Dave Greten's Blog

Rowing as Religion

2006-10-19T16:43:00.000-05:00

It was one of those mornings where you question what you are doing but it's too early to think clearly. Dark and rainy, we all had hoped the rain would taper off before we launched but it only increased as we put the boat in the water. It was late in the season and hopelessly dark. When the starboards went to get the oars, someone shook their head and said, "I don't think they're coming back."

When our boat rounded the corner and went under the bridge, the rain picked up to torrential. We were all siting shivering in the dark, hardly anyone else out or even up yet. It occurred to me that something like this, eight fit guys and one little coxswain sitting in a boat in the pouring rain at an ungodly hour isn't something that happens by accident.

I realized it was a minor miracle every time a boat launched. There seemed an infinite number of obstacles to be surpassed just to get it in the water. Get a boat and access to the water. Find eight guys who will pull on an oar until they feel like they are going to die and arrange for them to meet at a certain hour (with the caveat being, if one of them doesn't show up, the whole boat is screwed). Find a small authoritative person who is a morning person, likes to steer things, bark commands, and preferably knows how to steer through the Weeks Bridge. Get a coach, plan workouts, pay the coach, et cetera et cetera. Getting a boat in the water was a minor miracle. Competing in a regatta was a series of miracles.

I had a teammate who rowed for our club for 19 years. He was the founding member and they named a boat after him. Once, when I heard he bought a home within walking distance of the boathouse, I told him he was "hardcore." He said, "Some people buy a home to be close to their church," he pointed to the boathouse floor, "This is my church."

This allusion to religion was one I'd heard before. You have to have a fanatical semi-religious zeal to excel at this sport. Like I said before, none of it happens by accident. It is a complete and total test of your willpower. Every day before practice I would think, "I don't want to go to practice today." The temptation was always there to give in and do the easiest thing. You have to overcome this temptation every single day.

And just as zealous religious converts have difficulty relating their fervor to non-believers, so do rowers have difficulty explaining to non-rowers why knocking two seconds off their split is a big deal. And like most small religious sects, because rowing is almost never covered on television or other media, most people don't even realize it exists until they (somehow) stumble upon it. Yes, there really are groups of people who get up very early to compete and train for these events. They practice their craft while you are sleeping.

The distance, both literally and figuratively, between viewers and rowers make the sport look effortless and most viewers look at the beautiful, perfectly synchronized rowers and think, "Oh, that must be so fun." I've been in a good amount of races and I can tell you the only time they are ever fun is when they are over. And if you came in last place, they are not fun at all. Belying the calm exterior appearance, it's a state of frenzied chaos inside the boat and the rowers' minds, almost an out-of-body experience. That's not to say they are not emotional affairs. Last year, when we hit the course at the Head of the Charles (a goal of mine since 1996) I got a chill and thought "THIS! IS! IT!"

I'm biased but I'd say rowing is the perfect sport. No other does a better job of balancing grace with power and aerobic endurance with brute strength.

But why do we do it? What is the underlying motivation to take on this workload? I suppose it is different for everyone. It certainly isn't for monetary gain. I do know when we are rowing as one synchronized team, taking broad sweeping strokes and I can hear the hiss of the water along the boat, I feel like it is my Sabbath.

Hiking the Presidential Trail in One Day

2006-08-04T11:27:00.000-05:00

Last weekend Mark Lotterhand and I set out to hike the entire Presidential Trail - 21 miles, crossing seven summmits, gaining 9,000 vertical feet - in one day. Normally this hike is done over 2-3 moderately dificult days instead of one incredibly difficult one. It's estimated there is a 60% dropout rate on this new extreme route.

I may have mentioned this hike in a previous post. What I did not mention in that post was how much I was dreading this hike. I spent the week before trying to think of ways I could back out. It sounded miserable.

But in the end, I couldn't back on Mark, mostly because he would hate me forever. He had already rescheduled it so I could go and he was counting on me for my car. So I went along with it and I dreaded it. Secretly I hoped that Mark's knee would give out (it had been giving him problems) and I could say, "Too bad" and our failure wouldn't be my fault. This is the first time I have ever wished injury on a friend.

We started out in the dark, before the dawn. In the photo above, I am standing at the trailhead with my headlamp. It was 4:30 am and I was already wishing this trip was over.

Here's a view of the Presidential Trail from the bottom, it runs along this ridge. On a clear day it gives some of the best views in all of New England. It goes over some of the tallest peaks on the east coast. The best thing is it is almost entirely above the treeline and gives sweeping views of the surrounding countryside.

And here's the view we got when we got to the top of Mount Madison, the first of seven summits. The wind was at a sustained 50 mph, with gust of 69 mph which is one mph short of a category I hurricane. It was difficult to stand. We were in a cloudbank and visibility was reduced to 10-20 feet.

There was no way we could continue, at some points we were crawling. I was secretly relieved to not have to go through with the whole thing but I felt bad for Mark. He had been planning this trip for a year. We both agreed conditions made it impossible, so we would only do Mount Madison, Adams, and maybe Jefferson, then bail and find a ride back to our cars.

After we spent an extended period brooding in the Madison lodge, we started out again and got a temporary reprieve. Mark snapped this photo on our way to Mount Adams before the clouds rolled in again. This one little break may have saved the entire trip. For the rest of the hike we thought, "If it happened once, maybe it could happen again."

Here's Mark on the summit of Mount Adams. Strong winds yet again, no visibility. It was hard for us to comprehend how it could be 90 degrees down below. We later found out that all of New England had clear skies except for the Presidential range.

At the summit of Mount Jefferson we met a couple other hikers debating what to do. We had to make a decision - keep going to Mount Washington or bail. A burst of inspiration made me say, "What the hell, let's go for it." So we set out for Mount Washington, home of the worst weather in America.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that. The Presidential range stands at the crossing point of three major stormfronts. The stormfronts from across the nation get amplified here, similar to the way you can put your fingers over a garden hose to shoot out a jet of water.

When we got to the summit of Mount Washington, I developed a bit of an attitude. There's an auto-road to the top of Mount Washington and, as a result, the summit is teeming with overweight tourists. A popular bumper sticker is sold at the top reading "This car climbed Mount Washington" like it is a big accomplishment. Congratulations, car.

We stopped for lunch in the cafeteria which was overflowing with people who were hungry after their arduous drive. When I asked someone if a couple of seats were available and they said no, I thought, "You don't deserve these seats." I had hiked 12 miles at this point. Like I said, attitude. Activity brings it out in me.

On the way down from Washington we got briefly lost. Visibility was so poor we almost didn't realize we were backtracking down the trail we had just come up. After finding our way again, we came across some pure white rocks where we took shelter briefly.

Mark's knee was in constant pain on the descents. He took Advil at regular intervals and wore a brace. But, being Mark, he never complained about it. This was behaviour very unlike myself. If I'm upset about something, you will know about it. Just ask my family, friends, and coworkers. Sometimes I'm surprised I have any friends left.

As we were climbing Mount Monroe, the fifth of the seven, the clouds finally began to break. Here we are looking over the Lake of the Clouds hut. These AMC shelters are beautiful on the inside. They feature a full-service kitchen and bunk beds, reservations are required.

Coming down off Mount Monroe, we finally got some views of the surrounding countryside. You can see Mount Eisenhower in the background. This part reminded me of photos I'd seen of Scotland and Patagonia.

The view from the summit of Mount Eisenhower. From here we could see the clouds which still hung over Adams, Jefferson, and Washington. Despite the view, I was starting to wish this hike was over.

Before this hike, I would have considered a hike up Madison, Adams, and Jefferson in a single day as a long hike. Funny how your perception changes when you extend your goals to beyond what you think possible. It was only here, after 15 or so miles, that I started feeling fatigued at all.

