Benighted and 'Au Cheval' on L’Arete a Marion in the French Aravis

I asked the question I swore I’d never ask…

‘Are we there yet?’

Our guide Jon looked at me incredulously. ‘There!? We’re not even half way! We still have at least two more hours!’

Not the response I’d been hoping for. 

It was nearing 4pm and dusk had started to cast its shadow on the mountain panorama sprawled out below.  We were ‘not even half way’ through a very wintery climb of L’Arete a Marion in the Aravis. During the  summer the route is a straight forward, ridge walk… during the winter, a corniced hell of seracs, avalanche prone slopes and icy-cold wind whipping up from the valley. It was ‘an adventure’ to say the least… much more of an adventure my climbing partner Nick and I had anticipated. And it didn’t sound like it was going to end any time soon.

I took a deep breath, dug in my heels and held the rope tight as Nick fell through yet another cornice, arms flailing for the stability of the rock.

‘Whoops. There’s some deep snow there’ he called out. I followed closely behind him, looking down into the ‘snow hole’, saw the blue sky through the other side.

Our journey had started much earlier that day.  We (ok, Jon) had begun to break trail up to our objective for the day at 9am after a scenic hours’ drive from Chamonix. It had been a bit of a risky decision to head to the Alps so late in the Autumn season with many of the lifts providing access to more popular routes still closed. The previous evening we’d all met in the bar in Chamonix where our guide Jon Bracey of Vertigo Guides promised us he’d do our best to find something fun and challenging - and he certainly delivered.

Less than 10 hours later Jon was skilfully and steadily breaking trail over the corniced, snowy ridge, brushing away the snow from the ridge to dig out the bolts. A precarious conga line with consequences. We’d already found ourselves 'au cheval' in uncompromising positions straddling the icy ridge as if we were riding a horse and trying to pull our bodies along while the wind whipped at our cramponed heels. 

As Jon navigated the route along the ridge, Nick and I held back, tied into the anchor and waiting for Jon’s signal that it was safe to continue. Many times he would disappear out of view, winding his way around rocky outcrops and using the featured terrain to create safety anchors for the rope and for us to move along. While he did this it left us to stand patiently, discussing all of the food that we were craving whilst trying to gauge of the type of terrain which lay ahead by how quickly the rope led out. We deduced that if the rope led out quickly it meant that the terrain was straightforward… when the rope remained limp it meant that Jon was ahead trying to navigate a more technical section. We quickly realised that what took Jon 5 minutes to navigate would take us 10… Our imaginations grew proportionate to our growing appetites and to our levels of exhaustion.

And we weren’t even half way there yet.

Jon had disappeared from view and the rope lay limp over the snow indicating that he was working his way through what appeared to be a technical section beyond our view. I wondered aloud the option of rappelling down a steep section to the right might be possible given that it was getting dark. Before we even had time to reflect on what that decision might have been, the rope went tight and we heard John shout over the wind. 

It was go-time.

Nick rounded the corner before I did. His running commentary provided a hint of what lay in store. ‘I don't have a good feeling about this’ he muttered balancing the front-points of his crampons in a tiny seam in rock-face with a 300 foot drop behind his heels. Reaching up, I followed, planting the tip of my axe in an iced seam in the rock. The 20 degree angle of the face made it incredibly hard to climb as you literally had to pull your body over the  almost flat icy smooth surface. From there I inched my way upward along the ice, praying that the axe tip was ‘bomber’ and would stay firmly lodged in the seam. The front points of my crampons scraped against the rock as  I tried to get enough purchase for the next move. And so we slowly and methodologically inched our way up the face.

I love the sense of relief after passing through the crux of a climb and when you are again fixed solidly to an anchor with precious moments to recompose and refocus. We arrived at the anchor gasping, eyes wide but laughing… experiencing a rush of endorphins with the crux now behind us. The summit of L’Arete a Marion was now within reach. We navigated the final section and popped out onto the summit just as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

A congratulatory handshake summit and then we quickly prepared ourselves for a rapid descent to make the most of the final rays of light before darkness fell.

“It is what it is” was Jon’s response when I questioned the descent conditions as I tried to mentally prepare myself. 

Exhausted but buzzing we arrived at the car for 8pm. The last hour had actually had me thinking that snow-swimming should be made an olympic sport, so much agility and flexibility was required when moving through waist-deep snow. It had been an absolutely BRILLIANT day. 

Massive thanks to Jon Bracey for organising such a fab day out, guiding us, and for doing the hard work..! 

