. I have spent much time in the South African wilderness with Michael and Chris, and I can’t wait to explore some Mexican mountains with these amigos of mine.

The Fantastic Frontroete

In 2014 my life was irrevocably changed when I laid my hands on a copy of ‘Jonkershoek en sy Berge’ by Ernst Lotz. Only 45 pages long, this low-key pocket-sized book, written with such humour and style, describes dozens of hikes, scrambles and climbs in the Jonkershoek valley of Stellenbosch i.e. my backyard. My mountain horizons exploded once I discovered all these new routes up some of the most iconic peaks I had been staring at since childhood. A treasure chest of adventures lay before me, and now I had the key!

Thereafter I had countless adventures and glorious days in Jonkershoek, but I want to tell you a bit about my latest endeavor which took me up the Frontroete of Rifberg. The route name describes it well, because the route literally goes straight up the face of the mountain. Standing at the bottom, it was almost impossible to believe that there could exist a route up those sheer cliffs without a rope. But as always, I trusted Mr Ernst Lotz, and allowed him to lead me up kloofs, along ledges, up steep slopes and around sneaky corners all the way to the summit!

The Frontroete was one of the most committing and adventurous days I have ever had in the mountains. It required a great amount of mountain-savvy, and an ability to remain calm and focused during exposed scrambles (scrambling is the term used when you are climbing steep terrain with your hands and your feet, but a rope is not required). My good friend Pascoe joined me for the day and I could not have wished for a better companion that day. Together we relished the excitement and basked in the harsh beauty of the steep mountain slopes and spires.

Along the way we took some photos. Enjoy 🙂

Fynbos flowers with the Rifberg looming in the background.

Trudging up the fynbos slopes to the start of the scramble route.

Hairy monsters.

Pompoms!

The stunning and aptly named Cathedral Peak next door.

Believe it or not this is a living creature. Pascoe found it under a rock and coined the term ‘Weird Mutant Frog’.

Here you can see one of it’s legs as it’s crawling to safety.

Messing around with an amazing three-finger pocket.

Little man in the big mountains.

Battle wounds!

Scrambling! This is where things got interesting.

Super Mike in action.

Traversing a little ledge. Please note: photos invariably crop images and don’t give you the full picture. This photo is by far not as extreme as it looks, you can’t see how high I am.

Close to the top we lost the route… I had to consult Mr Ernst Lotz, but the route no longer fitted the description. The final 100m were an improvisation along what we deemed was the most viable scramble line.

Looking for the route along a ledge.

Consulting the guide. I could use the Pieke in the background as a visual indicator of how high we were, and how far it was to the summit of Rifberg which was not visible.

Safely and happily on the summit. Two ecstatic Mountain Goats!

The summit reward. A panorama of the Baghoek Valley, the Groot Drakenstein mountains, and in the distance the Cape Fold mountains stretching into the north.

The striking beauty of Fynbos.

Pascoe striking a pose on the descent.

Little man in the BIG MOUNTAINS!

The descent was down the easy ‘slab’ route which was a pleasant relaxation after the taxing scrambles of Frontroete.

A classic sight in the mountains. Sun-tanning lizards with blue heads!

 

Rudderless in the Richtersveld

At the end of June I joined my brothers in South Africa for a jaunt to the border of Namibia and the |Ai-|Ais/Richtersveld Transfrontier Park. It’s a harsh and barren landscape, with the tail end of the Orange River providing the only evidence that water ever reaches the area. The 80 km of super-corrugated mining roads at the end of our drive reminded us repeatedly and shakily that we’d left the city.

When we arrived, the very frantic park ranger told us that he didn’t think there’d be any water in the entire area, so it might not be possible to complete the hike. We decided to shorten our target to three days, ditched any non-essentials, and loaded about twelve litres of water into our bags.

It’s a two hour land cruiser drive to the trail-head, along some pretty serious 4×4 roads. Most of the way is completely barren, but as we neared our destination a few grand quiver trees and low bushes started to appear.

Golden quiver trees punctuate the sparse brush.

We investigated the Zebrawater river(bed) on the first day, and unsurprisingly, there was no water to be found. We were still treated to a stunning view of Dernberg, one of the most attractive peaks in the park.

Matt and Zoom investigate the bone-dry Zebrawater, with the majestic Dernberg in the background.

