Diese Berichte, die stets eine Mischung aus Erdkundeunterricht, Artikel in einer Sportzeitschrift und persönlichen Anekdoten sind, haben immer eines gemeinsam – die Leidenschaft für das Leben. Eine Leidenschaft, die wir so oft wie möglich ausleben und immer wieder beim Erzählen unserer Geschichten mit anderen teilen. Wir hoffen, dass Ihnen das Lesen dieser Erfahrungsberichte einen Einblick in das Leben dieser Outdoorbegeisterten ermöglicht, Sie amüsiert und zum Reisen inspiriert und dass die Berichte Sie zum Umweltschutz motivieren. Diese Sammlung an Berichten wird laufend ergänzt – schauen Sie deshalb ab und zu auf dieser Seite vorbei und Sie werden immer wieder Neues entdecken.
“I can take you there, but you can’t write about it,” says Dave, looking over a tree-choked mountainside blanketed in 15 inches of fresh. “I dipped down there this morning,” he adds, “you can almost see my skin-track under that cliff.” He points with his pole, a bent one emblazoned with the logo of a ski shop over 2,200 miles to the west.
There it is. A shot of powder so pristine, I almost feel guilty tracking it up. There’s no point in looking over my shoulder—no one is there. I could never explain exactly how to get here: A few turns, a traverse, a side step, a tree duck and then it opens up. A magical alleyway. My stash.
“Man, I wish my legs weren’t so smoked,” my ski partner Arne Backstrom smiled as he articulated the thought blaring in my head. I might not have known it then, but this was about to be the run of my life; the day we finally got to leave our tracks on the Aiguille Verte’s Couturier Couloir, and nothing – not even tired legs – would stop us.
I got my first pair of skis for my second birthday, but since it was April, I spent the next six months sliding on the living room carpet, waiting for snow. By the time it came, the kick and glide of Nordic skiing had become another gait for me, as natural as walking or running. I never had to think about it. I just skied.
The paddle out is simple but creepy, with cold, dark water and undulating bull kelp doing a spooky little dance. As waves sweep over the kelp forest, bowlingball-sized bulbs are forced under water and burst through the surface again. Each erupting bulb makes me flinch in a millisecond of fear – early fall is the perfect time to find a great white petting zoo on this stretch of coast.
Standing on the beach, we hear the impact of each wave and feel the reverberation through the sand. Fifteen-foot waves are rolling into the mouth of Hale O Lono Harbor, Moloka‘i.
My wife, Becca, and I have been adrift on a sea of blank granite for six days now, on yet another of my attempts to free climb El Capitan’s Dawn Wall. Our home is a 3-by-6 piece of nylon strung between aluminum poles and suspended from the wall by straps. On clear days, the sun reflects off the rock and cooks us like ants under a magnifying glass.
The wild permeates and sustains us; it is our home, though our increasingly unnatural lives, lives distracted by artifice, obscure that brute truth. The boundaries between our wild bodies and the wild cosmos are in fact imagined, and we feel the actual oneness ...
What were we doing with our lives?
Dragging your feet is no way to go to the mountains. You should be cranking up the Lady Gaga to get stoker!
Silver Canyon at the end of a hot day seemed like just the thing for heat training: six miles of runnable incline through a narrowing rotisserie oven that gives way to four miles of steep, open terrain and tops out at near 10,000 feet and cooler temps.
Since 1990, Patagonia field reports have offered intense glimpses of nature’s front lines through the eyes of athletes, travelers and adventurers. Covering the diverse ground between geography lesson, sport journal and anecdotal meandering, these essays all share a passion for life.