Benighted - 8pm at the carpark

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Feature Article: Merrell Outdoors - "Choosing Mountains in the Middle East over Mojitos in Marbella..."

Despite the incredulous disbelief flickering across the faces of family and friends, I would not be dissuaded from my holiday plans to climb Damavand in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Had I listened to a couple of the more popular media-influenced ‘facts,’ I would have been frightened off by cloak-and-dagger tales of a hostile, ‘anti-west’ country; ‘the axis of evil’ where men with stones stalk dusty streets in search of infidels while the government spends its time rigging elections and stockpiling vast arsenals of nuclear weapons. 

But I chose the mountains of the Middle East over mojitos in Marbella and what I discovered was just the opposite.

Challenging some of my own preconceptions, I joined an expedition to climb an 18,372 ft. peak called Mount Damavand, the highest peak in Iran and the highest volcano in the Middle East. Over the course of the expedition I experienced first-hand the hospitality of the Iranian people and the pride that they have in their rich, Persian history. I fell in love with the cozy teahouses of Teheran, the lively bazaars, vast deserts punctuated by historic oases, and rugged mountain ranges surrounding the country’s favorite cone-shaped icon.

Read the full story here... 

http://blog.merrell.com/us/en/epic-trails/damavand/

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The People You Meet Along the Way: They Didn't ask Me About Knots! The Mountain Training Association (MTA) Autumn Conference

"What’s the common thread between outdoor enthusiasts of all abilities across the world…? What on earth could I share with mountain leaders from across the UK - many with heaps more outdoor experience than myself…? What if they ask me how many knots I know how to tie?” 

These were just a few of the questions I asked myself last week, staring at a blank powerpoint template whilst preparing my presentation for the Mountain Training Association (MTA) Conference at Plas y Brenin, the National Mountain Sports Centre in North Wales.

Over the past few years I’ve presented about parallels between business and mountaineering, about ‘work - life’ balance at PwC, my passion for geography and mountains at the RGS, and I’ve presented about the ‘client perspective’ in a panels alongside some of the worlds top mountaineers including alpinist Kenton Cool and Adventurer of the Year, Lakpa Rita Sherpa… So it was with some careful consideration that I put together my thoughts - from student to teacher - about what I hoped would resonate with over 100 outdoor instructors who attended the MTA conference. 

The conference was aimed at supporting and developing professionalism.  Participants attended workshops on a variety of topics including legal issues and marketing to leading gorge walks, nature hikes and coaching navigation.

Having benefitted from the services and professionalism of outdoor leaders in the past, one thing that I knew was consistent about everyone in the audience (and confirmed when I saw the amount of fleece, down and waterproof gear in the room) was a common passion for the outdoors. A passion for life. A passion for stories. And, above all, a passion for people and sharing their knowledge and experience with others. I was preaching to the converted..!

My approach was simple. I focused on people. And stories… Mountains, I’ve long maintained, have been more than 3 day - 2 month journeys. Not summiting a mountain is not ‘failure’ but rather an experience that contributes to a broader success. After all, at the end of the day, isn’t life about experiences, stories, lessons learned and the people you meet along the way?

Yes, sometimes that journey is hard… there’s no denying that. There have been dramas and tears… I’ve been stuck in a tent on more than one occasion wishing I was drinking mojitos in Marbella rather than stuck on the side of a mountain, watching snow melt whilst feasting on a dinner of beef jerky and jellybeans… Contrasting that feeling with the sense of camaraderie and team, moving together up a mountain face connected by a rope and  sharing unprecedented views of a sunrise casting a warm glow over landscapes far, far below… And that’s when it all makes sense.

HUGE thanks to the Mountain Training Association for organising and inviting me to attend and speak at such an inspiring conference, to the attentive audience for appreciating the 'mountain porn', random stories about eating guinea pigs and overeating beef jerky .. and more importantly for all the work you do! And finally, huge thanks to Sherpa Adventure Gear and sponsors for supporting such a fantastic event.

For an overview of the MTA weekend and gallery please see:  http://www.mountain-training.org/latest-news/mta-autumn-conference-2014

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Feature Article: Merrell Pack stories - "Journey, not the Destination - Discovering new cultures while climbing"

"People often ask me why I climb.

One of the benefits of mountain climbing is that it helps me to put life into perspective. The sheer magnificence of the vistas I experience from lofty mountain precipices - high above the cloud, looking out over the curvature of the earth far, far below - helps me to connect with my thoughts and put into context my place in the world around me...." 

To continue reading... http://blog.merrell.com/us/en/pack-stories/people-meet-along-way/

Huge thanks to Merrell Outdoors for featuring some of my recent adventures in their Pack Stories series...!