Our first short day of hiking ended in the Amphitheatre, and my iPhone camera and mediocre photography skills fail to do justice to the place. It’s the end point of the valley we hiked up, terminating on all sides  (except the one we came in on) with sheer 100 metre high cliffs.

Inside the stunning Amphitheare

Zoom and I went for some scrambling up the least steep section, and the perfect acoustics meant we could talk to Matt back at the bottom without raising our voices, even from around 100 metres away. It got dark pretty quickly inside there, so we got a fire going and enjoyed our sparse few rusks and sips of whiskey. The complaints about discomfort and cold from my less camping-n-hiking-smitten brothers were kept to an impressive minimum.

Zoom and I doing some scrambling

We started off bright and early the next morning, after I’d had a bowl of oats, and Matt and Zoom had their Futurelife and Aeropress coffee. Constantly counting the droplets of water we used, to make sure our twelve litres would last (no spitting after you brush your teeth).

When in doubt, heel hook.

But then we found water! A murky little spring, too small and still to be very inviting, but definite potential if we ran out of other options. We dumped our bags there and set off for the Venstervalle (the namesake of the hike), stopping for a group self timer on the way.

The happy hiking trio.

The Venstervalle is a beautiful arch, with a waterfall (dry now, obviously) flowing out underneath it with about a 50 metre drop.

The Venstervalle, with Zoom in the bottom left and me on the right lying down

We pushed on to God’s Window, but it wasn’t very impressive and it’s an overused name anyway, so we returned to camp to enjoy the most peaceful sunset possible. No people or running water for at least 50 km in any direction, and barely an animal either. Really intense silence, followed after by sunset by the starry Northern Cape heavens opening above us. The night was colder than the one before, so some time after midnight Matt knocked on the tent door and came to join Zoom and me on the (not actually so) cosy inside.

The next day we’d set a rendezvous time with the park rangers (back at our original starting point, so we set of early to wind our way back out of the valley. Stopping only to summit Dernberg! Matt opted out of the slightly hairy scramble to the top, so Zoom and I enjoyed our panoramic view before rushing down to make the rendezvous on time.

The view from the top of Dernberg!

It was a really fun brotherly trip, made more awesome by the sheer remoteness and aloneness it offered. ‘n Veldie was nooit beter gewes nie. By the time the land cruiser picked us up again, we were completely out of food, water, rusks and whiskey, and very much looking forward to the relative civilisation offered by Sendelingsdrif border post.

Kazbek with the UIAA

Last summer (talking northern hemispherish here) I decided to join the UIAA youth expedition to climb Kazbek, the sixth highest mountain in the Caucasus mountain range (and thus Europe!) and the third highest mountain in Georgia. I was simultaneously being talked into joining a trip to the Eiger (one of the easier routes, thank you) but decided that was too daunting. Kazbek seemed steep and high and icy enough to be a challenge and a serious mountain, but straight-forward and well-trodden enough to offer some comfort to a relatively new mountaineer. And so, fresh from a few weeks of climbing in Catalonia, hiking in the Pyrenees, and a ten day dabble in El Camino, I took my flight to Tbilisi. 5047 daunting metres loomed.

Kazbek! We wound around the back of the mountain, crossing a few glaciers and meeting up with the Russian route.

We started just above the town of Kazbegi, near a beautiful old monastery. The first two days were spent slogging gear up to the camp at 3800 metres. After that it’s a scary section across moraine covered glacier (think ice, crevasses, tumbling rocks), followed by running the gauntlet under a vertical cliff crumbling to pieces in real time, sending massive chunks of rock fumbling down to our path below. Finally, we crossed the treacherous Gergeti glacier, criss crossed by cavernous crevasses and unreliable snow bridges.

Crossing torrential (and freezing) glacial melt-water. We spent about twenty minutes finding a spot to cross. Others hesitated on either side for up to an hour.

Some baby crevasses at the start of the glacier proper. The ten or twenty metres you can see down belie the three hundred metre total thickness of the glacier.

