I spent a lot of time in elementary school flipping through them, awestruck by the compelling exploration and adventure stories. I still have a few of those old original copies, including the May 1963 issue (see photo).

National Geographic cover shot of May 1963

This one is quite special to me as it has an article about Mount Rainier up in Washington.   Back in 1992, Rainier nearly killed me and, sadly, it took the life of my climbing partner and good friend, Mike Price.

Tomorrow, I leave for National Geographic headquarters to give a public presentation about that epic story of friendship and survival.  In presenting “The Ledge” I will share what happened to Mike and me on one of Rainier’s unforgiving glaciers. It is hard for me to believe that four decades after first gawking at NatGeo’s stories, I will soon be in their auditorium to share my own adventure tales, about Rainier and other mountain climbs.

So, if you have too many books and magazines filling your shelves, I strongly advise you to make enough room to keep the inspiring yellow-bordered ones.  You might just be helping a future explorer get their start.

Jim will be presenting “The Ledge” at National Geographic’s Grosvenor Auditorium in Washington, D.C. on Wednesday, February 29, 2012 at 7:30 pm.  Tickets are available to the public here. 

In the studio of the Roaring Success Radio Hour - Paul Neal Rohrer (L), Bill Greene & Jim Davidson (R)

The Roaring Success Radio Hour provides a ‘behind the scenes’ look at the entertainment & media business: www.rsuccessradio.com/. The host Paul Neal Rohrer and producer Bill Greene were inquisitive, fun & energetic.

You can hear the entire one-hour interview here:

http://castlerockradio.com/media_player.asp?messageID=90272

When our new Book, “The Ledge” publishes on July 26, 2011, I hope to be invited back on the show to share some more insights about speaking, writing & the media business.

Jim Davidson being interviewed for 'I Shouldn't Be Alive'

Although kind and respectful, the interviewer led me farther down the recesses of my unsettling memories. I could feel myself back in the icy darkness, back on the day that my friend Mike died and I fought so hard to live.

I felt the urge to resist. If I had tried, I might have gotten away with waving off a few questions or skirting around some uncomfortable memories. But I couldn’t. That is not how important things get done. Great moments are created and great goals are reached by facing difficulties with resilience, not resistance.

And so, scared as I was, I plunged headlong into every assertive question the skilled interviewer asked. I shared everything that I knew, remembered, and felt on that horrible day of ice and darkness, that trying day of fear and loss. Though nervous, I was strengthened by the belief that if I could stay strong enough to share the full story, they would be skilled enough to tell it in a very powerful way.

After watching the “Killer Crevasse” episode of “I Shouldn’t Be Alive”, I think that together we reached the high summit we aimed for. Based on the extensive feedback I have heard from friends, fans, and colleagues, the film told the tale accurately, powerfully and it has inspired people to rally resilience for their own challenges. Having a positive and motivating impact on other people has now made that daunting day under the bright lights worth it.

Just like climbing out of the crevasse did, this filming experience has reinforced my belief that resisting a challenge leads nowhere. By having the resilience to engage the hard things in life, we can create something positive, even from trying circumstances. Resilience, not resistance, is the way through the darkness. 

When I was 16, at my father’s urging, I began reading exploration and mountaineering books. He was right – I was enthralled. All those daring tales of science and exploration. I was especially awestruck by the books detailing incredible climbs to great heights on remote peaks around the world. The most intriguing to me were the highest 14 peaks, the ones that reached 8,000 meters, or about 26,000 feet. I began to wonder what climbing to such great heights would be like, how one got to go on such an adventure, and, dare I say it, if even I might be able to go someday. A dream was born.

Thirty years later, my dream came true. Just two days ago I stepped onto the summit of Cho Oyu, the sixth highest peak in the world at 26,906 feet (8201m).

On September 23rd here in Tibet, my teammates, our Sherpas and Tibetan climbers all began our preparations at about 4 pm. We lay in our down suits and sleeping bags at 24,900 feet sipping oxygen through masks at a low 1 liter per minute as we made final preparations and rechecked our gear. We knew every ounce would feel like a boulder weighing us down on this our final summit push, so we stripped down to the minimum of gear. Then we tried to sleep. I laid there for hours listening to the mechanical inhales and exhales of air moving through our masks. My tentmate, Mike, sounded like he was sleeping. I listened to his air flow. Inhale. Exhale. It sounded like I was tenting with Darth Vader.