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PwC & Friends Take on the Three Peaks Challenge for Wellbeing of Women

Last weekend I had the pleasure of being part of an intrepid team from PwC's 'People and Change' Consulting practice who joined together to take on the infamous Three Peaks Challenge - climbing, scrambling, slipping and sliding up the United Kingdom’s three highest mountains to raise money and awareness for the women's health charity, Wellbeing of Women and supporting PwC's firmwide fundraising challenge, the 'Race for £3million'. 

I must admit, when I initially agreed to the challenge there were a few things that made me nervous... As a self-confessed, sometimes high-maintenance 'diva in down', I will be the first to admit that I don't cope well with rain or cold and without sleep - which some may consider slightly ironic given my Canadian roots and the number of alpine-starts I've endured in sub-artcic Himalayan temperatures! In my view there are few things worse than spending 24 hours (most of it in the dark), in the rain, walking up and down slippery slopes with wet feet, without views, hot tea, dry clothes, and sherpa support... In short, when we agreed the challenge date, I knew it was not going to be the tropical, sunny jaunt lathered in SPF and sporting Ray Bans...

Having said that, there were two things made this challenge significantly more appealing:
The first was that the ultimate objective of the challenge was to raise money and awareness for Wellbeing of Women - a charity which funds research to tackle problems which affect men, women and babies. Problems that we may not like to 'talk about' yet they are problems that we simply cannot ignore.

Some shocking statistics:

• 17 babies a day die in the UK at or near birth (they are either stillborn or die shortly after birth)
• 145 women a week in the UK die of a gynaecological cancer
• 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage
• Fertility problems are estimated to affect one in six or one in seven couples in the UK (approx 3.5 million people) 
• At least 1 in 2 women will suffer from at least one reproductive or gynaecological health problem

The second was the opportunity to spend some 'out of the office' time with a great group of colleagues and friends from PwC - some I knew well, others I'd never met before. In an industry where people generally spend more time with colleagues than family it does sound odd to  voluntarily spend even more time - a weekend for that matter! - in the midst of office chatter. Having said that, I consider myself incredibly fortunate to be part of a great team within a firm of over 17,000 people - a team which 'works hard and plays hard' and who are among the brightest, most motivated and supportive colleagues one could hope for. And I still maintain that after 24-character building hours together..!

Our Wellbeing of Women Three Peaks team was also made up of friends from the Wellbeing of Women Kilimanjaro Climb, organised earlier this year. Not satisfied with having only climbed Kilimanjaro, there was a general consensus among the team that the next obvious challenge would have to be the Three Peaks. It was fantastic to see everyone again, picking up at the foot of Ben Nevis from where we'd left off on the slopes in Tanzania just a few short months before.

We had an early misty morning start at the foot of Ben Nevis in Scotland on Saturday, 26 September, and went on to scale Scafell Pike in England and Snowdon in Wales. Twenty-four hours after we set off, and with blisters, aching legs, fuelled by gummy-bears, KFC, whiskey and hot chocolate we successfully completed the challenge – raising over £1,000 for Wellbeing of Women.  Our spirits were high as we tucked into our full-English breakfasts with gusto and satisfied smiles.

Was it easy? I'd like to say 'yes' but I have to admit, I was surprised at just how much I had to 'dig deep' particularly in the early morning hours when dozing in the mini-bus that chauffeured us across the country seemed significantly more appealing to getting out and going for a 'walk in the dark'. What made it so  much fun and memorable - as with all expeditions - were the people. Jon Gupta from JGExpeditions provided us with a brilliant service with well organised logistics, fun and knowledgeable guides and a focus on our individual well-being balanced with achieving our challenge.

Reflective of the dedication and commitment to achieving our sub-24-hour time, we managed to finish at the top of the climbing class – coming in with a time in the top 5% of teams across the country who regularly take part in the challenge.

To everyone who participated, followed along and supported us, thanks so much for all of your words of encouragement and patience... and for bearing with many of us who have been tired and a bit achy this week!

Wellbeing of Women is a charity dedicated to improving the lives of women and babies in the UK. It’s supported by the PwC Foundation’s firmwide fundraising challenge - Race for £3 million. 

It's not too late to donate..! http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/3peaks24hourchallenge.