Finally we ended on Mount Pierce, named after the only president elected from New Hampshire, Franklin Pierce. One of the youngest presidents ever elected, he is also remembered as one of the worst. He was also a raging alcoholic. Just some fun facts for you.

The hike down from this point was below treeline and, as it always is with hiking, it went on a little longer than I thought possible. Just when I think I can't take any more, the hike always seems to go another 30 minutes beyond that point. As an added plus, when we finally hit the road, we had to walk another mile to where the car was parked.

We finished the hike at nine o'clock at night, so we started in the dark and ended in the dark. We probably could have gone a little faster but we didn't want Mark's knee to blow out which, despite my earlier wishes, would have been catastrophic. I slept like the dead that night at the hotel.

Thanks for reading! If you have any questions about this hike, please leave a message in the comments.

Hiking-related posts: hiking Mount Passaconaway, why I climb, and climbing Mount Kilimanjaro.

Please Don't Do This

2006-06-23T13:29:00.000-05:00

Bloggers of the world, I ask of you one thing: Please do not start your posts with an apology. We understand that you have been busy, too busy to post for such a long time. We forgive you.

Any journalist will tell you the first two sentences of any article are the hook. This is your first and only opportunity to rope in readers. Make those first few words count.

If you don't believe me, contrast this lead:

Fifteen years ago, Richard Pascall, a professional hunter and safari guide, bought a fifty-two-thousand-acre farm near the village of Turk Mine, in Matabeleland, the western region of Zimbabwe, and began raising a herd of African black rhinoceroses. He went about this in the usual way: fencing in a large patch of bush (eighty per cent of his land), releasing some rhinos onto it, and leaving them to their own devices.

With this one:

So it's been a little while since I last wrote on this thing. Yeah, it's not that I've forgotten, I've just been busy. But don't worry, this update will be quite depressing and cynical. I promise.

The first one, before I know it, I'm dying to read more about rhinoceroses. I can hardly control myself, it's pulling me away from my work. The second one, I can barely make it past the word "thing" before zoning out.

Thank you.

(Yes, I know I haven't posted in a long time)

Kilimanjaro, part seven

2006-05-26T17:25:00.000-05:00

Please read part one, two, three, four, five, and six if you haven't already.

Getting up at midnight to summit a mountain was a surreal experience. It was dark and cold, the wind was howling, metal equipment was jangling, almost everyone else was sleeping, and the only light we saw was the ghostly glow of our headlamps. I felt as if I were on the moon.

Before we set out, our guides informed us they would not bring their backpacks, so they could carry ours if necessary. "Pshaw," I thought, "No way am I inflicting this bag on our guides." Oh, how I would later change my mind and be grateful for their offer.

I started out strong. I had no altitude sickness and I was well dressed for the cold. It was a huge surprise to outpace my brother. While we were hiking, I thought, "Today might be the first time I beat Andy at something." Throughout our lives, Andy has always crushed me both academically and in feats of physical endurance.

But, surprising to us both, I felt good while Andy was breathing alarmingly heavy and complained his hands were cold. We exchanged gloves and Tumaini took Andy's pack. I had conflicting feelings of sympathy and triumph about this.

This all changed in one horrible moment only 1,000 feet from the summit. All at once, like some cruel joke, my legs turned to rubber and my pack dragged me to the ground. I fell like a puppet with cut strings. Andy stopped hiking and asked in disbelief, "Are you serious?" It was all hardship for me from that moment forward and Andy only got stronger as I got weaker.

Tom was cold and just wanted to get it done so he raced ahead with Amani while leaving Andy, Tumaini, and I to follow. He made it up first and, as you can see in the photo above, he did it all before the dawn.

Andy took this picture of me as we approached the summit, past Stella's Point, only 300 vertical feet from the peak. You can get a good sense of how cold it was by the amount of clothing I was wearing. For the record - I was wearing fleece pants over my hiking pants, four layers on my upper body and a windproof shell, gloves, wool socks, and a balaclava. We estimated it was around five degrees fahrenheit.

Despite being so close to the summit, I can't tell you how much this part of the trip hurt. I would take ten paces, stop, lean on my trekking poles to catch my breath, and pull myself together for another ten steps. It was agony. At one point, I fell to the ground and had to dig into every energy reserve I had to get back up. It was not glamorous.

The cold added to the unpleasantness but wasn't as big an issue as the altitude. When you are climbing at this elevation, everything in your body wants to give up. It's a huge mental battle. The only thing motivating me was the fact that I had traveled 8,000 miles to get here, and I'd be an idiot if I turned back with only 300 feet to go.

Andy made it to the sign first. The sunrise was blinding, check out our long shadows. I wish we had thought to have the guide take our photo together but we were both not thinking clearly.

Here's the money shot. The moment you've all been waiting for. I wish I could tell you how triumphant I felt, how this shot made it all worth it, and blah blah blah. The truth is, when the big moment finally arrived, I peeled the balaclava off my face, sat down, put on my biggest, fakest smile until the picture was taken. As soon as it was, I stood up and said, "Alright, I'm outta here." This smile, as recorded on film, was the only time I smiled that day.

While I made for the exit as soon as the picture was taken, Andy went to walk around the perimeter of the summit. Kilimanjaro doesn't come to one big point like classic mountains, rather it is like a lopsided tabletop, with Uhuru peak being the highest point, ringing an enormous crater in the center.

We split up. I headed back down and hoped I could find the way back to camp while Andy went with Tumaini to investigate the Ash Pit in the center of the mountain. Andy wanted to one-up everyone who has climbed Kilimanjaro. A good amount of westerners climb Kili every season but very few go to the Ash Pit.

In this photo, you can see one of the boulders behind which Andy took a crap. He had no toilet paper.

Here's the Ash Pit that Andy went through hell to see. It actually was pretty cool. The ash pit was not visible from Uhuru peak, so I didn't see the Ash Pit until Andy had his pictures developed.

After struggling so hard to reach the summit, I had given no thought on keeping any energy in reserve for the descent. I have never felt so utterly drained in all my life. I stumbled the whole way down, with barely enough strength to prevent myself from careening out of control down the path. The ground was made of ash, which allowed hikers to slide down with each step, as if skiing. This would have been fun, had I the strength to do it.

I caught up with Tom and Amani, thankfully, so I had company in my misery. Tom was suffering from a terrific migraine and bolted down the mountain in pursuit of some altitude relief. I was so embarrassed when they would have to stop and wait for me stumbling behind. I kept apologizing for being so slow.

I looked ridiculous. It was the only time I've ever been so fatigued that I could barely walk. It wasn't until later that I realized I hadn't eaten or drank anything in nearly eight hours of strenous exertion. If you are climbing Mount Kilimanjaro, let this serve as a cautionary tale. My two word recommendation: EAT. DRINK.

As we approached camp, we saw people who were in worse shape than ourselves. One woman was being led down on the arm of her guide as if she were blind. I've read about people being carried down on stretchers. Everyone in camp was so beaten and tired, we looked like refugees. The atmosphere was restrained and somber, everyone was too broken and exhausted to celebrate.

Andy was a catastrophic mess when he stumbled into camp a full hour behind us. Dust had gotten into his eyes on the trail, making them an angry shade of red. His lips and face was chapped from the wind. He had snot dripping out of his nose and that combined with his non-wiping bathroom break made him a truly disgusting specimen to behold.

When we were getting ready to descend further, after an hour or so of rest, Andy sat up and howled in pain for a full five seconds. He could say that he saw the Ash Pit but I'm not sure it was worth the physical cost.

After a long uneventful hike down, we made it to our last campground. The next morning Andy took this shot of the triumphant team.