We spent two nights on the frigid glacier at 4 200 metres, where I was unable to sleep in my otherwise trusty K-Way summer sleeping bag, and not helped by the fact that my tent-mates were snoring happily in their puffy expedition bags. This unsympathetic pair were Javier and Izidor, from Spain and Slovenia. They were both a lot more experienced than me, with experience above 7 000 metres, and summits on many of the major ranges around the world. They were extremely helpful and I learnt so much from spending time with them (hours and hours in the tent, avoiding the sun and then the cold) and being roped in with them while crossing the frightening glacier, and for the summit.

At times cosy and unbearably frigid in our flappy green tent.

For me, the most tiring part of the entire trip was probably digging in and building walls for ours tents on the glacier. My tent-mates decided they’d had enough and left the beginner to do the job. Luckily I was having fun and continued working on our fortification, because about an hour later a huge Georgian search-and-rescue helicopter landed a stone’s throw away and tried its best to send our camp tumbling along the glacier.

The biggest and closest helicopter I’ve ever seen. It created a localised blizzard in and around our tent (the nearest).

From the high camp it was a pretty straightforward snow slope to the summit, with a steep section at the end. We got a beautiful view of the Caucasus range and its highest mountain, Mt Elbrus, where Super Rick stood a few years ago!

Cresting the summit as the clouds closed in.

Happily on top with Javier

On the way up the mountain we made friends with Jana and Janica. They arrived after darkness on one of the first nights and planted their tent serendipitously right next to ours.We spent our evenings hanging half out our tents, laughing and swapping stories. They summited a day before us, and we saw them on the way back down, with huge smiles on their faces. Going back across the glacier, Jana was unroped and stepped on a snow bridge that didn’t hold. She fell into the crevasse and died soon after. News travels hazily on mountaintops, so we didn’t find out the full story until a few days later. It was an incredibly sad reminder of the very real dangers of mountaineering. Nearly twelve months later, our friendship with the pair is my most poignant memory from the trip.

Photos credit: F. Javier Pascual

Hannes’ Rebirth and Josef’s Birthday Party, woohoo!

Having whetted our appetite on Sands of Time, Rick and I developed a deep appreciation of granite, and decided to return to Paarl as soon as possible. And so the idea of let’s-go-climb-Paarl-on-fridays was born. Over the next few weeks at the beginning of the year we successfully climbed two more multi-pitch climbs in Paarl – named Hannes’ Rebirth and Josef’s Birthday Party.

Hannes’ Rebirth
“Mike, you’re going to love this first bolt”, was my introduction to the first pitch of Hannes’ Rebirth as Rick delightedly pointed out the ridiculously high first bolt. “You’re joking!”, I replied, since I was not feeling very confident at the time and my stomach squirmed at the thought of what the run-out might be further up! Luckily Rick is a bit crazy and feels very comfortable smearing his way up granite so he excitedly led the first pitch. Thanks Rick! In fact he had to lead the next pitch as well until I could screw my head on straight and gecko my way upwards and onwards on lead.

The first few pitches were actually technically quite easy, with smearing you’re climbing purely using friction, so it’s simply a question of trusting your feet not to slip out under you. Although I understand the mechanics exactly and know how to smear, for me it’s definitely easier said than done with some intense internal dialogue going down. I usually get seriously scared in Paarl. Like “Why would I possibly want to be doing this shit!!!” kind of scared. The long run-outs don’t help either – Paarl is notoriously bolted in a very, well let us say ‘adventurous’ way… For me it’s always a very humbling experience – and a real lesson in facing my fears.

We were both nervously approaching the crux pitch not really knowing what to expect. I was feeling much more confident, but not really ready to tackle some technical climbing, so Rick manned up yet again and led it. Turns out there were a whole bunch of little protrusions in the granite which gave us nice little grips to crimp and stand on. What a pleasure to have real grips on granite! Praise the Rock-Gods. Hallelujah!

Looking back from the top of the crux pitch. Super Mike below.

Super Mike seconding up the crux pitch.

A close-up of the previous image. Check my right hand – crimping crystals!

Cautiously feeling for some more delicious crimpy crystals!

Check out this video from the top of the crux pitch – what a beautiful setting!

Topping out on Hannes’ Rebirth was intensely satisfying. It was such a joyous moment and such an honour to have rock climbed up the dome which I had been on before, but using the walking route when I was younger. I never in my wildest dreams could have imagined that a few years later I would be climbing up there with ropes!

Two happy Supertramps! Rick showed me an amazing geo-cache with a sticker from Sweden. Super Chris, all the way in Stockholm, was there in spirit.