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Shifting Sands, Mountains and Mosaics in the Islamic Republic of Iran

Drawing my scarf up over my mouth I attempt to find a happy medium between desperately trying to gasp enough air to breathe and trying not to breathe too much. I look up from the dusty trail to see plumes of yellow smoke being belched into the atmosphere by a giant yellow vent, and, a few hundred metres further, a small plaque below the dry remains of what appears to be a dead sheep… The stench being emitted by the crater serves as a reminder of where I am – under a clear blue sky taking the final few steps to the 5671m summit of Damavand, Iran - the highest peak in the Middle East and the highest volcano in Asia. The summit is a barren plateau festooned with dull, sulphur-yellowed stones offering unparalleled views of the dry and rocky plains below.

Our journey had started much, much earlier that day…

Night in our ‘airy’ 4-person tent at our 4000m Base Camp had passed in a sleepless torment of quickened heartbeats and haggard breaths, until the alarm sounded, waking us from our hypoxic slumbers. It was 5am - go time.  One of my teammates, Kirsten, stuck her head out of the tent and reported back to us in a rasped in an excited whisper: “The weather is perfect.” We were in luck – the mountain gods were smiling upon us.

Our intrepid little group was the ‘united nations’ of teams – under the guidance of Shirin, a lovely Iranian-British friend with a true passion for the mountains and sharing her Iranian heritage through her newly established British-Iranian trekking company, we were a small team made up of a patchwork of nationalities and backgrounds -  British, Belgian, Brazilian, Japanese, South African, Spanish, Italian, Iranian and Canadian.

Fourty-five minutes later, with the sun rising at our backs, we set off single file behind our local Iranian guide up the spine of the gentle ridge, eyes squinting in the direction of the summit – from here a dull brown dome with patches of snow, defiant and still impossibly remote, framed against a bright blue sky. The rising sun cast a shadow of the mountain onto the dusty plains and shifting sands hundreds of metres below.

With boots crunching over the gravel, I reassured myself with the knowledge that we were embarking on what is a relatively uncomplicated climb. “Basically a walk-up,” had been my conclusion based on the numerous websites I’d consulted while researching the trip. “Technically easy and physically moderate.” Technically easy it was – the terrain being very similar to Kilimanjaro. Having said that, it differed from a standard Kilimanjaro climb as the physical element came from a very aggressive altitude profile – a 1600m summit day to 5671m - the climax of a 2.5 day climb which left very little room for acclimatisation. Empty syringes of dexamethasone, a steroid used to aggressively treat symptoms of altitude sickness, were littered between the rocks from past climbers.

I was also very aware of Damavand’s tempestuous weather system. Like other prominent peaks around the world, Damavand has a weather system all of its own: hot air blowing up from Iran’s dry interior hits the mountain’s southern flank, producing storms that are sudden, unpredictable and can easily quash the ambitions of the most seasoned climbers. In the early 1970s, Reinhold Messner, who is widely considered the greatest alpinist in history (and a personal hero of mine!), learned firsthand about Damavand’s fickle winds when a storm swept in and sabotaged his summit bid. Henceforth, Messner, whose normal playground is the 8000m death-zone of the Himalaya, would describe Damavand as “That little hill that defeated me”.

With that thought, I continued on, head bowed in submission to the altitude and moving slowly in single file behind our guide plodding on up the hill. We calculated that our average speed on the way up was just over 1km / hour. We certainly weren’t setting any speed records but we were moving at a steady and comfortable pace.

About 6 hours later we were within touching distance of what looked like an ominous rocky gate, a gap between two rocky outcrops, like a half-finished barricade, through which we could see our goal. Cheered by its apparent proximity we were urged onwards. “Ten minutes from here,” said our indefatigable guide, fibbing brazenly in a last-gasp attempt to raise our spirits – it turned out to be more like 40.

A welcome cultural distraction to our monotonous plodding was provided by a government religious group made up of about 10 rather militant looking men who were climbing alongside us. Every few minutes a call of prayer echoed down the ridge from what appeared to be a heavily bearded and prominent group leader. The climbing party, between strained gasps of breath, would respond in chorus, urged onwards and upwards, driven by their faith. I looked on and became increasingly conscious of my presence in this ‘foreign’ land – a woman, a Canadian, climbing as an equal alongside a party of men, in a country which I felt had, thus far, defied the media headlines and the many preconceptions I’d had. I adjusted my warm hat and pulled my head-scarf more prominently over my face to cover my western features and also provide protection against the acrid fumes.

Eventually, at a little before noon, our intrepid little team breached the crater rim and trundled onto the roof of the Middle East, a barren plateau festooned with sulphur-yellowed stones. The noxious smoke contaminated each triumphant breath, as fumaroles within the crater – the reason behind the rocks’ jaundiced coloration – pumped out a concoction of gases from the center of the earth. The stench served as a reminder of Damavand’s earthly purpose: a pressure-valve built by nature to relieve the earth-shuddering friction at the conjunction of the Arabian and Eurasian plates.


