I wrote this article well before it was announced that President Obama through his executive authority would rename Mount McKinley as Denali on August 30, 2015. Now it gives context why the move was so significant in breaking the political stalemate.

This past weekend, Fox News had an article that shed light into why, after more than 100 years, the highest peak in North America was named Mount McKinley, or rather why it was still named Mount McKinley. It’s older native name Denali is more commonly used, and I should know, I am reading and in conversation about this mountain often. Denali, rather than McKinley, is also officially recognized by the government of Alaska.

The bottom line reason the name is still McKinley is that the US Board on Geographic Names, a federal office with the authority to change the mountain’s federally recognized name, has deferred to Congress. But interestingly, they aren’t actually requiring a hearing let alone a vote to put a hold on the name changing process. No, rather Ohio Congressman Bob Gibbs introduced a bill to keep the name as McKinley and that’s sufficient.

My five years of serving as a Congressional aide and the past eight as a registered lobbyist has raised a bit of thought…

Buckeye Pride

While the mountain is in Alaska, more people than Alaskans lay claim to it. It’s North America’s highest peak and a point of America’s pride in its own vastness.

But the mountain was named by a gold prospector for a US presidential candidate that supported the gold standard, which was a political issue that was important to the prospector. But the candidate, William McKinley, would be elected president. He was from Ohio. The name would stick. And the citizens of Ohio had a president and a national landmark in America’s world class wilderness.

Changing the name of the mountain would not be a victimless act. Having the mountain is a matter of pride for Alaskans, and calling it their own is a point of state pride for Ohioans in the Buckeye State. Alaskans have the mountain. Ohioans want to be forever connected to the mountain.

The Map is Right

The name on the federal version map isn’t wrong. Neither is the Alaskan version with Denali written on it. In fact whatever name you were to put over the topo lines would be fine. It’s subjective. Even Denali isn’t the only native name, but it’s the most commonly used.

There was even a time when people debated about whether Denali was actually two mountains. It essentially relies on the map makers and public’s tolerance for what makes a separate mountain versus a subpeak. Factors like distance between the summits and the depth of the col between them all come into play. Some map making communities have official criteria.

If Denali or McKinley, depending on what you want to call it, was actually two separate mountains and the south peak’s name was McKinley, what would you call the north peak, Denali?

Bridging the Crevasse

The US Board on Geographic Names has the authority to rename Mount McKinley, however, its 1981 rule has made it fairly clear that the Board will abstain from taking action: “The U.S. Board on Geographic Names will not render a decision on a name or its application if the matter is also being considered by the Congress of the United States.” The principle underlying this, is that it is deemed to be considered by Congress if there is a proposal. The proposal alone, officially introduced as a bill, objectively indicates that it is a matter for Congress to decide.

This means that either the board needs to change its policy or Congress has to make a determination. I think the chances of the board changing its position are unwise for its own purposes; it would be foolish for them to be the cause of more legislation if they used their existing authority to change the name while Ohio is holding the line. The advocacy/lobbying work has to be focused on the Ohio delegation and Congress itself.

If competing bills were introduced — one backing the name Mount McKinley and the other Denali — would be something of a low priority on a policy level and may not garner sufficient attention. Congress is a responsive body, it doesn’t usually lead. It needs a crisis. There won’t likely be a crisis on this issue, especially when there are issues like the debt ceiling to wrangle over.

Without Ohio’s Congressional delegation solidly buying into changing the name to Denali, I doubt that the matter would be settled if the House of Representatives and Senate passed a bill and the President signed it, regardless whether Congress chose McKinley or Denali.

That said, if someone has a good reason to change the name, I’d love to hear it and I might know someone that can lead the lobbying effort.

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Despite appearances, and some disputed evidence to the contrary, all great explorers, climbers, and endurance athletes are people just like you and me. Well, not quite just like you and me. They are indeed human, but their development took a very different path.

Great adventurers have usually reached the requisite 10,000 hours required to become an expert in their specialty early in life. Then then got innovative. Once they became an expert, the things that were said to be impossible, they could react with open mindedness: “Well let’s give it a try and see.” (Think of Tommy Caldwell and the Dawn Wall project.)

I have been reading biographies of mountaineers and climbers for 20 years. I have been following climbing news closely for 10 years. Over that time I have made some observations about how great climbers became great. It applies more broadly because, fundamentally, it’s no different than how a great baseball player or musician rises to the Major Leagues or Carnegie Hall: They started at a relatively young age, never gave up, and at some point started obsessing over their craft.

The Day’s Greats Visit

Every so often, mortals like you and me get to see these exceptional humans. My meeting with super hiker Andrew Skurka has had a great impact on me. Skurka has combined long trails to form enormous loops, like his 7,000-plus mile tour through Alaska a pied. He’s fit, organized and has a geeky quality, and an awe for the wilderness experience we crave. Almost a hundred years ago, someone better known toured the US: George Leigh Mallory, the legendary Englishman who was part of three expeditions that explored and attempted Mount Everest.