We had read about tipping our guides and porters at the end of a trip and, at breakfast, were unsure how to broach the subject. It wasn't much of an issue because Amani came over to us and said, "We'd like the tip now." It's an awkward experience to hand over money and stand there as a group of recipients are receiving it. Tom, Andy, and I were apprehensive as we wondered, "Did we tip enough?"

We were relieved when the porters broke out into applause and smiles. They formed a line to shake our hands and hug us. Their gratitude took me aback and made me wish I had tipped more. Our porters and guides were some of the most hard-working and gracious people I've ever met. I still smile when I think of that moment.

For general reference: The rule is to tip ten percent of the total cost of your trip. We tipped a little more than that. I later did the math and figured our porters had busted their asses for $6-7 a day. Bring plenty of money, when you see how hard these guys work, you'll wish you could give them more.

Also, a note to prospective Kili hikers, I have read reports of porter abuse where porters are given inadequate gear or been otherwise abused by tour group leaders. I did not see any examples of this during our time with Good Earth. But please be on the lookout for it and if you see it, report it.

On the way back to the hotel, we stopped in Moshi for one last lunch with our tour group. The restaurant was of questionable quality but I saw a few Westerners (read: whiteys) eating so I figured it was safe. I ordered the fish with tartar sauce. It tasted a little weird, but I finished it off to be polite.

Big mistake.

Afterwards, on the long drive back, I felt gross. My stomach wasn't right and I was dizzy. When we got back to the hotel, I laid down while Andy and Tom went downtown to take some pictures. Before they left, I asked Andy to send an email to my wife from the internet cafe.

The need to puke awoke me from my nap. I threw up a total of ten times, four in the first installment and six in the next. I threw up so hard, I feared for my life and cried out for help. None came.

At around the time I was expelling my guts through every orfice of my body, Andy was posing for the picture above in downtown Arusha.

In Andy's defense, he took good care of me when he got back. Also, our flight did not leave until late the next day so I had some time to recover. Unfortunately, I was not sufficiently recovered to join Tom for a celebratory Kilimanjaro beer in the airport terminal.

We were witness to a couple of crafty incidents at the airport. The woman at the airline flight counter charged Andy a $10 "safety fee" when he checked-in. When he came up to us, he asked, "Did you guys get charged a 'safety fee'?" We both laughed and asked what he was talking about. Andy went back to her and asked what it was going on. She, clearly busted, responded, "Oh, it's been waived" and handed him his $10 back. No hard feelings about, you know, trying to rip you off.

Also, there is a very prominent money exchange in the incoming flights terminal and none on the outgoing flights terminal. So it's easy to change your money into schillings and difficult to turn them back into dollars. I am beginning to think this is by deliberate design.

My advice is not to bother exchanging your money for schillings, everyone in Tanzania prefers American dollars anyway. As a result of this trickery, I am still the proud owner of 135,000 Tanzanian schillings. I cannot find an American bank which will exchange the goddamned things.

The overwhelming majority of Tanzanians I met were friendly, hard-working, honest, and kind. But be on the lookout for these shenanigans.

One more thing I discovered about myself on this trip, 25 hours in plane transit makes me go a little crazy. When I landed in Boston, I was completely disoriented. Time seemed like a dimension I had excused myself from for a full day. It took me four days to get over the jet lag.

As trying as it was, I'm happy to say I did it. I made it. I traveled to Africa and climbed Mount Kilimanjaro. The instant I saw the picture above of Andy, I knew it was the one I would use for the closing shot of this saga. Thanks for reading.

If you are planning a hike up Kili, please don't heisitate to contact me with any questions. I recommend Good Earth tours for a travel guide, they were excellent and affordable.

Kilimanjaro, part six

2006-05-08T19:37:00.000-05:00

Day Five - We Climb the Headwall and Prepare for Summit Day

Please read part one, two, three, four, and five if you haven't already.

The next morning was noticeably cooler. Here you can see me standing in front of the summit. The headwall we would be climbing that day is on the right.

I had spent a little time doing recreational bouldering at the Metro Rock Gym before going on this trip. It actually helped me with the climbing we did that day. The headwall was steep but not vertical, which made me happy. I am a coward when it comes to sheer faces.

Baranco camp stood at the crossroads of two paths up the mountain so we finally met some other hikers, which was a very international group. I talked with a Dane who spoke decent English and gave him some aspirin for his altitude sickness.

He was hiking solo and his determination impressed me. I don't think I'd have the guts to try something like that. Mountain climbing takes a certain amount of willpower and, left to my own devices, I would probably give up. It was only after I had been hiking for awhile that I understood the meaning of the phrase, "There's always an excuse."

Please permit me a moment to lapse into a little piggish-ness. This portion of the trip was remembered by Tom, Andy, and I as "Booty Shorts Mountain" - so named for the woman wearing the very short shorts hiking in front of us. Try to understand, we had been surrounded by men hiking in the African outback for four days. It was a memorable and welcome change in scenery.

Here's Tom and I standing at the top of the headwall. This is one of my favorite photos from the trip. We look so triumphant.

After climbing the headwall, we continued our march to the Karanga Camp which we would be passing through on our way to Barafu, our last campsite before summit day. We stopped briefly in Karanga to eat lunch and refill our water bottles. Andy and Tom agonized over how much water to bring. In the end, they decided they had brought too much.

You can see how the trail got very steep on this portion in the background. Those little dots are people hiking. It was a grind but I felt good, no signs of altitude sickness. Tom was the only one of us who brought along altitude sickness medication, which he took at this point on the trip. For those of you who don't know Tom, he runs in marathons and sometimes wins them.

My brother is a bit of a fitness freak himself. In preparation for this trip, his workouts consisted of loading a backpack with 70 pounds of weight, strapping it to his back, and going on the stair climber for an hour. Once, an acquaintance approached him at the gym and asked, "Andy, what's this about you climbin' rocks?"

Here's a photo from the final stretch before reaching Barafu. This area was rocky and desolate, almost completely lifeless. I saw one giant hawk or vulture but that was the only sign of life I saw while we were here. The rocks underneath our feet were loose jagged shards.

This hike was the first which was fairly draining. When we made it to camp, we collapsed in our tents and slept for a little bit. Tom snapped this picture of the outhouses from the inside of his tent right before he fell asleep.

How come it always seems like the best pictures require the least planning and come out when you least expect it. I really liked this photo, just because it makes the viewer feel like they are actually there, seeing something that is real and not a staged event of people posing in front of something.

Here's a photo of the porter we nicknamed Dr Seuss. You gotta admire a guy who is unafraid to wear pink striped gators that look like 80's style leg-warmers. I'm glad we got a picture of him. He was the tallest of the crew, probably the thinnest, but he was a working machine. I never saw him slow down.

This is one of the only pictures we have of Andy and I in the same frame. If we didn't look so grizzled and worn, I'd have it framed. Mawenzi peak is in the background.

That evening we ate dinner and tried to calm the butterflies we were all feeling. It's difficult to not feel a little apprehensive when you are standing on the brink of the unknown. Sure we had read some books about the hike but you never know what it is really going to be like. One man's definition of "difficult" can be wildly different from another man's.

This miscommunication happened to me when I hiked Mt Rainier, my first over 14,000 foot mountain, in 2004. I was under the impression it was an easy hike, fine for someone in good shape. Volcanoes like Rainier and Kilimanjaro are easier technical climbs than regular mountains. That's the reason I hike them.

I asked someone about Mt. Rainier before setting out and they said, "Oh yeah, it's great. You'll love it." This will go down in my personal history as the most inept advice I have ever received. That mountain physically and psychically destroyed me. Afterwards, I was grateful to read, "Denali notwithstanding, it [Rainier] is probably the most challenging and physically demanding climb in the U.S."