Living up to the Canadian stereotype, I arrived at the summit with a modest-sized Canadian flag stored in the depths of my rucksack. Earlier that morning, I’d spoken to our guide asking whether it would be permissible to have a picture on the summit of myself, alongside both the Iranian and Canadian flag. After much deliberation it was decided that as long as I was discrete the moment could be captured on film. So, it was with much trepidation that I stood on the summit with the red and white, maple leaf emblazoned flag hoping for a quick photo.

In the meantime, the burly-looking men which made up the government religious group had also arrived on the summit and were busy offering each other congratulations whilst continuing their exhortations of faith. My ‘sixth sense’ kicked into overdrive and I became aware that taking out a Canadian flag could go one of two ways, possibly putting me in the centre of a diplomatic incident… I began to visualize the headlines flashing across the ‘Globe and Mail’ and wondered how my parents would fare in dealing with ransom demands… The irony was that the risk that I found myself deliberating with surprising clarity was very different from the risk that I normally found myself deliberating on my more frequented Himalayan stomping ground.

And then it happened.

As I discretely attempted to unfurl the Canadian flag, one of my teammates started to cheer… All eyes turned to me. There was no going back as I held my flag – a symbol of democracy, freedom and equality - proudly above my head. The leader of the local Iranian religious group waved with a gentle nod indicating that it was ok to proceed. My united nations team looked on smiling. Suddenly it struck me. I was on the highest point in the Middle East, surrounded by friends, old and new… a team which reflected my perception of the ‘modern Iran’. Whilst the summit reflected the ‘crux’ of our climb, I realised that it actually was so much more than that. It was a symbol of the multifarious melting-pot that is defining modern Iran –a country that is endlessly welcoming and a country that is desperate to been seen for what it is, rather than what it is depicted to be.

Before we began our descent, all of the teams standing on the summit – a mosaic of cultures – stood together to celebrate what we individually and jointly had achieved. It was one of the most pivotal and memorable moments that have shaped my climbing ‘journey’ as other flags soon began to appear from the depths of dusty climbing packs – Iranian, Ukranian, Palestinian… Climbing mountains has become a symbol of a journey which brings together people from all walks of life with a shared passion to achieve a common goal; to celebrate, learn from, and inspire each other.

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The Diva in Down on Tunics in Teheran...

I've worked hard to establish my reputation as 'the diva in down'. A critical component in maintaining this title (as many have tried to steal my crown...) is an expedition wardrobe packing routine based on trial and error (and too many fashion faux-pas to mention)… I pack my ‘go-to’ favourite t-shirt, favourite matching knitted Sherpa hats, favourite Striders Edge base layer, favourite Sherpa down jacket, favourite hard-shell waterproof and, more recently have added a favourite soft shell to my ensemble. Everything can be ‘mixed and matched’, can be worn together or separately, is easily washable and can go weeks (maybe even months!) without compromising the Channel No.5 infusion.... Throw in a post-expedition dress (something floaty and feminine to wear to facilitate integration back into civilisation) and then that’s my kit-sorted. I call it shabby-chic a la diva-in-down. 

Ironically, there’s little by way of packing list that differentiates a 5 day expedition from a 50 day expedition.

Having this routine means that I only need to ‘top up’ with new pieces from time to time as fabric technologies are introduced and as colours and styles are upgraded from one season to the next. This saves money, time and makes packing a relatively straightforward and predictable task. 

Iran has thrown a spanner in the works.... 

I honestly can’t remember the last time I was so worried about an expedition wardrobe... 

The cynics among you may say that I should be worried about more than my wardrobe, heading to the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Fashion Sense...

The advice I’ve received on dress code for Iran is a long tunic that covers the body (especially the butt), with long sleeves (no bare arms), long trousers that cover the ankles and close-toed shoes… 

I also have to wear a ‘hijab’. Ever since the Islamic Revolution in 1979, it has been illegal for a woman to leave the house without wearing a headscarf. The punishment ranges from a fine to imprisonment… Given how challenging it was to get a visa, I don't fancy pushing my luck in this department.

Over the past two weeks I’ve been into and out of nearly every high-street store on Oxford Street - Zara, New Look, H&M, Miss Selfridge, Monsoon, Primark, Hobbs, Reiss, Dorothy Perkins, Ted Baker… and then countless visits to Selfridges. Market research told me that Harrods would also be a strong contender. I have googled, ‘Iran Streetwear’ so often that my Facebook feed is now written arabic script. In the past two weeks I’ve tried on more tunics and kaftans and floaty coats than I’ve had warm dinners. 