Josef’s Birthday Party

Still frothing for a healthy meal of granite sandwiches with lots of smearing, we decided to climb the next door neighbour of Hannes’ Rebirth the following week, strangely named Josef’s Birthday Party. Being very excited for the party, we quickly made a good start up the first pitch dressed to kill in our climbing attire.

The first pitch followed a nice crack. Things were looking good!

Josef might be a cool guy, but his birthday party sucked. Without elaborating too much, I will just say that smearing up a route that is covered in moss is not so much fun. Smearing is bad enough on clean granite, and I prefer to keep it that way thank-you-very-much!

OK, maybe that was  bit harsh. Josef’s Birthday Party was a indeed a route of questionable quality, and the corresponding apparent lack of traffic allows the moss and lichen to run rampant. But in the end neither of us regret doing it. A day out in the hills on a shitty route is still fun, and totally worth it! That said, I am positive that both of us will think twice before attending Josef’s Birthday Party again…

Rick at the anchors.

Finally finishing Josef’s Birthday Party was such a relief. We were both so glad to have finally left the worst party ever. Oh, and did I mention how windy it was? Check out this video:

Rick seconding up the final pitch. Salvation at last!

Shadow boxing on the summit.

All in all, both climbs had a lot of character and in their own special way were really good experiences well worth the effort. Since then we have not had a chance to return, but this will doubtless be remedied in the future. Rick and I agree – we still have a lot of work to do on those beautiful granite domes.

That’s all for now folks, till next time, Super Mike out 🙂

The Sands of Time

In January of this year, I had just arrived back home in sunny Stellenbosch after an unsuccessful stint in Germany. My numerous bags were still waiting to be unpacked in my room, I was attempting to sort my life out, I was getting used to the heat, when Super Rick (then still known only as ‘Rick’) called me and shouted at me that he only has 30 seconds to talk and he wants to go climb Sands of Time and I have 5 minutes to make up mind cheers goodbye! Well, I think it is needless to say what my decision was.

The Sands of Time is a multi-pitch sport climbing route on the beautiful granite domes of Paarl. It is thought to be one of the best multi-pitch routes of its grade in South Africa. Now, I can’t objectively say if that’s true, but what I can say is that climbing the Sands of Time is fantastic, and it should be on any aspiring climber’s hit list. I’ve climbed it twice now, and I believe Super Rick has smeared his way up the the Sands at least 6 times. Once you pop you can’t stop!

Rick looking back on the Sands of Time. The route is marked in red stripes, with the circles indicating the belay stations, which is climb-speak for rest points between climbs.

Without further ado and much waffling, I just want to say that climbing Sands of Time that day in late January with one my best amigos quite literally rocked my world. It just cemented so many things in my life, and convinced me that I had made the right decision in coming back to SA. Besides being quite a profound experience in my life it was also quite simply a reeeeeally good, understated, calm and collected, and yet scary and exhilarating day of climbing! And the weather was good, yes far better than in Deutschland.

The Amigos, hanging out on the wall.

Life’s too short to take yourself seriously.

I hadn’t actually climbed in ages when I came back to SA, let alone had real rock under my hungry fingers and feet. I must say I had some pretty scary moments, but overcoming that fear and leading two of the pitches reminded me why I love climbing so much. The feeling of facing your fear, mastering it and then taming it is an amazing feeling. One can get this feeling in many ways, not just climbing, but we get to go to places most people don’t go, and we get an amazing view along the way.

G.I. Joe on pitch three, with the spectacular backdrop of Paarl and the Du Toit’s Kloof mountains. 

An impression of the exposure on the route.

A very, very happy Supertramp at home with rocks and ropes (but missing his oats).

Obligatory summit self-timer.

Climbing Sands of Time reminded me, in a shot of adrenaline and happiness, how awesome this crazy thing called life is. To all the crazies out there, till next time, Super Mike out.

Sneaky Stellenbosch Sleepover

“Man, when’s the last time we slept in the mountains?!” TOO LONG. When Super Rick called me on Saturday asking if I wanted to spend the night in the mountains, I hesitated (what with all the irksome obligations) but then the rat inside rebelled. The rat was hungry, it was high time to feed it a healthy helping of mountain goodness.