When all that was finished, and sleep still escaped me, I focused on getting my mind into the right framework. I recalled all the reassuring things that friends and family had told me. I repeated inspirational quotes sent to me by friends and strangers alike. I remembered all the critical climbing safety lessons that my partners had taught me over the years. And I matched each section of the challenging climb ahead with experience I had gained on lesser peaks all over the world. Inhale. Exhale.

We had to awaken at 10:00 pm to force some food and water down our constricted throats. Great – I might only get two hours sleep now before my one shot to climb to 8,000 meters. Relax. You’re ready. Focus on the sound of the breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Sleep finally came.

After about 1.5 hours of sleep, I awoke with a startle and tore the mask off my face. Momentarily confused about where I was, the awkward confinement of the down suit, and the thinness of the air soon reminded me – I was at 24,900 and the summit push was upon us. Time to go.

We loaded our packs and slipped on our harnesses while snow slowly melted into water on our sputtering stove. When the water reached a weak boil, we cooked one packet of ramen noodles to split, but neither Mike nor I could eat our half.

At 11:30 PM, we struggled out of the tents, paired up with our designated Sherpa or Tibetan climber who would watch over us in this alien environment, and we headed up into the darkness. Our goal was to summit about 5:30 am, and see the sunrise over Mt. Everest.

We began climbing the steep snow to the famous Himalayan rock layer known as the Yellow Band. Previous experience with climbing rock in crampons helped power me through this section, and we continued upwards. My headlamp lit up a swath about 30 feet wide in front of me. The stars never seemed brighter than they did there at 25,000 feet. I kept checking my watch and altimeter. We were moving surprisingly quick. The sky was clear above us, but far below, in western Nepal we could see lightening flashing inside some clouds far below us.

Experience dictated that we stop for food and water, lest our energy crash. But it was so cold, that getting open the insulated water bottles was a struggle, and all the food was frozen solid. Looked like we were going to be doing this climb on internal reserves. The altitude and the hours rolled by. 25,500 feet. 26,000 feet. Less than a thousand feet to go.

Like my Dad had taught me as a kid, I kept watching the stars and constellations to confirm our navigational direction. We had spent several hours going southeast directly at Orion. At first he was partially hidden behind the summit. But as he had risen higher, so had we. His full friendly outline hung directly in front of us, and now we began swinging more eastward, towards the big mountain face that drops into Nepal. 26,500.

The terrain was flattening. We were on the final march across the summit plateau. Mt. Everest was dead ahead 20 miles away. I could see a black spot where its bulk blocked the stars, but I could not see the mountain itself. To the left of Everest, over a low spot on the horizon, down below us, I saw…stars. We were so high, and the horizon so low and far away, that I could see a few twinkling white stars BELOW us. It was a rare and magical sight.

A biting wind picked up around 3:30 am which now made making stopping almost impossible. Looked like we would arrive at the top long before sunrise. With this vicious wind cutting through our clothes, there was no way we would be able to stand around for even twenty minutes, let alone the two full hours until sunrise.

The slope flattened more – years of climbing told me we were almost there. Altimeter reads 26,900. Switching my headlamp to spotlight mode, I see a small bump ahead with a sacred Kata, a silk scarf, and bits of food left as an offering. The summit.

Within the next minute, my thirty-year dream of reaching the summit of an 8,000 meter peak would come true. I felt tears forming in my eyes, and it wasn’t due to the wind.

I took the last few strides, and hugged my Tibetan companion, named “K2″. Surrounded by darkness, there was little to see, so I looked up to the stars instead. Spectacular.

One by one, my teammates arrived over the next few minutes. Hugs and photos sought to keep us there while a screaming wind fought to drive us away. By 4:17 am, numb hands and toes forced the decision, and we started down.

Thirty years may seem like a long time to work to make a dream come true. Fifteen minutes of wind-swept darkness may seem like a short time to experience your dream unfolding. It was totally worth it.

Whatever dream you select, pick a big one. Whatever time-frame you might plan on, know that sometimes it can take thirty years..or more. And my friends, please, please keep trying and keep believing. Because dreams can come true.

