Ice and Fire

For the past weeks I’ve been organizing my thoughts, reflecting on the PCT and looking forward. Post-trail life is treating me well. Lots of reading, writing, exercise, and work are keeping my mind occupied, leaving me only with the occasional brief window for melancholy. I was sorry to learn that some of my hiker buddies struggled more, and I wish them purpose and focus in finding their (new) paths, after leaving the one physical path we all used to call home for so long.

Nevertheless, there’s been a faint feeling of something missing. A nagging sensation of something out of place. A minor blockage inhibiting flow. Today I learned what it was.

I am part of a chat-group of Dutch adventurers that all hiked the PCT in 2018. Since I was one of the people that started fairly late in the hiking season, I met only one of my 15 paisanos on trail (while I was hiking towards the Northern Terminus still, she had already finished the PCT, but was revisiting the Knifes Edge in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, Washington). Even though I don’t know the majority of the hikers, it’s a friendly bunch, chatting away about upcoming adventures and hiking related topics. It was in this chat-group where the mountain-sport-day was brought up. During this congress-like event, many parties revolving around the mountaineering, hiking, alpinism and the climbing industry gather to present their wares, and broadcast their guided trips and expeditions. A variety of speakers would boast about their accomplishments and travels in the mountains and since it was held in a venue I know very well, not far from my home, I decided I might as well drive over and pay the event a visit.
I am so glad I did just that.

After a brief research I decided on attending 2 of the many seminars. The first speaker was Jelle Staleman, a former marine, and accomplished Alpinist. In his presentation he guided us through his quest of climbing all 82 of the 4000 meter exceeding peaks in the Alps. This unbelievable journey, took him seven years to complete. As I was sitting in the crowds, watching the amazing footage of him in action, slowly traversing sheer vertical walls, or cresting along snow-capped ridges, I felt my pulse rising. My mind racing. Thinking back on stories told by Ed Viesters in No shortcuts to the Top and Robert MacFarlanes Mountains of the Mind. Taken aback to my summit of Mt. Kenya and Mt. Whitney and descending the Knifes Edge. I felt the spark grow larger in my core; a fire in me being rekindled. There it was again; the strong desire to be surrounded by majestic landscapes. The thing that had been missing.
I heard the mountains’ call. 

If the attending the full hour photo spread of the most glorious summits in the Alps was not enough, the story of the next speaker took us to the realm of giants. To the ultimate arena, home of the largest peaks in this world we know. A playground for titans;
The Himalayas.
Roeland van Oss, mountaineer and guide, accomplished a feat many mortals deem impossible. With his girlfriend Sanna he summited the eight-thousander Manaslu, in Nepal.
Without supplemental oxygen.
With composure and passion he spoke about their 5 week expedition. The footage of their arrival in Kathmandu put me in my little time-machine again. I noticed a broad smile appear on my face as I looked at the familiar sights of endless dirt-road traffic, colorful garb, and people shouting in the streets. A completely chaotic mad-house of a city. So vibrant, exciting and occupied with friendly people.
I reminded myself once more, that Nepal is one of the few countries that I would love to visit again…

Back to Roeland and Sanna.
Up to the Manaslu base-camp, the logistics of the expedition were booked by a local company. However, everything from base-camp leading up to the summit, was entirely their own responsibility. This included planning and buying their provisions for the remaining weeks up the mountain, and hauling their own gear up to the 3 higher camps. They had to build said camps themselves. The highest camp below the summit, camp 4, lies at a daunting 7400 meters above sea level. 600 meters short of the death-zone. Without any help of the Sherpas, and nobody looking after them. Acclimating along the way they waited for the appropriate weather window several days, until they were ready to make their summit-bid. The days before the final push, they were preceded by large parties of people from different expeditions. Meticulously they planned their own summit attempt later than the other hopeful expeditions that all left together. On 29th September, after a 7.5 hour purge through the snow, they stood atop the 8th highest peak in the world.
Manaslu.
The Mountain of Spirit.
At an altitude of 8163 meters, they looked down from the rooftop of the world, the unbelievable landscape of snow and rock unfolding before them beneath a clear sky. They were the only ones on the summit, with not another soul in their sights. A beautiful rarity, given the large crowds that preceded them the days before. I can only guess at their feelings on successfully standing on the summit. Possibly feeling as if they were the only two humans left on the planet. But I believe it must have been an astoundingly special moment together.

Energized I left the congress room and filled with wonder I asked myself:
How is it possible that snow and ice can ignite such fire?

But fact is, it did. And I want to take that seriously.

Back in the Grand Hall I weaved my way through the crowds and the many stands where companies were selling gear and informing people about their travel-programs. I found both speakers and shook their hands, thanking them for their inspiring stories. I briefly had a chat with both Jelle and Roeland. And as I stood there talking to them, I realized an important thing. Without demeaning their amazing efforts, I saw them as humans too. Humble, and very real, just standing in front of me. Experienced and talented in ways that I couldn’t even begin to imagine. However, they too started out at the base. Slowly working their ways up to their summits. And this was exactly what these inspiring people told me to do, when I asked them, how?
‘Start small’.
And that I found such an encouraging thought.

Writing about my travels along the Pacific Crest Trail was something that I enjoyed so thoroughly, that I just want more of that. So as I walked out of the venue, a new fire soaring through my chest, I told myself I’d start small again. I don’t know where I will be going. I don’t know yet what’s next.
But new ideas are already flooding my mind. A strong desire rekindled.
To experience the mountains again.
To feel more.
To test myself.
And to share those experiences with you.
Sharing Mind Stories.

I guess it’s time for a new plan…

Yours,
Joris