I love Stellenbosch. I have a mountain, pretty much a stone’s throw from my house, with the inventive name of Stellenbosch Mountain. It’s a mountain I’ve spent many a night on, at different ages, perhaps in a tent, or possibly under the stars, sometimes horribly sunburnt and sometimes freezing. You may ask if I get tired of sleeping on the same mountain? Well, spending a night in my cozy sleeping bag, with a good friend to talk copious amounts of kak with and some tasty food, and being able to access this almost from my front door, it’s just too good to be true. Why wouldn’t I spend  Saturday night on Stellenbosch mountain?

So very soon we were slogging up the side of the mountain with a setting sun and fat grins on our smug Supertramp faces. An icy wind came up and started snapping at our heels driving us up the mountain a little faster (too cold to stop!). Lucky for you we still got some nice shots on the way:

Two happy amigos.

UHS – Unidentified Hiking Supertramp

Spectacular view across the Cape Flats all the way to a smoky Table Mountain.

We arrived at camp in the dark without much fuss except for our freezing hands. Pitch tent! Throw in the bags! Jump inside! Crawl in the sleeping bag! Aaaaahhhhh. Instant satisfaction… Over the next few hours we enjoyed the warmth of our bags, a delicious meal of rice and veggie stew, some stargazing (we were stoked to see Jupiter, Mars and Saturn!) and lots of good conversation ranging from girls to the meaning of art. A highlight was the spectacular view of the city lights that were twinkling like a crazy sea of supercharged Christmas lights stretching all the way to Table Mountain.

The tent Paparazzi blinded Rick.

I’m not exactly sure why I was running around outside in my underpants and boots. All I can say is no mountain mission is complete without some shenanigans.

A dark wanderer, contemplating the twinkling city.

The next morning was exceptionally lazy, with delicious oats (Oats!) and some tomfoolery involving a ridiculous katty that Rick brought with. I felt like a little boy again shooting stones at stuff. We decided that if the shit ever hits the fan we’ll just live in the mountains and feast on dassies now that we are qualified adept katty-hunters.

Self-timer.

Super Rick on his mountain-throne.

The descent was pretty unremarkable, and we were looking forward to getting back to a good cup of coffee. But wait there was more! We arrived at my house to a feast! In true German fashion, my family had just had brunch with many brötchen and delicious stuff to put on the brötchen. Needless to say there was plenty left over for two hungry Supertramps.

The Feast!

Happily fed Supertramp!

All in all, our sneaky Stellenbosch sleepover was a very casual, rapidly executed mountain mission that, while not admittedly not being mind-blowingly exciting and crazy, was deeply satisfying to two guys who love being in the mountains. Here’s to many more mountain missions. Till next time, Super Mike out.

Meet the Supertramps!

So who these three young whippersnappers who call themselves Los Supertramps? Meet Super Mike, Super Chris and Super Rick:

Super Mike
Born and raised in the picturesque town of Stellenbosch encircled by mountains, Michael grew up hiking and camping in the beautiful surrounds of the Western Cape. In his undergrad student years this hobby went on steroids and Michael increasingly found himself missioning in the mountains to, in the words of Mo Anthoice, ‘Feed the Rat’ i.e. soothe the growing need to be in the mountains. What followed was a natural progression to rock climbing and kloofing (canyoneering) which exploded his horizons and cranked up his excitement.

This growing fascination with the mountains was central to Michael’s three month solo mountaineering mission to Peru, South America in mid-2015. This expedition combined Michael’s love of mountains with his passion to travel and experience new cultures. Peru pushed his limits physically and mentally, especially considering that it was his first taste of high-altitude mountaineering. Michael kept a blog about his adventures in Peru, which you can find here miguelonamission.wordpress.com.

The Super Mike, plastered to his natural habitat.

 

Super Chris

Super Chris was born just Chris (actually Christopher) in the unrivalled city of Cape Town. Pushed by his outdoors-obsessed father, he had no choice but to develop a deep relationship with everything nature, and what better place than the mountains and oceans of South Africa. This relationship has seen different forms over the years, sometimes being satisfied with long hikes in the mountains, at others by high speed descents on beautifully crafted single tracks. And just sometimes, by the sadistic pursuit of Cape trail races. In its current manifestation, the relationship has called for ever steeper and higher objectives. Thus rock climbing, trad climbing, alpinism and general uphill sloggery have become the watchwords that keep the love affair healthy.