Jim

We just had an excellent second rotation up the mountain. We had a pleasant trip to Camp One at 20,996. Most of us were faster and arrived feeling better than on previous trips there.

The night at Camp One was quite cold. We slept with our down suits on, and then crammed our selves into now tight sleeping bags. I awoke several times feeling desperately short of air. I would rip off my hat, tear open the collar of my down suit, then sit up and pant until I felt relief. Repeating this every hour or so during the 12 hours of tent time made for a long night.

As the sun rose the next day, we ate a small breakfast and loaded our packs for the tough climb to Camp Two. We snapped on our crampons right at our tents and began the 2,600 foot snow climb. Much of the route had lines fixed by the Sherpas, so the climb was not technically difficult. But, in the middle was a steep ice cliff that sure got our attention. We climbed in our down suits expecting a cold breeze. But instead, the sun beat down upon us mercilessly – sweat and dehydration soon overtook us.

As the hours passed, we slowly gained altitude. By 3 pm our team had all trickled into Camp Two, and the thin air of 23,600 feet made itself known. It was all we could do to sit up and drink water, or even worse, to go outside to answer nature’s call.

When evening came, I sensed a spectacular sunset going on behind the thin nylon walls that encased us. It took all my will as a photographer to struggle out of the tent. As the cold stung my nose, I snapped some shots of the sun setting atop the clouds far below us. That night, the cold really grabbed hold: my water bottle, pee bottle, and camera all froze solid.

As a demonstration of how the low oxygen limits your physical capacity, consider this: our ascent up to Camp Two took seven hours. We descended the same slopes back down in less than two hours the next morning.

So now, we rest. We are back in ABC for 3-4 days to let this recent altitude stress disperse, and to regain our physical strength. It is nice to just relax, eat, read, and sleep. But it becomes boring quickly, and we get tempted to rush back up the hill too soon.

This is when the Discipline of Rest is crucial. We have to fully recharge our bodies and our minds. If we succumb to our anxiousness about the weather, or our desire to summit sooner, rather than later, we may find ourselves two-thirds of the way up and burned out. We may very well have just blown our one shot. So, we must be as disciplined in our rest as we were in our active training.

It’s not easy. There is no more physical training or preparation left. But, there is some critical mental training we can still do. The four-day summit push ahead will require all the mental and spiritual strength we can muster. We know we will crash into our physical limits over and over again, and only mental and spiritual power will see us through those bleak times.

That’s where you come in.

I am trying to build a broad and deep arsenal of inspirational thoughts and images to help me power through those desperate moments high on the mountain. So I request your help in the following way:

Please share your favorite inspirational thoughts and comments here at this blog. What history, people or stories inspire you most? As I make my final mental preparations for the challenge ahead, I appreciate whatever help you can give.

I have but limited time left to apply the Discipline of Rest, before we must vigorously apply decisive action.

Be well, and thanks for your help.

Jim

We walked up and down over glacial moraine for about 2 miles in parallel to a stagnant train of ice pinnacles. We hiked to 19,700 at a half way point by 10:30 am.

Then the hard work began – a 1,200 foot rise on loose rock, scree and dirt, mixed with a little snow. For those of you that have done Aconcaqua, in Argentina, it was a lot like the Candeleta.

It was tough going. I had felt sick all day. My stomach problem had cleared up, but I had picked up the cold/cough/virus going around. So I was suffering and slow. At 20,000 feet I had to take 2 breaths per step. At 20,500 feet, three breaths per step. Any faster and I went anaerobic. It was a sufferfest.

Still, I made it to Camp 1 before the desired cutoff time of 2 PM, so I guess it turned out alright. Our leader and the two Sherpas, Danuru and “K2″, had the stoves going so hot liquids soon helped. Everyone was mildly suffering, but no crushing headaches, and everyone ate dinner – a good sign.

The view during dinner was spectacular. Our 5 tents were perched on a narrow rock crest at 20,996 feet. Surrounding us 360 degrees were a series of snow-covered 23,000 to 26,000 foot peaks. The biggest and most obvious was Cho Oyu including the route above us to Camp 2. We ate fast and got in our sleeping bags. It was a cold, rough night camped out at 20,996 feet – lots of coughing fits through camp. I had a recurring sense of “not enough oxygen” about every 1.5 hours (almost on the dot – a REM sleep cycle thing?) so the 12 hours in the tent seemed like a long night. I did manage to get some decent sleep though.