I have stood in front of hundreds of mirrors speaking to hundreds of store changing-room attendants asking things like; 

‘Does this cover my butt?’, ‘Can you tell I have an um...errr.... shape?’  'Does this come with a matching scarf?’ ‘Is this too revealing?’ and my all time favourite, ‘Do you have this in black?’ 

I’m exceptionally lucky as most high street 2014 Autumn / Winter collections feature variations of the tunic - bright tunics, flowery tunics, bold tunics, short sleeve tunics, long sleeve tunics… you get my drift. The slight concern however is that it’s 40 degrees centigrade in Teheran and linen and cotton are preferable over heavy wool and cashmere. Normally when it’s 40 degrees I’m poolside, lathered in SPF 40 with a daiquiri in hand and not tunic-ed up in wool drinking a yogurt lassi on a street side cafe…

I doubt I'll ever embrace the look with the same passion as Dame Judy Dench, but can certainly see the versatility of the tunic… you can eat McDonalds burgers and Crispy-Creme donuts  to your hearts content, you can hide VPL, you could be 8 months pregnant and no one would be the wiser.

Because I’m shopping both for my Iran and post-Iran tunic look at the same time, investment has taken some extensive consideration. It’s been incredibly hard to discover and define what my ‘tunic’ style is… I like the shapeless, floaty-look but at the same time, I know how finicky fashion can be and I’m afraid that this ‘look’ will be ‘Sooo 2-0-1-4 by December… and then I”ll be stuck with a wardrobe that I’ll only ever be able to wear again if I’m either pregnant or going to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

This story does have a happy ending... 

I bought a lovely floaty black and white printed tunic (worryingly a little bit sheer) that can be worn with a floaty black cardigan (to hide the sheer element of the tunic) and a very baggy pair of drawstring jersey trousers… Not only is the outfit ‘Iran street-friendly’ but I can also eventually belt-it and wear it to London Fashion Week with jeans and a smart pair of heels in London. I also bought a versatile long black shirt that can be worn on the mountain over a t-shirt - perfect for travel along the dusty roads. Finally, I made a bit of an investment today on a long-sleeve plum-coloured tunic at COS that is very on-trend. It’s made of a cotton blend but the back is silk and buttoned from top to bottom. If the button-look is judged too risqué I can just layer the floaty jacket over top….

Now to find a hajib to match my down jacket….

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The People You Meet: Destination Iran!

People often ask me why I climb mountains. I climb for the sheer magnificence of the vistas I see and experience at altitude - high above the cloud, looking out from a sheer precipice over the curvature of the earth far, far below. I’m but a tiny speck of sand in the panorama framed by the horizon. But also, I climb to find out who I am. This form of ‘vertical’ meditation helps me to connect with my thoughts and put into context my place in the world around me. I believe that in order to really connect with someone, you need to know yourself - and climbing has helped me to do this. It’s taught me about courage, commitment, creativity, discipline, teamwork… Climbing has helped me to realise that at the end of the day, at the end of my life, it’s not going to be where I placed in the race or the summits I’ve stood on, it’s going to be about the relationships with the people I’ve met along the way and the experiences shared.

These shared experiences are what drive me to the mountains– to experience new cultures, meet new people, to explore new landscapes, to challenge my perceptions. My expedition to Peru to climb Alpamayo last month reminded me of this. Attempting to engage with the locals in the mountain-town of Huaraz in my rudimental Spanish, trying new foods like the traditional Peruvian ‘pachamanca', experiencing the differences in the way that expeditions are organised and run, and the different mountaineering styles and techniques… despite feeling ‘lost’ in this new country and new environment, my senses were heightened and I felt truly alive.

"Why are you going to Iran...?"

So, to answer the question I’ve been asked on numerous occasions… “Why are you going to Iran?” From the reactions of most people that I’ve spoken to about my forthcoming expedition, it seems that I, the ‘Diva in Down’, can’t have picked a less credible, less comfortable, less diva-esque holiday destination than if I’d decided to go wind-surfing off of the coast of Somalia.

When the opportunity arose to combine my passion for the high mountain vistas and experiencing a new culture in the Islamic Republic of Iran, I didn’t hesitate.

If you listened blindly to the media your picture of Iran would be one where men with stones stalk the dusty streets in search of adulterous women, while the government spends its time rigging elections in between sessions of feeding pieces of glowing green metal into a centrifuge.