He is currently based in Sweden, and uses this opportunity to push his limits in all of these, learning as much as he can while dodging glaciers in the Caucasus, skiing up and down fjäller in the peaks of Lapland, getting vertical in the Pyrenees, and many more. When he isn’t planning his next trip, he spends his time putting his trust in little bits metal stuck in cracks in the cliffs around Stockholm.

A Super Chris, at home in the mountains

 

Super Rick

Super Rick was born in Pretoria. Spending his first 18 years in Flatland has given him a very deep appreciation for the third dimension, and filled him with a burning desire to become well-acquainted with anything vertical. Initially this desire was satisfied by a jog on the Stellenbosch Bergpad, but over the years it developed an insatiable appetite for ever greater missions. Most recently the beast within has been feasting on Cederberg sandstone and Paarl granite, with a side order of kloofing to spice things up, and the perennial flow of Jonkershoek to wash it all down.
This year will mark the end of Super Rick’s voluntary enslavement at the University of Stellenbosch, and he is very excited to kick start his freedom with his like-minded amigos in Mexico.

Super Rick, enjoying a good dose of pain

Rise of the Supertramps

“Not all those who wander are lost” – J.R.R. Tolkien

What do you get when you take three young South Africans, a passion for mountains, and just the right amount of craziness? Supertramps! Meet Super Chris, Super Rick and Super Mike. Yes, yes, pleasure to meet you too.

Los Supertramps is the name of our expedition to explore the mountaineering potential of Mexico. We are all proud holders of the prestigious MCSA Supertramp award for 2016, which is given to young cash-strapped South Africans with the zeal and vision to undertake a pioneering mountain mission. Our planned expedition to Mexico will be in Dec/Jan of 2016/2017. In a nutshell, we will be climbing high-altitude volcanoes as well as big rock-faces, pushing our own limits and having a manic amount of fun doing so!

The following excerpt is from the MCSA website, and briefly describes the award as well as the history of the name:

In April 1992, 24-year-old Chris McCandless ditched his car, burnt the money in his wallet, donated his savings to charity, hitched a lift to the outskirts of the Alaskan outback and, armed with little more than a hunting rifle and a sack of rice, walked into the wild. He renamed himself Alexander Supertramp and deliberately lost contact with everyone he had ever known. He wanted nothing more to do with what he saw as a sick, sad world and sought only to survive as his (flawed) heroes had done: on their wits and survival instincts alone. He did not even carry a map in his rucksack. He was a disillusioned idealist, a passionate, zealous young man who yearned for adventure without the encumbrances of modern living or the inevitable complications that come from human interaction. His emaciated, lifeless body was discovered 100 days later, having starved to death through a series of unfortunate events.

Opinions about this story (chronicled by Jon Krakauer in his extraordinary book, Into the Wild) are diametrically opposed. Some think Alexander Supertramp was an arrogant, selfish, rich kid. Others think he is someone to whom hymns should be sung and statues erected and that his story is not about his death, but about his life. That he made the bravest of all decisions: not to be a victim, at least not to civilisation’s mechanical march. That he subscribed to the philosophy that to live is to do and to do is to do now. “Most men” said Henry Thoreau – one of his champions – “lead lives of quiet desperation”.

The Supertramp Award has been administered since 2005 by the Magaliesberg Section of the MCSA for those young, impecunious wanderers whose cynicism is still directed outwards, in the hope that they will purchase at least a map, and as a tribute by the donor to the voyager who was Alexander Supertramp who wisely gathered his rosebuds whilst he could.

Now we definitely plan on using maps, and will ideally be feasting on tacos and beans rather than bags of rice, but at the core we remain true to Alexander’s vision of breaking free from the humdrum that surrounds our daily lives and strive for something more. In his words, “I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong. To measure yourself at least once. To find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions. Facing the blind deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your hands and your own head.”

This blog will be tracking the build-up to the expedition, as well as sneaky adventures before the time. We simply just can’t get enough of the mountains. Some would call it an addiction, an obsession, even a sickness – but for us it’s simply the way we are wired, a lifestyle.

We hope to inspire you with our adventures – and hopefully get you chuckling along the way. Join us for a wild, wild time in the mountains!