Around 6 am, we piled on the layers and dragged ourselves outside. As we ate breakfast, the glaciers below us stretched for miles. The primary purpose of this trip was to reach, and sleep at, Camp 1 for acclimitization. Mission acheived. While most of us had a rough night, no one was seriously ill, and everyone ate breakfast – an even better sign. My blood oxygen level was up, and my heart rate was down. Mission accomplished. So, leaving most of our gear behind for later, and higher use, we headed downhill at a much faster rate. The 1,200 foot scree slope that took me 2.5 suffer-filled hours to ascend the day before, was descended easily in 40 minutes today.

On the walk back to ABC, I was traveling with our leader, Greg, so we stopped to talk to team leaders from four other expeditions. After chatting a while, we discovered that one guide, Marty, had been on Aconcaqua in 1987 at the precise time as me and my CSU OAP teammates, and we shared a few mutual acquaintances. Small world.

So now, we rest. We will be at the realatively “low” ABC for 3 days or so, preparing our bodies and our minds, for another rotation up the mountain. The next rotation will be to Camp 2 at 23,400 feet.

During this rest period at ABC, we will eat, sleep, read, and, most importantly, hydrate. The monsoon is still here, with afternoon snow every day now, for 13 days. We are hoping that the monsoon will break soon. If the mountain gods are smiling on us, then the post-monsoon window of good weather will arrive in sync for our planned summit push around September 23-27.

Until then, I wish you well with your daily adventures.

Jim

Today is the twentieth day of my trip, and the eleventh day on the mountain. Cho Oyu is a large and high peak (26,906 ft). Thus, unlike many mountains in the United States, we can not just drive to the trailhead, toss our packs on our back, and start heading uphill. That would be a guaranteed formula for failure and severe altitude sickness.

Instead, we creep up on the mountain.

We spent four nights at Base Camp, getting used to the 16,000 foot elevation. We let our bodies rest and grow new blood cells. We did hikes up to 17,600 feet to add a little more altitude stress to encourage our bodies to acclimatize. We saw some amazing orange-pink alpenglow on sunsets over the surrounding peaks.

Once 16,000 feet felt okay, we moved up to Interim camp (17,600 ft) for a night, and then on to Advanced Base Camp (ABC) at 18,600 feet. We have been at ABC now for five nights. At this altitude, there is less than half the oxygen that there is at sea level, so everything is hard. The walk to the outhouse is about 100 feet – by time you get there you are panting. Coming back is worse, as it is 15 feet uphill, and that really sends your heart rate soaring.

We did nothing but rest, eat, sleep, read and plan for the first 4 days. This scheduled rest period was good timing too, as we got hit with a four-day snow storm. Since our rest coincided with the storm, we did not fall behind on our plans. We are all passing around coughs and colds. Headaches are common. Kinda hard to think up here too.

Yesterday the storm moved out and so did we. We went on a hard day hike up and down, up and down over glacial debris of rock, dirt and ice – the moraine. In the stagnant section of the glacier, we saw huge triangular pinnacles of blue-white ice sticking 50 feet up in the air. A single one looks like a sculpture by man. The millions of them we saw stretching out for miles looked like a sculpture by God and nature.

We hiked to the Old Lake camp (19,700 ft) and beyond. The steep, loose rock and dirt scree above made footing tricky. I had to rest ever other step. By our designated turn around time we had reached 20,370 feet – a little bit higher than North America’s highest peak of Denali (Mt. McKinley). We were wiped out when we returned to ABC at 18,600 ft.

We are resting and packing today. Tomorrow we load up full packs and move up to Camp 1 for a night at 20,996 feet. It is going to hurt staying there. But it is necessary and the next forward step as we continue creeping up on Cho Oyu.

Himalayan climbing is spectacular, but it can be trying. It takes a lot of time, work, dedication and patience. I suppose that is true for any big endeavor worth striving for. Please let me know what big goal you are creeping up on, and then go take one more step towards it. I will do the same and report back soon.

Keep creeping up on your mountain.