But in speaking to friends, colleagues and even complete strangers who have been to Iran and experienced first-hand the hospitality, the culture, the atmospheric teahouses, bustling bazaars, deserts punctuated by historic oases and rugged mountain ranges, I couldn’t have a more convincing argument of why I am so incredibly excited to go ‘off the beaten path’ and see it for myself.

I’ve been told that if you like people, you’ll like Iran. Iran is a nation made up of numerous ethnic groups and influenced over thousands of years by Greek, Arab, Turkic and Mongol occupiers. If what friends and locals say is true, it’s a country that is endlessly welcoming and a country that is desperate to been seen for what it is, rather than what it is depicted to be.

I experienced a great example of this ancient hospitality last Thursday evening when a group of friends and I went for dinner at the Persian restaurant, Kandoo, on Edgeware Road here in London. The waitress was Iranian and rather than ordering off of the menu we told her of our forthcoming trip and asked her to order for us based on her local knowledge and passion for Iranian cuisine. We were not disappointed – dish after dish of succulent lamb, chicken baked in rich, fragrant sauces and spiced to perfection were served with understated elegance until we were so full that finishing the aromatic saffron ice-cream dessert was even a challenge. She then shared with us an insight into what we could expect to experience in Iran – from tips on what to wear, what to eat, and what to see… and even gave us her family’s contact details in Teheran to visit for an opportunity to see and experience the city from a locals perspective.

As with many of my trips, this adventure, rather unsurprisingly, involves a mountain. Whilst in Iran I will be climbing Mount Damavand. At 5671 meters (18,605 feet) it is the highest summit of Iran and the western Asia. What Everest is to Nepal, Damavand is to Iran – the mountains silhouette is one of the most recognisable icons in Iran, appearing on the local currency and on bottles of spring water and numerous other commercial items. It is a perfect cone-shape volcano located in the central part of Alborz Mountain Range in north of Iran on the southern coast of the Caspian Sea. ‘Damavand’ means ‘Breathing Mountain’ primarily because whilst it is a dormant volcano, it still belches out sulphuric fumes strong enough to kill unfortunate stray sheep.

Snow covers the entire mountain in winter and the upper parts in the other seasons. Damavand has a narrow summit crater usually covered with snow-cap and cloud. The snowy white peak with its regular lenticular cap cloud is one of the most beautiful sights of Iran. In a clear day it is visible far from 250 km.

Counting down the days...

With my visa in hand, I am now literally counting down the days… This week will be spent on an itinerary similar to the run up to other expeditions - packing, training, rounding-off some final work-related objectives and preparing to experience the culture and hospitality of this beautiful country and its people. I am very much looking forward to challenging my original perceptions of this country, arriving with an open mind, experiences to be shared, and eager to learn from the people who I meet along the way.

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The People You Meet: Alpamayo Expedition Wrap Up...

Every return begins where you finish. The journey in its entirety,  however seamlessly

straightforward, epically complicated, big or small is made more fulfilling and memorable by those people who you meet along the way - those who guide you, those with whom you share a smile, a laugh,a joke, a tear, an embrace, a lesson learned. There are journeys where these moments play out against a backdrop that is as spectacular and poignant as the moment itself. My journey began long before I stepped off the plane in Peru and long before the 2am 'alpine start' setting out for the summit on the south-west flanks of Alpamayo. 

It's hard to find the words that capture this particular expedition in its entirety. Whist the mountain is certainly one of the most beautiful I've ever seen and every sunrise and sunset seems to top the last in terms of jaw-dropping beauty, what really stands out has been the entirety of the journey itself and the people that I've met along the way. 

My Peruvian adventure started months ago through initial conversations with fellow mountaineers, climbers and guides around objectives -  climbing for aesthetics, building of skills, and personal discovery rather than a pre-determined bucket-list. Additional ingredients to the mix were elements of discovery, exploration and the pushing of personal boundaries... a stronger, more solid foundation of skills, fitness, experience. Yes, I'm 'high maintenance' and yes, one would call this a long 'shopping list' of requirements but with a solid foundation of experience already under my belt I knew that I'd soon embark on the journey that would best fit the bill. Thanks to Alpenglow Expeditions it wasn't long before I had the mountain in my sights. I'd never been to Peru, Alpamayo is aesthetically gorgeous, the team was small and experienced, and the terrain was the perfect ground to build upon skills and experience.