Standing there on Kilimanjaro at that moment, I feared we were again getting in over our heads. We were on the eve of a lot of work. We would be getting up at midnight, gaining over 4,000 vertical feet and descending 7,000 down. We were about to hike for 15 hours straight.

I slept for two hours that night, from 9:30 to 11:30. I spent the last half hour before midnight wide awake and dreading the guide coming to wake us. This was a very vivid memory. It was cold and dark when we got up and set out for the summit.

Last Installment: Summit day and an epic case of food poisoning

Mount Passaconaway Hike

2006-04-13T11:02:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago, Mark Lotterhand, his dog Sophie, and I hiked Mount Passaconaway in New Hampshire. Snow was a distant memory in Massachusetts but we knew it was still in the mountains up north. To prepare ourselves, we packed lots of winter hiking equipment.

I was excited by the opportunity to break out the hiking boots I had worn to Mount Kilimanjaro. Waterproof, rugged, and comfortable, these things just about walk up mountains by themselves.

I was running late when I dashed out to meet Mark at his house, where we would take his car up to Passaconaway. We arrived at the base of the mountain, popped the trunk, when I had the sudden revelation, "I forgot to pack my boots!"

My brain exploded. I had packed trekking poles, layer upon layer of warm clothes, food, water, everything. I had even brought gators to prevent snow from getting down my boots. My boots, my boots! I can't believe I forgot my damn boots!

I stomped my feet. I cursed. I came short of punching myself in the head. "Maybe your wife can drive up and drop them off," Mark offered as a joke. It was a two hour drive away.

Mark reassured me it wouldn't be that bad, to hike in snow up to our calves in sneakers. When the hike was finished, he confessed he would have told me any lie in the world to convince me to hike that day.

It turned out to not be as bad as I expected, although I learned that hiking in wet cold sneakers through snow is not an ideal situation. My feet are getting cold by the memory of it. I was glad I had worn thick wool socks and brought poles. This hike would not have been possible without them.

We were rewarded with a beautiful clear view of Mount Washington, which towered over the neighboring peaks. Here you can see it from 50 miles away, its rocky summit still covered in snow. There was not a cloud in the sky that day and it never got as cold as we expected.

Passaconaway is one of 4,000 footers of New Hampshire - standing at 4,043 feet. I motivated myself to continue hiking by the thought of being able to put a check mark next to its name on the list and say, "I climbed that one."

Finding the way was sometimes difficult in the snow. We came to two lookouts, giving a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside and Mount Washington. Mark held off on taking any photos on the lookouts, we wanted to wait until we got to the summit. We started a slight descent, which suddenly became a long descent, when we realized we had just been on the summit.

Hiking up in sneakers wasn't too bad but the descent was a painful experience. The snow was melting and slippery, forcing us to descend very slowly. In this photo you can see my mesh sneakers. We had seen some other hikers on the ascent, one of them advised the way up was possible without resorting to the use of crampons. I had asked him, "How about with sneakers?"

Despite the cold I felt, Mark assured me I wouldn't get frostbite. In that situation, the worst danger was coming down with hypothermia, which was a extremely remote possibility. The more likely danger was slipping and hitting something. It was slow going.

On the descent, the errors continued when we got lost and had to extend the hike a mile through unpacked snow. The trail we took threaded a path between some of the biggest cliffs I've seen in New England. While working our way down the rocky slope, I bashed my unprotected ankle on a rock which was no fun at all.

We came upon another lookout, standing atop a 600 foot sheer vertical face. I shied away from the edge, envisioning myself accidentally skiing to my doom over the side. Mark has no fear when it comes to heights. He risked his life to get this shot which made the whole hike worthwhile.

Kilimanjaro, part five

2006-04-08T12:41:00.000-05:00

Day Five - Shira Two campsite and the Lava Tower

Please read part one, two, three, and four if you haven't already.

The next morning dawned bright and beautiful yet again. The sun in Africa was just unbelievable. I was glad to have brought my sun hat and didn't have to apply suntan lotion every hour.

We were at around 12,000 feet when this picture as taken. In it Tom is sitting with our guides and porters. Not all of them are in the picture, conspicuously absent is the one we affectionately nicknamed Dr. Seuss (more on him later). Our head guide Amani is on the far left. Tumaine, our assistant guide, is seated next to Tom in red, wearing an uncharacteristic scowl.

Our porter/waiter Roderick is dressed in black. He's the one who broke my heart when he told us how he was saving his pay for English lessons. How much money a Tanzanian earns is largely based on how much English they speak. English lessons are expensive in a country with few native speakers. Amani learned most of his English in secondary school, which only 20% of Tanzanians can afford to attend.

I never caught the name of the guy in the background with the raised fist but he was great. He was always smiling and shouting encouragement to us while we were hiking, even as he ran past us on the trail. When we tipped everyone at the end, he gave the three of us hugs. He did not speak much English but his enthusiasm was infectious.

Here Andy and Tumaine took a breather as we hiked to the Lava Tower. We were making our way back up to 14,000 feet and I was pleased by how little the altitude was affecting me. I began to think that maybe summit day wouldn't be so hard. I was later proved to be very wrong.

Here's Tom as we hiked to the Lava Tower. This area was barren and rocky, not terribly welcoming at all. I found it ominous and felt like I was hobbit hiking through Mordor. There was some cloud cover up here, which looked like steam rising from a volcano.

Andy and Tom climbed to the top of the Lava Tower while I stayed at the bottom and took this photo. If you click on the photo, you can see their tiny figures at the top.

I had slept horribly the night before, a constant theme on this trip, and didn't feel like doing extreme climbing while tired. I was happy to rest and take the photo instead.

Here's the view Andy and Tom saw from the top of the Lava Tower. The Lava Tower itself is around 150 feet high putting them at over 15,000 feet elevation. In this photo, Tom is seated at the edge of a sheer drop.

When they came back down, the first thing Andy said to me was, "You would not have enjoyed that." Andy knows I am not fond of heights. When we hiked Mt Rainier, Andy jumped over a crevasse and thought, "Dave's not going to like this hike very much."

After climbing the Lava Tower, we made our way back down to Baranco camp. Here Andy and I are standing in a grove of those weird trees we saw earlier. While at the Lava Tower, a cloud had rolled in making it misty and cold. It's a strange experience to walk through a forest of these trees shrouded in fog.

This photo was taken at one of those moments where I was thinking, "What the hell am I doing here?" The hot tea helped but mostly I felt tired and dirty and longed for home. Moments like these happen the closer you come to summit day.

Baranco camp was an intersection for multiple trails so we were suddenly camping in a large group of hikers. We had hardly seen anyone else previous to this. One of the hikers was an altitude sickness-stricken Dane who I gave some aspirin.

For fun we pressed our guide to name which nationality were the strongest hikers. After much hemming and hawing, he answered the Austrians. Americans were ranked as "okay" which I found surprising. When I travel abroad it's important to me to never conform to the stereotype of the slothful, indulged American.

Here's a view of the glaciers of Kilimanjaro as the sun was setting, Andy standing at the bottom right. Just out of the picture was a view of the Northern Breach trail. That was the trail we had intended to take until it was blocked by a landslide a couple weeks before, killing three American hikers, two of whom were from Massachusetts. This was something we didn't spend a lot of time talking about but I thought about it that night at Baranco before I fell asleep.

Next Installment: We climb a headwall and things start getting more difficult

Kilimanjaro, part four

2006-03-24T13:08:00.000-05:00

Day Four - We get a great view of Kilimanjaro

Please read part one, two, and three if you haven't already.