Jim

Report from Jim Davidson in Tibet
Base Camp of Cho Oyu, 16,000′

We arrived yesterday by truck from Tingri after a long and dusty ride. Base Camp is well organized and IMG is doing a great job of running the logistics. Food is good and there is plenty of it. My teammates all speak English quite well (much better than my Polish!) so English is the lingua franca of Base Camp. And everyone has been on adventures around the world, including both poles.

I have discovered that all those insane workouts in Colorado are paying dividends. Except for a slight altitude headache (which I know will fade over the next few days) I’m in great health. We’ve taken a few walks around here and this new elevation makes us a little breathless. But that will pass.

Views of Everest were amazing on the drive in— at times the entire north side of the mountain was visible. It is humbling and inspiring to see this highest point on Earth from the same vantage point as the first British explorers of the 1920′s. Unfortunately our objective— Cho Oyu at 26,906′— was shrouded by clouds when we arrived at Base Camp. This morning I rose early, stood outside my tent and Cho Oyu was completely clear! I could see our route all the way to 26,800′, the highest ridge walk.

I got some great video and photographs, but you really have to be here to believe it! Most of the computers in Base Camp are down, so communication may be spotty from now on, but I’ll phone out whenever possible. Thanks for all the good wishes, prayers, and warm thoughts. This is where I want to be right now.

Climb On.

Jim

The week before you leave on an expedition , you wish you had never even signed up for trip. Seriously.

The hundreds of things to do, trying to wrap up work, saying good bye to friends, and trying to spend some time with family.  It is impossible to get it all done.

One of the first things to go out the window is training.  After all, you have been training for more than 6 months – the last few days won’t make a difference in your conditioning, so there is not too much point to it.  The risk of a trip-ending injury rises too high to make continued training worth it.  So you taper off training a week or more before the trip.

Then you fly around the world and sit in buses, jeeps, taxis and trucks for 4 or 5 days.  And gradually, I feel out of shape for a walk around the block, let alone a climb up to 26,000 feet.

Well today, we got back to training.  With our final member having caught up with the main team (their arrival was delayed) we were all together at last.  So we went for a hike straight out of the hotel.  We threaded around the hand-stacked stone walls through people’s yards, cut around the potato field, passed a few grazing yaks, and started up hill.

We hiked from 12,300 to 15,000 feet in about 2.5 hours.  Everyone performed well.  Sadly, we were lost in clouds so we could not see the 23,000 foot mountains just east of us.

The clouds enveloped us and rime formed on our jackets.  We sat there a while to facilitate acclimatization.  We want to force our bodies into moderate stress from lack of oxygen so that they kick into gear and start growing more red blood cells.  When we got too cold we headed rapidly down hill passing prayer flags along the way.  With each flutter of the colorful cloth, they send the prayer printed upon them up to the gods.

Just outside town (Nylam), we passed a large mani stone, with prayers carved right into the rock.  I do not read Tibetan, a derivative of Sanskrit I believe, but I can take a good guess at what the mani stone said: Om mani padme hom- Hail to the jewel in the lotus flower.  It is hard to translate in this short space, and I am unsure my Western mind could really grasp it anyway, but this important phrase is basically homage to the birth of the universe and wisdom.  These revered words are much used in daily Buddhist life.

Tomorrow we move to the last town along the road – Tingri.  We will rest there for two more days while our bodies build up even more red blood cells.  We’ll need them to trap more oxygen from the ever-thinning air.  Each day we inch closer to the mountain, Cho Oyu, where the real test of our training begins.

For whatever challenge looms before you, I encourage you to train hard.

Best wishes from Tibet,

Jim

After an early start on the day, we rolled out of Kathmandu at 6 AM.  The streets were calm at that time, so we made it out of the city in time to watch the rising sun burn the fog off the Kathmandu valley.  We saw some pretty country and some hardy people carving a living from the lush, but rugged hillsides.

On the four-hour drive, our driver weaved expertly around dogs and goats, chickens and ducks.  We jostled with a plethora of trucks, and made the international border by 10 AM.

With all the paperwork, 12 people, and 150 bags to carry across, our border crossing into the Tibet region of China took a few hours.  It went well.

We are now in Zangmu, just inside the border.  Tomorrow we will continue our drive north toward Nylam.  Let’s hope for good weather so that we can get see westward and get a glimpse of Shishapangma (another 8,000 meter peak), just 15 miles from the road.

Best wishes from the road.