Staying motivated to train for any physical challenge and striking a delicate work-life balance can be as precarious as the challenge itself. Alpamayo provided the perfect testing ground to push physical boundaries and training discipline from the relative comforts of sea-level and prompted the opportunity to meet some fantastic people along the way. Working around a hectic work schedule, I trained for my climb at The Fitzroy Lodge Amateur Boxing Club (ABC), a non-profit, charitable club, run by volunteers and supported by donations, grants and member subscriptions. The overarching aim of the boxing club is to offer a safe environment for boxers to train and compete in the sport of amateur boxing, by teaching boxing skills engendering discipline, respect, honour, self-control and a healthy life style. Without a shadow of a doubt, combined with an active mountain-lifestyle, boxing has provided me with a fantastic base level of fitness and the combined physical and mental strength to put one foot in front of the other on long, sometimes painful and seemingly endless snow-slogs. Boxing is perhaps not viewed as conventional 'mountain training' but the mental and physical elements between the two sports are not dissimilar. Furthermore, the encouragement, respect, and discipline that I have gleaned from the trainers and fellow boxers has taught me some tremendously valuable lessons that will remain with me forever and carry over into both work and play.

A fundamental part of every climb, project or challenge is the team itself - the sum being the whole of its parts. Those people who go from being strangers one minute to your closest confidents and friends the next - even when separated by the perceived barriers of language and culture. Our intrepid team on Alpamayo was made up of Americans, British, Ecuadorians and Peruvians... Certainly not to be overlooked and central to its success were our Peruvian team mates led by Alfredo (cook, interpreter, middle-man, father-figure, horse-whisperer...) and his side-kicks, Julio and Pablo who cared for us all the way to high camp and greeting us every morning from under their giant brown Peruvian hats and with the biggest and brightest of smiles calling out 'Buenos dias seniorita..!' Without their endless energy our individual journeys would have been significantly steeper and the mountains would have been much higher. 

Cashapampa is the small mountain village and physical starting point of the expedition and set the scene for our meeting with Tony, his wife and children and their burrows which would support us in our trek to Alpamayo Base Camp. Expeditions require a phenomenal amount of logistics support to get people and equipment from Point A to Point B. The carefully managed train of mules and horses leading us into and out of Base Camp in wind, rain, snow and sun provided us with a unique insight into life of local Peruvian farmers and 'living off the land'. It was beautiful to see the smiles on the faces of Tony's children as they proudly welcomed us into their home for a hearty and welcoming lunch. Growing up on a farm in Canada, it was fascinating to get this unique local insight and experience as chickens, pigs, guinea pigs, cats and dogs formed an integral part of 'country life' against a backdrop of maize in the rolling hills, stone-wall enclosures, mud-brick houses and warm smiles.

Upon our return from the mountain and back in Huaraz, we were fortunate enough to meet the wives and children of both Julio and Pablo and participate in a traditional feast of 'pachamanca'. Dating back to pre-Hispanic times, pachamanca comes from Quechua language: "Pacha", earth, and "Manca", cooking pot, which could be translated as "earth oven". Widely used in times of the Incas civilisation, Pachamanca is very related to ritual. Pachamancha is a dish (most often including potatoes, corn and meat (beef, pork, lamb, guinea-pig) buried under the ground and cooked over hot stones for about 2-3 hours. It is then eaten with a great fanfare of music, dancing and celebration - and a 'cerveza' or two..! More than a method of cooking it's a celebration in and of itself, a source of fertility and life. The feast was a fantastic way to celebrate the success of the expedition and draw our time in Peru to a close.

I will eventually write a more detailed synopsis of the climb, the teams success on the mountain, our route and the movement between camps but wanted to capture in this blog a bit about the 'essence' of why I love to climb, the basis upon which my memories are formed. In many ways, my climbing experience and passion is best represented as a quilted mosaic of people, mountains, and experiences. Climbing, for me, has become more of a journey and less of a destination and I look forward to adding yet another patch to that quilt. Onward and upward to the next adventure..! 

Photobomb by Jaime... Sunset at High Camp

A well earned beer back at Cashapampa with Julio

Chad doing the rounds for the evening briefing at High Camp on Alpamayo

Jaime leading the way as we move between camps

Because every blog needs a cat picture... Tony's daughter and cat in Cashapampa.

Trying out the local coca leaf brew in Base Camp...

Alfredo desperate to take the bright pink polish off of my hands (and amputate chronically cold fingers).

Without the awesome support of our guides the mountains would be much higher.

An alpine start setting out for the summit.

View looking back from pitch 6 or 7 on the face... bravely captured by Charles and Jaime.

Alpamayo in early afternoon light with perfect view of fluted SW face.

Acclimatisation walk around High Camp.

Climb up to High Camp.

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