The next morning we awoke to our first clear view of Kilimanjaro. For such a massive mountain, it's very difficult to get a clear view of it. This picture was taken in the morning. In the afternoon, clouds cover the peak.

In this photo, the path we took is up and towards the right of the mountain.

Andy liked my picture idea so much that he asked me to take one of him, further discrediting his theory that I take lousy photos.

One thing which surprised me on this trip was the amount of downtime. Before we set out, I brought a book along at the last moment. I'm glad I did, I actually finished it before the trip was over.

We started hiking to the Shira Two campsite and paused to take a picture of me with the shrubs. In the background, you can see how Kilimanjaro has again been covered in clouds.

It's difficult to dress for this kind of weather. If you go, wear layers. When the sun is out, it's hot. When clouds roll in, it gets cold quickly. I was constantly taking my shell off and then putting it back on again.

Although you can barely see them, there are wild buffalo in the background of this picture. There really are. This was also the first time I had ever seen my brother with beard stubble.

Another photo in a distinctive ecosystem.

Our assistant guide told us there used to be a camp around here, called "Simba Camp", named for the lions that used to stalk in the area. They closed it when they realized tourists liked viewing lions at a distance, not camping in their hunting grounds.

Seeing these trees made me feel like I was in an episode of Star Trek. I don't know the species name but they were very weird. They looked like evil palm trees.

We briefly stopped in our Shira Two campsite to drop off our equipment and then continued onward. The rule when hiking Kilimanjaro is "Climb high, sleep low" which means, gain elevation when you can, then return to camp to sleep. I credit this additional acclimitization time to our success in reaching the summit.

These photos were taken at around 15,000 feet elevation, higher than I had ever been before. My previous high was when Andy and I climbed Mt Rainier, which is 14,400 feet.

This ecosystem, alpine desert, was the fourth of the five we would pass through. There was very little life up here. The area was made up almost entirely of volcanic rock. I found this very foreboding, like how I envisioned Mordor in Lord of the Rings.

Next Installment: Andy and Tom climb the lava tower.

Kilimanjaro, part three

2006-03-15T22:46:00.000-05:00

Please read part one and two if you have not already.

Day Three - The day we get really, really dirty

The next morning we hit the trail and steadily gained elevation. As we went up, the underbrush was less lush and the trees got progressively smaller. We were no longer in the rainforest and had entered the second ecosystem - "heather." The air was noticeably cooler and drier. It felt like fall.

Andy didn't trust my photography skills and insisted that only Tom or himself take all photos. I'm happy to say that this photo of Andy and Tom was my idea and was taken by me.

Here Andy is standing in a grove of trees covered in bearded lichen. This was one of the best parts of the trip for me, the air reminded me of a cool New England fall.

Along the way we had our second photo-brush with wildlife, a chameleon on the trail. Mark Lotterhand, I included this photo for your benefit. Enjoy.

We stopped for lunch just as we came to a lookout on the Shira plateau. In this photo, the plateau is in the background and I am doing my best to strike a heroic pose.

While we relaxed and ate our lunch, the porters came bounding by carrying all our equipment. Here's one climbing ahead of us while balancing my backpack on his head. While we sat, ate, and joked around, the porters raced ahead of us to set up our camp in advance of our arrival.

The porters never used the backpacks as they were designed. They preferred to stuff them in plastic sacks and balance them on their heads. Given that they soundly kicked our ass by starting out behind us and racing past us on the trail every single day of the trip, I cannot argue with their methods.

Here's a photo of me and our assistant guide Tumaine. For a country that is generally lacking medical services and dentistry, Tanzanians are blessed with very nice smiles. Tumaine's name translated to "Hope" and our head guide Amani's name meant "Peace." Yes, we really did travel with Hope and Peace.

This picture was taken as we got our first glimpse of Kilimanjaro. It stands obscured by clouds in the upper right corner of this photo. For such a massive mountain, Kilimanjaro is very difficult to sight. This might help explain why its existence wasn't confirmed by Europeans until 1861.

Reading the history of the explorers in this area is a case study in extremes in human suffering. I cite the case of Johann Rebmann, looking for Kilimanjaro in 1848:
"The party (Rebmann's) lost their way in thorn thickets, slept where tribal wars had been fought years before, heard the growling of lions and were detained for some days in the company of Maina, a regional chief of the Taita. The people Rebmann encountered were surprised that he carried only an umbrella where before caravans were obliged to retain the protection of 500 armed men."

And on his follow-up expedition:
"The expedition was not a success. The rainy season had just begun and, as Rebmann recounts, his solitary umbrella was not enough to protect the party from the downpours that engulfed it each night. Rivers were flooded, rhinoceroses were troublesome and when Rebman reached Machame he found King Mamkinga far less helpful than he had anticipated.

Afflicted by despair, fever, dysentery and the constant rain, Rebmann abandoned hope of proceeding to Uniamesi and returned to Rabbai. On leaving Machame the party was afforded the custom of being spat upon by their hosts to the accompaniment of the words 'Go in peace', but they were required to pay for this courtesy with their few remaining beads."

Both of these stories are from Kilimanjaro by John Reader.

Here's Tom and Andy at our second campsite, Shira One, and it is here that we got really, really dirty. The Shira plateau is a giant wind-swept plain and the ground is a fine volcanic ash. The slightest gust of wind covers your clothes, face, and hands in dirt. I gave up changing my clothes for the rest of the trip.

When we were wandering around the camp, I was so tired from insomnia that I said to Andy and Tom "Uh...do you know...wait...what...um...uh what was I saying again?" Tom and Andy still joke about this line.

Another campsite, another bathroom for Andy to visit. You can see the landscape had changed from hilly forest to cold desert plain ringed by mountains. Everything was rockier and the plants were bristly. The best word I can use to describe this land is tough. We had entered the "moorland" zone and were at around 11,000 feet.

We didn't realize how powerful the sun was at this elevation. I got a slight sunburn on my hand, the one place where I didn't think to put sunblock. Andy got a fairly bad burn on his face and head because he didn't bring a sunhat.

For the longest time I thought English people in Africa wore big sunhats just to look adventurous, like Indiana Jones. I didn't realize they actually have a purpose. I was grateful I brought one, even though it was originally just for the fashion.

While we waited for dinner, Andy and Tom both took naps and I wandered around the campsite alone. Walking around on an African plain while wearing a parka and sunhat at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro, with the guides talking amongst themselves in Swahili, made me feel like Ernest Hemingway.

This was the realization of a fantasy I've had since I wrote a paper on "The Snows of Kilimanjaro" in college. I didn't enjoy writing the paper very much. But I fell in love with the idea of Hemingway - the crazy adventurer/writer who seemed to tell stories through gritted teeth. He was my hero, along with Eugene O'Neil, Jack London, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Charles Bukowski. In college, I had a thing for hyper-masculine alcoholic writers.

After dinner and before nightfall, Andy contemplated another solitary night in the bivy sack. The temperature dropped quickly as soon as the sun went down. Andy gave up on the bivy after this night and shared a tent with me the rest of the way.

That night was very dark, without any moon whatsoever. When I went outside to go to the bathroom, with the wind and the stars and the big black sky all around me, I finally felt like I was really in Africa and not just watching myself on TV.

Next Installation: The clouds break and we get a great view of Kilimanjaro

Kilimanjaro, part two

2006-03-04T11:52:00.000-05:00

Please read part one if you haven't already.

Day Two - We set out for the mountain

The next morning we got up early for the four hour drive to the trail. Take a moment to click on this image to get an enlarged view of our van. Check out the amount of equipment in the back.

We fit 15 people into this van.

Here's another view of the miracle, clown car van. Andy, Tom, and I were quite comfortable, we got a whole row all to ourselves. I have no idea how they fit so many people in back of us, they were so quiet I had no idea they were even there.

