Alpinist 49 has my first piece for the literary magazine on pages 20 and 21.

For the last two weeks I have been immersed in conference prepations and legislative meetings here in Washington, DC for Habitat for Humanity’s annual visit with Members of Congress. Staying current on my reading list has been more difficult since we had one kid and harder since two, but it’s nearly impossible during these busy seasons. But sometimes there is a sip of words and, more rarely, a greedy gulp.

So with the conference complete (and a success), my days suddenly seemed longer… and colder. The perfect conditions for reading just a little bit more, and excuse for another hot espresso. Here’s an update and some ideas for what to read next:

Barry Blanchard’s The Calling: A Life Rocked by Mountains — I am on the verge of finishing up Blanchard’s book and will tell you more about it in a review in a few weeks. I first learned about Blanchard from Steve House and have been eating up anecdotes about him for over a dozen years now. It’s been great to read his autobiography. I am charmed by his days in the Alps, but am envious of his access to the Canadian Rockies.

Alpinist 49 — The winter issue is on newsstands now and I have a brief piece on the bottom of pages 20 and 21 about a true story from the Adirondack Mountains and a climber hat became well known in Yosemite. Please check out my article and Kelly Cordes’ compilation on “The Unclimbed” that also includes a perspective from one of my favorite contemporary Alaska pioneers, Clint Helander.

The Tower by Kelly Cordes (again) — This is next on my list after Blanchard’s autobiography. It’s a comprehensive history of Cerro Torre. I like to joke that he talks about everything about how the bolts went up the Compressor Route until they were triumphantly ripped off with cackles.

The other book on top of my list, but I don’t have a copy yet, is One Day A Tiger by John Porter about the immortal Alex MacIntyre. One friend of mine that read it already recommended that everyone should drop what they’re doing and read it now.

I have about a half dozen books on my shelf that I have mentioned before but haven’t had time for yet. Patience, I keep reminding myself, is key. This is just a busy season.

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In trying to explain why I love alpine climbing, the verseall was calm, all was bright, from a Christmas hymn has put into music the ephemeral feelings. For me, it glances at the still and fleeting qualities of the alpine, the same way Christmastime is something we want to hold on to.

At Christmas, the season is often described with language about wonder, like a child’s. Everything is new and surprising. Mysterious things are explained as miracles. The general notion of magical events are sacred.

It’s a magic where things are still. We pause in awe of the moment. We visit friends and, more importantly, loved ones. And it seems, here in the states at least, all busy-ness and work stops out of respect for the delicate moment.

It’s a magic where darkness is welcomed with a sense of anticipation. The twinkle of lights, whether in bulbs or flame, both charm and warm us on cold evenings.

It’s a magic almost like the alpine.

Time slows down. Little lights glow brighter. Good company feels closer. And the work what we have built in friendship in seeking a sacred moment all come to fruition.

I wish you all a Merry Christmas.

If you don’t celebrate, then I simply wish you a peaceful and joyous day. I am thinking of all of you and wish you well.

Good night.

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I carry a Swiss Army knife almost everywhere I go outside of work. It comes in handy almost daily. I open packages, fix my kids’ toys, and it even once helped me performed a small surgical procedure (don’t ask).

The other day a nonclimber asked me what kind of knife I bring with me when I climb. I paused.

What did he think goes on up there?

I don’t plan on cutting my rope and splicing it back together. A knife doesn’t help me reach for the next hold. I don’t fight off beasts. At most, I might use my pocket knife to prepare or eat my meal… when I am in camp.

Oh, and I have never contemplated having to cut the rope with my partner dangling from it. To the best of my knowledge that has only occurred once in history and that makes it the singular exception rather than the rule.

My knife is well stowed when my climbing gear is out. The only sharp objects I need out are the front points on my crampons or blades on my ice axe — and that’s only on true alpine routes. I don’t use those rock climbing. The knife won’t be needed. Put it away.

At least this is generally true… A knife can remove old, excess webbing or an old rope, or help you cut an end of a damaged rope off. And there are specialty blades that are serrated and made to efficiently for that. Still, my Swiss Army knife could do it, and, if I ever had to, that is what I would saw with.

Still, it’s not something a climber should keep handy next to his/her belay device and locking ‘biner. If he/she has it clipped there, you might not want to make that person your climbing partner.

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Alpinist magazine during the daily commute (Szalay 2014)

We often say that we should take only memories and pictures and leave only footprints in the wilderness. But it’s really not that simple. We’re human beings with passions and for some of us that means we want to immerse ourselves wholly in what we love, be that a national park or the ideal of a mountain man or woman.

While we don’t want to take anything physical or erect anything permanent or semi-permanent in the places we love, we want things that give a longer life to the euphoric sensations our adventures give us. For me, it even goes a bit deeper: My self-identity is wrapped in these places and adventures, so leaving my heart at the trailhead is impossible.

