While leaving Denali National Park, I rode shotgun in Steve’s old black BMW. He had driven that car from Alabama, to Washington, DC, to Alberta for training on his new job, and down the Alcan Highway, and then on to Anchorage, where he lived and worked and we were heading. We were euphoric and mostly listening to CDs (it was 2004.) It was after a camping trip where we saw the big mountain on a very clear day. We drank beers late into the night and heard wolves howl.

On that drive, he told me that one of his inspirations for quitting his Capitol Hill job, where we met, and moving to the 49th State was Art Davidson’s 1969 book Minus 148°. He was in awe of the accomplishment, and the experience of those that climbed Denali. Earlier on the trip he taught me about the Sourdough Ascent, which was clearly one of his favorite stories. It became one of mine, too. I returned to work on Capitol Hill the following week and Steve went back to the Lower Forty-Eight a year or so afterward to work for a presidential campaign. A bit of Alaska went with us, and for me, a bit of curiosity about a book that seemed somewhat straightforward.

Minus 148° is on a lot of lists of good mountaineering books. It has an audacious objective: The first winter ascent of Denali when it is the darkest and coldest climbing conditions. Davidson lets you get familiar and feel for his teammates; you’ll start to call them by their nicknames, too. The story has enough details that you feel the cold in parts, but mostly feel warmth of the team’s comradery. Best of all, Davidson shares enough information to create a suspenseful story, even though we all know the outcome. Davidson would ration the tension of frostbite and conditions. In that way, it’s on par with Herzog’s Annapurna, though Davidson is much more modest.

There are parts that felt like an it’s a mere camping trip. (Or perhaps a more well-adjusted version of Moby Dick.) I think that is largely due to Davidson’s embrace of the expedition, his teammates, and the outdoors. Davidson retells his story largely in a state of gratefulness and wonder of the natural world. He is a happy camper. Who else would have been able to write this?

The darkness of the night is no match for the intense happiness and comradeship inside the tents. Our laughter spills out onto the snow with the light of the Coleman lanterns.

Even the death of one of them, who I won’t name in case you haven’t read it and don’t know the story, was gently told. In a way, you saw it coming. Davidson eluded to style and maybe a carelessness beforehand. There were warnings unheeded. As the team regrouped, and considered whether they ought to turn around and go home, I honestly wasn’t sure what they should do either; another well told chapter by Davidson.

Until I read Minus 148 Degrees, I hadn’t realized how much Davidson’s vision and will was what made this objective come together. Knowing the story and it’s outcome didn’t tell the origin. There wasn’t a group of people in the Mountaineering Club of Alaska asking who will go, or discussing how to go about it. Davidson was the catalyst. Cold and dark winter ascents need a vision keeper to stoke enthusiasm. Someone that stands up and says, “This is where we’re going, who wants to be part of it?” That was Davidson. And I am equally impressed he knew his role and that they needed an experienced climbing expedition leader, which he patiently recruited. And he was a heck of a writer.

This one is certainly a candidate on my list for a Climbing Classic and I added it to list of candidates.

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