Something worthy to note, every vehicle in Africa is a Toyota and there is no place on earth where vehicles get more use than Africa. This van had 168,000 miles on it and it carried us over some of the most beaten roads I've ever been on.

After a drive through the scorching dry and dusty plains, we started to ascend and drove through a mountain logging town, which featured row upon row of dilapidated shacks. Everyone in the village stopped to stare at us, which made me extremely self-conscious.

The children were adorable though. All through the town, they ran out with beaming faces waving and smiling at us while wearing tattered rags. They broke my heart. I wish I had taken a picture of them.

In the photos above, we are posing at the Londorosi Gate, a gate few tourists pass. The vast majority of climbers take the Marangu route up, which is so popular it is nicknamed the "Coca-Cola" route by the natives. If there is one American brand the Tanzanians have an awareness of, it is Coca-Cola. Coke sponsors just about every street and town sign in this country. I found it quite gross.

The Marangu route is a much quicker ascent than the Lemosho trail, the route we took to the summit. It is only four nights while Lemosho is six. Consequently it features the highest dropout rate of all the trails. Our head guide Amani, who had climbed Kilimanjaro over 200 times, said only two out of ten climbers on Marangu make it to the top.

The amount of oxygen at the summit of Kilimanjaro is less than half the amount at sea level. Giving yourself more time to acclimatize to the altitude is not just a good idea, it can save your life. According to Tom's book a man once jogged up to the summit of Kilimanjaro. This would have been a big accomplishment if he hadn't had to spend the next four weeks in the hospital.

One word the guides kept repeating as we climbed was "Po-le, Po-le", which is their version of "Take it easy." If you are climbing Kilimanjaro, my advice is go slowly, eat, and drink plenty of water.

In the photo above, I am pointing out the warning to stop hiking "if you have extreme."

We were at the Londorosi gate for an unexpectedly long time as our guide negotiated with the park ranger. Nothing bureaucratic happens in a hurry in Tanzania. If you find yourself dealing with a government official, prepare to be there for a long time. I've never seen so many ambulatory people gathered in one place doing so little.

Here's a Colobus monkey hiding in the trees, our first photo-brush with wildlife. Previous to this sighting, we saw a troop of baboons in a field, which was fascinating but we missed photographing it.

Colobus monkeys get their name from their lack of thumbs, the word "colobus" means "mutilated one." I thought a much better name was "skunk monkey" because they are black and white and have a giant poofy tail. I called them this for the rest of the trip. Let's see if it catches on.

Meet Joseph, our driver. Joseph drove us successfully over treacherous, rutted, dirt roads to the trail head. One thing I learned from this 4x4 off-roading, it is not half as glamorous as the SUV ads make it look. Off-roading is slow going and there is not a moment of freewheeling excitement to be had. A lot of the time you wonder if you are going to roll off the side of the mountain or get stuck in mud.

Here's Andy in the subtropical rainforest, the first of the five ecosystems we passed through on the way to the summit. For you science junkies, they were, in order - subtropical rainforest, heather, moorland, alpine desert, and polar.

Along the trail we saw more skunk monkeys in the trees and came across elephant dung and tracks, no elephant though. I tried to convince the guys to take a photo of the dung but they said it wasn't photogenic enough. The Swahili word for elephant is "Tembo" which I thought sounded cool.

Here's Tom and I at our first campsite, Mkubwa. The green shelter is for the park ranger who lives in that structure for weeks at a time.

We started at 5,000 feet in Arusha and at this campsite we were at 9,000. Sleeping at altitude is more difficult the higher you go. By the end of this trip I had racked up such a sleep deficit I was delirious.

On arrival, Andy checked out the facilities which he pronounced "adequate, actually not too terrible."

Despite being an avid hiker, this trip was the first time I have ever used a pit toilet. When I canoed down the Allagash in Maine, I had such an aversion to outhouses that I didn't go to the bathroom for four days.

When my stomach eventually forced me to go, we were in the middle of the river and we had to quickly paddle to shore, where I jumped out and went up to my thighs in mud, slogged to shore and ran to a private area where I battled mosquitos while trying to do my business. It was one of the top ten most unpleasant experiences in my life.

Back at the Jacaranda hotel, we had met a friendly Ukrainian who gave us a folding toilet seat we could prop over the pit. It made things a lot more pleasant than gripping the walls for balance. Even so it didn't make it a bathroom you wanted to hang out in and read the paper. On our last day, we kept up the good karma and passed the seat on to a friendly couple from Oregon.

Sorry to go into such detail about the toilets.

The guides and porters got a big kick out of Andy's insistence on sleeping in his bivy sack. Andy paid $300 for this claustrophobic coffin/tent and because he paid so much for it, he insisted on using it even though there was room in my tent for him. In this photo, Andy is demonstrating the virtues of sleeping in a bivy for our guides, who are all laughing and joking in Swahili.

Here Andy enjoys the comfort of his bivy sack. It took two nights before Andy abandoned the use of the bivy forever and joined me in the tent.

I'm almost embarrassed to show you the luxury the guides provided for us. Every night the porters set up our sleeping tents and a mess tent, boiled our water, and cooked us dinner. In the morning, they cooked us breakfast, gave us a bag lunch to carry on the hike, and broke camp.

The food was fantastic and plentiful even by American standards. They even accomodated my vegetarian diet, a concept our guide confessed to me later that he did not understand.

Andy and I relaxing in the mess tent after a day hiking in the rainforest. Andy approves. At this point we were all taken aback by how nice the accomodations were. I got the impression that if you asked the porters to carry you on their backs, they would do it without complaint.

Night fell quickly in the rainforest. It was almost impossibly dark and, of course, I woke up early and lay in my sleeping bag for two hours, listening to the animals in the night. One of them made a piercing screech which made me shiver. Insomnia plagued me throughout this trip.

Next Installation: The Shira Plateau - the day we get really, really dirty

Kilimanjaro, part one

2006-03-04T11:50:00.000-05:00

Day One - We Arrive

We arrived in Tanzania tired and confused after crossing eight time zones. None of us had ever been to Africa before. When we left the States, we wore parkas. In Tanzania, when we landed, it was 75 degrees at night.

In this photo my brother Andy is standing looking stunned. The shirt he is wearing he would later lend to me and I would wear it for seven days straight. I am in the background, applying mosquito repellant and worrying about malaria.

Among the crowd, we saw a friendly face, our driver.

We were so happy Tom and Andy posed for a picture with him. Never before have I been surrounded by so many black people. I grew up in New Hampshire, not exactly a hotbed of African-American culture. At UNH the African-American literature class is taught by a white guy.

Our driver wore a shirt that read "Endangered Feces" and had cartoons of feces on it. If you click on the photo, you can see some of them more clearly. At the time I thought this was an unusual shirt to wear while greeting American tourists, a shirt I couldn't imagine even the tackiest of Americans wearing.

I didn't realize until later how Tanzanians mostly wear the discarded clothes of America. Goodwill operates a huge pipeline to Africa - when you donate your clothes, this is its final destination. It's a strange thing to see a Tanzanian goat shepherd wearing an Oakland A's hat and an Arusha street kid wearing a Georgia Tech t-shirt but we saw this more often than traditional African clothing.

On the drive to Arusha, our driver acted as if the road were a two-lane highway, which it wasn't. Traffic laws are optional in Tanzania and drivers push their rickety vehicles as if they were sports cars. I read a stat that said there were 66 fatalities for every 10,000 motor vehicles in Tanzania. In comparison, the UK had 1.4. The most dangerous moments of this trip were the times we were being driven somewhere.