Skurka and Mallory both rose to the tops of their sports by starting early. Skurka circumnavigated his home state of Minnesota when he was still in high school. He did so with style too: In the dark and cold of winter. Mallory started young as well, climbing in the British Hill Country and later the Alps, earning appreciation from his older fellow climbers for his extraordinary rock climbing abilities and stamina. When people later learned about these men, they weren’t teenagers and they had been hiking and climbing more often and longer than nearly anyone else at any age. Their visits might be likened to going to see the Pope.

More recently, Ueli Steck toured the US for a series of presentations and even stopped at the headquarters of National Geographic here in Washington, DC in early December. Steck, it seems, has been climbing his whole life. It’s hard to see his ordinary-man qualities here in the states, yet Lisa Hummel posted a picture on Instagram of Steck enjoying a rich parfait after breakfast the day of his presentation. The image showed something of the disciplined athlete rather displays: indulgence. We suddenly saw through a window to his humanity.

Reinhold Messner is coming to New York City for the American Alpine Club Annual Benefit Dinner on January 31. I haven’t seen or heard about a frail moment with him. His ego is giant, which we, from far away, tend to excuse. Up front it can be displacing; Ed Viesturs met him and said that he’d read everything Messner had written. Messner replied that it was impossible and he was right. Not everything Messner had written was available in English.

Messner started like the rest of them, climbing his local crag and aspiring for more.

While all of these men started working on their specialty early in life, there was another element in their makeup: They believed in themselves, and some of them, if not all of them, had a sense of destiny. Their effort and skill grew into the vision what they dreamed would be possible.

I’m positive that the same could be said about Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson, the climbers that have become a household name after they free climbed the Dawn Wall of El Capitan.

Advice for an Aspiring Adventurer

The formula for achieving great things is less about age; you don’t have to start young, even though being young when you start your quest helps considerably. The formula requires expertise; you have to master hiking, navigating, travel, rowing, rope management, technique or whatever is required of your specialty. And the details can’t be underestimated; walking the Long Trail in Vermont is one thing, but traversing the a routeless path ten times as long in winter is something more advanced than putting one foot in front of the other. Getting 10,000 hours in at your favorite activity is necessary, as the author Malcolm Gladwell has pointed out. It applies to the adventurous among us too.

The other key characteristic is the need to advance and take moderate risks. Andrew Skurka, who hiked around nearly the whole of Alaska and the Yukon calls himself risk adverse. When I heard him say that at National Geographic people in the audience scoffed. However, it was true: If you tracked his progress since he was a teenager, his hikes got progressively longer and he added a new learned skill each time. For instance, he went from following trails and roads to going mostly trailess, and graduating from snowshoes to skis. He grew by taking reasonable and moderate risks at each step. On the other hand, too many risks or too much risk might have gotten him hurt or killed.

Based on what I have seen and been reading for years, my advice for someone that wants to make a grand adventure is this: If it’s worth the time and sacrifice to you, then set aside the time to hone the necessary skills, don’t rush, and believe that you will do it. And along the way, expect people to suspect you’re crazy or wasting your time.

Good luck!

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I’m on the lookout to buy a pair of belay gloves and two cool child-sized fleece sweaters, possibly from Patagonia, for my little kids. This year’s Gear Guide from Climbing magazine had a good breathable pair of gloves but no kids clothes (but why would they?)

I would probably send an Instagram around of both finds if I get them. I might even hash tag Gear Addiction or gearaddition just for amusement.

Since Natalie and I started our hopscotch move to a townhouse and back to our condo, we have let go of belongings and made rules about what new things can come into our home to stay permanently (such as decorations, books and magazines.) We’ve read that such habits can keep things tidy too.

The process of moving twice in just over a year, and reducing our collection of stuff, also made us examine why we want new things. It quickly became obvious to us: If it wasn’t something we needed or enhanced how we lived, that thing we thought we needed was merely emblematic of what we wanted our life to be. It indicated what we would rather be doing. It begged the question: Why not just do it or get rid of it?

I guess we were filling voids. For me, that meant gear for the kind of climbing and hiking I wanted to do but wouldn’t be able to commit to, if at all. I suddenly felt like I was forcing a square peg into a round hole.

What we really needed to do is go out and do what we are day dreaming about. Get out and do it. We’ll figure out what we really need, and in some cases what we don’t.

Take for instance my Uncle Tom. (He was my mentor and guide for getting into outdoors pursuits. I joined him on his quest to climb the Adirondack Mountains’ 46 highest peaks on several backpacking trips, mostly on trailess routes.) After every trip, he returned home and emptied out his old REI external framepack. He did so to ventilate the contents and sort everything into two distinct piles: 1) Stuff he used, and 2) Stuff he didn’t.

He cussed over the stuff he didn’t need. It weighed him down.

But we both learned something after these exercises. Sometimes things we needed we didn’t even bring. A hatchet would have been helpful. The pillow was unnecessary. And maybe we should take less food.

What I really remember are what shines through in the photos. The landscape. The smiles. The rocky trail and the feel of stepping stone to stone under a weighted pack.

I think we learn more from doing than shopping. We figure out what we need from trying. We find who we are out there.

Good luck.

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