I try to bring the mountains home with me. I take pictures. I write down memories. Then I buy a twelve-pack of the locally brewed beer and buy gallons of maple syrup (at least for my journeys to Vermont) to enjoy for while longer. When I get home I look at gear in Patagonia catalogs with a bit of lust. I think about gearing-up for the next time my work schedule opens up for Natalie and I to go off with the kids someplace with wide open spaces. I consider buying that new backpack, I think, because I can load all my cool stuff and be as ready as Colin Haley for Mount Foraker.

Except, 85 percent of my daily routine involves driving city roads in our Subaru, riding subways and buses, walking on paved sidewalks, sitting in offices and cafes and climbing the three-story walk-up to our apartment. What do I need my Asolo TPS 520s and hard shell for when I usually need a pair of tasseled loafers and a sport coat?

I’m desperately trying to create an allusion of being in, or ready for, the mountains. I’m trying to satisfy a need for rock strewn trails, higher elevation, and the excitement of changing weather. This is despite the fact that I have responsibilities and commitments that conflict with that desire, and that I have I have willingly embraced those duties. (In fact, all of this is the true reason I started this blog.)

Desktop Mountain Art.

Shopping for new gear is a poor substitute for keeping the joy of the mountains; if I am just going to have it for that “one day” in distance, then it’s a waste. Gear wears out even from non-use. For example, my climbing harness just reached it’s expiration date after 10 years. Regardless of it’s visual appearance it’s done.

However, I recently realized that my library of mountaineering literature actually soothes my restless soul more than new duds from an outfitter. (Though, Sweetie, if you’re reading this, don’t let this discourage you from getting me another plaid shirt from Patagonia — I’ll wear those on the weekend anyway.) There is a wealth of climbing books, what Barry Blanchard called the “cannon of mountaineering” in his book The Calling is enormous — you should dive in. Plus publications, like the magazine Alpinist, are also wonderful outlets that connect with your mountain person ego.

Since Natalie and I moved back into our relatively small condo I have had to store the majority of my gear in a shed. What is left accessible is my library and some art. If you follow me on Instagram then you have seen my “Desktop Mountain Art,” which I put in different configurations and post periodically. Fascinatingly, these wooden models have struck gold inside me. I love them and they have raised ideas, thoughts and joy inside me. Of course, they also prompt conversations about art, mountains, and adventure. It makes me share memories and show pictures.

What we need is something that connects with us at a different level — maybe it’s our soul. The practicality of outdoor clothing and equipment are merely tools to shelter what houses that soul of ours. We need to reach deeper. In fact, we need to go directly to what those ads and descriptions in the Patagonia catalog are tugging at… the dormant feelings we usually only feel gallivanting in the outdoors. We need more art. It can be in written word or something for a shelf, or maybe something else I haven’t discovered yet.

So if all of this doesn’t get closer to telling you more about how to fix our problem (and describe how messed up I am), I don’t know what does. I’ll be back in touch with more later. For now, enjoy the rest of your week and have a good weekend.

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We’re expecting some moderate snow in the Mid-Atlantic region, and while I would normally be egging it on, it’s actually presenting a problem. It’s supposed to hit tomorrow, which is the biggest travel day of the year in the US. Natalie and I are hosting the Thanksgiving feast the next day; we have family driving down from Philadelphia and friends coming from London. We hope that they won’t be delayed.

Last year at this time I posted a piece on climber’s Thanksgiving traditions. This year I’m thinking about what, as a climber, I’m particularly grateful for. The answer brought be back… way back to sometime even before the 1900s.

But the story starts in high school when I began to think that I was born into the wrong era. I wanted to ascend unclimbed mountains in untouched wilderness. I wanted to hike in and port gear carried in by some exotic beast or a pied by shuttling loads. I though that roadside crags and airplanes dropping so-called adventurers or explorers into the backcountry was trivializing the experience.

Now, about 20 years later, I know that even explorers in the 1960s — when most of places like the Himalayas and Patagonia was untouched by Westerners — wish they were seeking out lands in the 1880s.

I also know that adventurers in the 1880s wish they were gallivanting before the advent of the telegraph or the railroad… when times were slower.

Sometime after starting to write here on TSM I got a little less ornery about the period we lived in. That is because I believe my kids, if they have a romantic and adventurous heart like their father, will wish they were actively exploring the world back when I was a kid.

So this is what I’m thankful for:

World Travel — We can go climbing on the other side of the globe and get there is 48 hours, not weeks or months.

Beta and the Internet — There is an unprecedented amount of information available for beta or just to take in the wonder of mountaineering history. Even the American Alpine Journal is now in expanded form online.

Climbing Style is Still First — Despite the armies of commercially guided “expeditions” that build tent cities at the base of major mountains and walk up fixed-rope paths, there are still climbers that climb in light and fast fashion and are not motivated solely by peak bagging. We just have to look for them, and searching for them is part of the pleasure of this age right now.

I’m sure that there is more. What else would you add? Leave me a comment, send me a tweet or shoot me an email.

Well, I’ve got to check the forecast… Have a happy Thanksgiving.

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