We went to our hotel rooms in the Jacaranda hotel. In the photo you can see the mosquito nets which are essential in a continent plagued by malaria and yellow fever. I got five shots and two prescriptions before coming here. The nurse at the travel clinic gave me so many health pamphlets it made me think this trip was the equivalent of parachuting into a war zone.

I screwed up the netting on the first night and fought mosquitos all night long. Terrified, I hid under the sheets convinced every mosquito carried a deadly virus. The next morning, we relaxed and laughed at my cowardice.

In this photo, I am reading a tourist guidebook of Kilimanjaro. Previous to this, I had read nothing about the mountain outside of glancing at the "Kilimanjaro" entry in Wikipedia on my way to the airport. That night before we left for the mountain, I thought to myself, "Good Lord, what have I got myself into?"

A photo of Tom and I relaxing in the Jacaranda hotel waiting to meet our tour organizer Menghe, a terrific and funny man, of Good Earth Tours.

I would recommend Good Earth Tours to anyone climbing Kilimanjaro. This tour costs around $3,000 when you go with a big American group like KE Travel. In comparison, Good Earth cost around $1,400. It's also part Tanzanian-owned, so your dollars go more directly into the local economy.

The average Tanzanian makes $264 a year. Try to imagine what it would be like if a pair of Nikes cost half your annual salary. I tipped everyone along the way as much as I could afford.

After lunch we left the hotel to check out the local city, Arusha. In the photo above, you can get an idea of the chaos of these streets, this picture doesn't do it proper justice though.

The roads of Tanzania support anything that has two wheels, whether it is a bike, ox-pulled wagon, tractor trailer, or a Land Rover. There are two lanes operating here but, with optional traffic laws, that can be expanded to a full three at any time.

Just to add to the hilarity, traffic travels in the left-hand lane. I didn't realize how deeply ingrained my habits of crossing the street were until I almost got hit by a car coming from my right, after I had checked on my left.

If you click on the photo above you can see a man hauling a cart loaded to full capacity. He's hauling it in 90 degree heat. Tools are lacking in this country and just about everything is done manually, which means everyone is fit, strong, and tremendously resourceful. Any kind of tool or vehicle is at a premium so everyone makes the most of everything they have.

Being white and walking on the streets of downtown Arusha is the equivalent of standing up and screaming "HELLO, I AM A RICH TOURIST LOOKING TO BUY CHEAP KNICK-KNACKS AND T-SHIRTS." We were swarmed by new "friends" downtown, all of them striking up conversation and offering to sell us t-shirts, posters, flags, and books. It was similar to the scene in Night of the Living Dead where the heroes are mobbed by zombies. Everywhere we turned, we had zombie salesmen in our faces. You think I'm exaggerating.

Being a minority for once in my life demonstrated one point - it sucks to be so conspicuous. Even though I desperately wanted to, I couldn't blend in with the crowd. Getting constant stares and feeling instant assumptions being made about you on the basis of the color of your skin is tiring and annoying.

Nothing encapsulates the chaos of Arusha streets quite as perfectly as the taxi service. The way it works - a group gathers at a taxi stand and when the van pulls up, everyone piles in to the point that people are spilling out of the windows. Here we can see the process in action.

I originally scoffed at the idea of going to an internet cafe, so I stayed in the hotel while Andy and Tom went. I later realized internet cafes were the best way to keep in touch with people back home, the cost is a dollar per half hour. Andy sent an email to my wife on my behalf on our last day there while I was suffering from food poisoning. I'll write more about that later.

Read the next installment - we set out for the mounatain

Kilimanjaro Photos

2006-03-03T11:16:00.000-05:00

I posted photos from our climb up Mount Kilimanjaro on Flickr. These photos will have to due until I can finish the writeup. This project seems to be one where the end gets further away the more you work on it.

Part one - landing, driving, camping in the rainforest
Part two - hiking, camping, hiking, camping
Part three - summit day(!), descending, monkeys

Why I Climb

2006-02-22T23:39:00.000-05:00

I've never liked the conventional reason people give when they are asked why they climb mountains, "Because they are there." That's not the reason I climb, I climb because it makes everything afterwards seem easy in comparison.

Mountain climbing, to me, is the ultimate test of mental and physical strength. There was a point during our summit of Kilimanjaro where all three of us had the same thought, independent of one another, which we discussed afterwards. The singular thought when we were on the verge of breaking, "I'm never doing something like this again."

The irony was I had this exact same thought while climbing Mount Rainier in 2004. It was on the icefield above Disappointment Cleaver where I swore, swore to myself that I would never be so foolish as to attempt something like this again. That moment, so vivid when I climbed Rainier, was only revealed to me again while I was busy summitting Kilimanjaro.

In the days leading up to our final ascent of Kilimanjaro, Andy, Tom, and I would sometimes discuss other big mountains we planned to climb. I had fantasies of climbing Mt Elbrus in Russia, another one of the seven summits, while Andy and Tom were interested in tackling the mountains of Pakistan. We had our eyes on other mountains before we even finished the one we were on.

These planning talks ended abruptly after summit day. Getting up at midnight and hiking for ten hours straight while battling altitude sickness on two hours of sleep will do that. I was stumbling around like a drunk at the end.

The more time passes, the more you forget the pain and hardship and are left only with the glory. That was the reason I was so stupid to summit Kilimanjaro after knowing full well the pain.

When we were flying back, Andy said to me "I think this might be my last big adventure" and I agreed, it was probably mine too. But I know myself well enough to know that it probably wasn't, it's just going to take some time. The memories of pain and fear fade but travelling to Africa and climbing Kilimanjaro are things I will never forget.

Good Advice

2006-02-21T14:15:00.000-05:00

From The Washington Monthly:

That's why I always told people who worked for me to never write email when they were angry — or even merely annoyed. Never. Do it in person or over the phone, or else just wait to calm down. No matter how angry you are, you'll come across as ten times worse than you mean to when you express it via email.

People underestimate the power of the emails they send out. Never before has such instant communication to a large audience been possible. I read an email at least three times before sending it out, imagining not only my recipient reading it but a 1,000 other people. At a previous employer, two people were fired for things they wrote online.

Before I write something I think - do I want to attach my name to this message?

Message To My Wife

2006-02-10T14:33:00.003-05:00

From Tanzania:

From: Andy Greten
To: Emily Greten
Date: Tue, 7 Feb 2006 04:40:50 -0800 (PST)
Subject: hi

This is Andy on Dave's behalf. He told me to send you the following message:

"Ughhhhhhh......unhhhhhhh......I'm....so...tired. Did it just get hotter? Uhh...so beat. Will you send a message to Emily for me? And mail these postcards too? Oh...wait...can you do me a favor? Mail these postcards?"

We're leaving here at about 10pm today (2pm your time). See you soon.

Yes, he made it.

Andy

Read more about my trip to Kilimanjaro or look over my website.

We Made It!

2006-02-09T08:16:00.000-05:00

Whoa. I'm back from Africa and Mount Kilimanjaro after a 7,000 mile, 25 hour flight. Majorly jet-lagged, I fell asleep at 8:00 pm last night and woke up wide eyed at 2:00 am this morning. I'm having a hard time remembering what day it is.

Also, on our last full day in Africa, I got a major case of food poisoning and threw up ten times. Want some free advice? When in Tanzania, don't order the fish.

I'll do a more intensive write-up of our climb this week. The big story: We made it to the top, which is something only 40% of Kili hikers accomplish, although I'd hardly say I did it in style. I was a physically and emotionally shattered man at the summit.

In one of my less-proud moments, I collapsed in a heap and was whining to myself "I wanna go home. I wanna sleep in a big feather bed. I want to be warm. I want to not be filthy." But I would have been damned if I traveled all that way and didn't get a picture of myself beside that sign at the top. As soon as Andy gets the photos developed, I'll post the proof and the big write-up.

Couple photos in the meantime, both taken by Tom Banchy.

Now back to work. It's good to be back...

Last Hike of the Season

2005-12-09T10:39:00.000-05:00

If you were to survey all New Englanders to find which season was their favorite, I bet the results would say fall in a landslide. Everything is crisp, dry, and cool, without the humidity of spring, the heat of summer, and the snow of winter.

This fall's foliage was sort of a bust, definitely not one of our best. It was rainy for a long time, then unseasonably cool, then unseasonably warm. It snowed a bit and then was 60 degrees two days later. The trees couldn't figure out what was going on so the leaves never turned for their annual fireworks display.

I went hiking with Mark Lotterhand on a Monday in November, the latest I had ever gone in the regular hiking season. It was cold and windy at the top. Mount Monadnock has a rocky summit, the result of a forest fire a long time ago. Thoreau spent some time here.

It was so clear on that day that we could faintly see Boston far away on the horizon. Boston is a two hour drive away from Mount Monadnock, so I'm guessing we could see 80-100 miles.

Monadnock is one of the most hiked mountains in the world, second only to Mount Fuji in Japan (Correction - it is now *the* most hiked mountain in the world since they put a road up Mount Fuji. Thanks Mark). It's not hard to see why it is so popular - it's an easy drive from Boston, not too difficult a climb, and gives great views at the top. On summer weekends, this mountain is awash in families.

On the day Mark and I (and the dog) hiked, we saw no one. We took a less popular route up and, like I said earlier, it was cold and windy. I can't guess how fast the wind was running but I had trouble standing up in it and you had to shout to be heard.

Mark (who knows just about everything about wildlife, geography, and weather) explained that wind's effects are not linear with their speed, ie. there's a bigger difference between winds of 55 mph and 60 mph than five miles per hour. If nothing else, I gained a new respect for hurricanes.

I give this hike four stars. If you click on any of the images above, you will see the larger version.

Interview with Noam Chomsky and Britney Spears

2005-10-19T14:45:00.000-05:00

INTERVIEWER: "Hello and thank you for joining us. Today we will be interviewing MIT professor Noam Chomsky and popular entertainer Britney Spears. First off, Noam, for quite a time now you've been an advocate for the anarchist idea. What is it that attracts you to anarchism?

NOAM CHOMSKY: "I was attracted to anarchism as a young teenager, as soon as I began to think about the world beyond a pretty narrow range, and haven't seen much reason to revise those early attitudes since. I think it only makes sense to seek out and identify structures of authority, hierarchy, and domination in every aspect of life, and to challenge them; unless a justification for them can be given, they are illegitimate, and should be dismantled, to increase the scope of human freedom. That includes political power, ownership and management, relations among men and women, parents and children, our control over the fate of future generations (the basic moral imperative behind the environmental movement, in my view), and much else.

Naturally this means a challenge to the huge institutions of coercion and control: the state, the unaccountable private tyrannies that control most of the domestic and international economy, and so on."

INTERVIEWER: "Very interesting. Now Britney, you were offered the Daisy Duke role in The Dukes of Hazzard, correct?"

BRITNEY SPEARS: "Yeah. Ashton Kutcher was supposed to be in it too. But things change and happen for a reason. That wasn't my time. I'm supposed to be pregnant now. And I'm proud of Jessica [Simpson], she's doing really well."

INTERVIWER: "The sex must have been really great when you're trying to make a baby."

BRITNEY SPEARS: "Oh yeah!"

INTERVIEWER: "All that Catholic schoolgirl stuff-"

BRITNEY SPEARS: "Is out the window!"

INTERVIEWER: "And when you think of all those years you spent trying not to."

BRITNEY SPEARS: "[Laughs] Right. Oh my goodness. It's awesome, though. Wow!"

INTERVIEWER: "Now, Professor Chomsky, it's true to say that your ideas and critique are now more widely known than ever before. It should also be said that your views are widely respected. How do you think your support for anarchism is received in this context? In particular, I'm interested in the response you receive from people who are getting interested in politics for the first time and who may, perhaps, have come across your views. Are such people surprised by your support for anarchism? Are they interested?"

CHOMSKY: "The general intellectual culture, as you know, associates 'anarchism' with chaos, violence, bombs, disruption, and so on. So people are often surprised when I speak positively of anarchism and identify myself with leading traditions within it. But my impression is that among the general public, the basic ideas seem reasonable when the clouds are cleared away. Of course, when we turn to specific matters - say, the nature of families, or how an economy would work in a society that is more free and just - questions and controversy arise. But that is as it should be. Physics can't really explain how water flows from the tap in your sink. When we turn to vastly more complex questions of human significance, understanding is very thin, and there is plenty of room for disagreement, experimentation, both intellectual and real-life exploration of possibilities, to help us learn more."

INTERVIEWER: "Perhaps, more than any other idea, anarchism has suffered from the problem of misrepresentation. Anarchism can mean many things to many people. Now Britney, your mom's going to be a grandmother for the first time. Was she happy when you broke the news or taken aback?"

BRITNEY SPEARS: "Taken aback. I think she thought I was probably going to wait a little bit, be married for awhile. But those weren't the plans for Britney! [Laughs] She's gonna be a hot grandma. And I'm gonna be a hot mom."

INTERVIEWER: "Your sister's show Zoey 101 got nominated for an Emmy."

BRITNEY SPEARS: "Her little show's doing amazing. I'm so proud of her. I love her. She's very sweet-and dry. She's the person when you're in a room that says the things you want to say but you don't say. She just blurts it out and you're like, Oh, that was an air breaker. She's very smart."

INTERVIEWER: "I'll bet she is. Now Professor Chomsky, do you often find yourself having to explain what it is that you mean by anarchism? Does the misrepresentation of anarchism bother you?"

CHOMSKY: "All misrepresentation is a nuisance. Much of it can be traced back to structures of power that have an interest in preventing understanding, for pretty obvious reasons. It's well to recall David Hume's Principles of Government. He expressed surprise that people ever submitted to their rulers. He concluded that since Force is always on the side of the governed, the governors have nothing to support them but opinion. 'Tis therefore, on opinion only that government is founded; and this maxim extends to the most despotic and most military governments, as well as to the most free and most popular. Hume was very astute - and incidentally, hardly a libertarian by the standards of the day. He surely underestimates the efficacy of force, but his observation seems to me basically correct, and important, particularly in the more free societies, where the art of controlling opinion is therefore far more refined. Misrepresentation and other forms of befuddlement are a natural concomitant.

So does misrepresentation bother me? Sure, but so does rotten weather. It will exist as long as concentrations of power engender a kind of commissar class to defend them. Sounds simple-minded, and it is. But I have yet to find much commentary on human life and society that is not simple-minded, when absurdity and self-serving posturing are cleared away."

INTERVIEWER: "Simple minded indeed. Now, Britney, tell me about practicing Kabbalah."

BRITNEY SPEARS: "Kabbalah has helped my soul. I was brought up a Baptist and there's religions and all that stuff, and the Bible's written-everything's in codes. And the thing that drew me to Kabbalah is, it all comes from light. This sounds so weird, I know, but I'm just tring to explain it in a way that-like, it all stems from light. And Kabbalah, out of all of 'em, is the oldest, er, it's so rich, I think it kind of overrules everything. Like, if I read a normal self-help book-I think that the people who write these [Kabbalah] books are so on a different level, that if you come into contact with their consciousness, it's like, so profound and enlightening."

(Questions and quotes from Noam Chomsky come from this article and all questions and quotes from Britney Spears come from the October 2005 issue of Elle)