Scarpa Phantom 6000 -- double mountaineering boot

Double Boots

Double are similar to ski boots in design in that they have a mold-able liner with a stiff plastic or waterproof or stiff waterproof shell. These boots are most commonly used for technical mountaineering in extreme environments, like K2 or Everest but may be employed by weekend warriors who struggle with cold feet during multi-day trips. Consult an expert if you feel you need these boots and aren’t sure what to get.

Mountaineering Boots

These boots are designed for mountaineering in slightly less demanding conditions than double boots. They can range from the equivalent of heavyweight hiking boots to heavier boots designed for vertical ice and more serious mountaineering. Whereas heavier, stiffer boots perform better on snow and ice, they are less useful on the trail, and (perhaps not surprisingly) boots that perform better on the trail are less suited to the rigors of steep snow and ice. So, your intended use will determine the type of boot you need. Once you have decided on the type boot that fits your adventure needs, you should head to your local outfitter with the socks you plan on wearing. Try on several different pairs to ensure you find the fit that is best for you. While some manufactures still use leather which offers a faster break-in (but more maintenance to keep waterproof and conditioned), many are moving to high performance synthetic materials for most boots.

La Sportiva Lhotse -- heavyweight mountaineering boot

Heavyweight Mountaineering Boots

Heavyweight mountaineering boots are designed for spending lots of time on vertical ice (WI4 and above), steep snow and ice, and in truly cold conditions. A full shank will make these boots extremely stiff but allow you to use automatic or step-in crampons with ease. The shank and the high cuff will make climbing vertical ice much easier. Generally these boots are extremely waterproof and well insulated, which of course adds up to a very stiff, heavy boot. Although this is ideal in a boot if you plan on serious mountaineering, the weight and difficult break-in period keep make it a less-than-practical boot for peak baggers and weekend backpackers.

Scarpa Charmoz -- medium weight mountaineering boot

Mid-weight Mountaineering Boots

Mid-weight mountaineering boots are designed for hiking in cold temperatures and backpacking. Some models may have a half shank to allow use of automatic or step-in crampons. These boots can be used for less than vertical ice climbing (up to WI3). Mid-weight mountaineering boots are also ideal for moderately cold weather mountaineering while still offering the adequate flexibility and reduced weight to be comfortable on the trail. This is probably the ideal boot for budding mountaineers.

Asolo Lothar -- lightweight mountaineering boot

Lightweight Mountaineering Boots

Lightweight mountaineering boots are ideal for winter hiking, backpacking with large loads, cold peak bagging and approaches. Although they can be used with snowshoes and are generally stiff enough to accept strap-on crampons for limited snow and ice travel they excel on the trail, they often provide less stability over snow, ice, and very rough terrain and therefore should be reserved primarily for trail use when you don’t expect much, if any, snow or ice.

Many boot models in this category are made of leather and use other (primarily synthetic) fabrics for the side panels. The result is a reduction in weight and price but typically at the expense of stability, water resistance and durability. Although some manufactures offer Gore-Tex-treated models, many will require using a third-party waterproofing treatment, such as Nikwax.

Break-in and Boot Maintenance

The break-in can be a bit of a love, hate process. Lightweight boots have a relatively quick break-in period, whereas mid-weight boots may require on the order of 100 miles of wear for an adequate break-in. Heavy mountaineering boots may require as much as 200 miles of wear for that comfort fit, during which time it’s as much you breaking in the boots as the boots breaking you in (see sidebar for blister treatments). Experimenting with different sock combinations can ease some of the pain, but for the most part it is just a process you need to endure. That said, make sure you tough it out before heading into the backcountry. Boots that have not been broken in have no place on the mountain, trail or ice. It’s worth spending a lot of time getting to know your boots. Even prior to making your purchase, do more than just take a quick ‘up and back’ in the store. Ask the clerk if you can spend some more time walking around the store in the boots you’re considering, do the rest of your shopping in them (I mean, it’s not like we ever go to an outdoor equipment store for just one thing, right?). If you have any discomfort after an hour it spells disaster for multi-day trips. Or, at the very least, it suggests that a different brand of boot is going to be better long term. If you need to help speed up the break-in time, look into custom foot beds, but don’t skip the pre-purchase comfort test.

With proper care, most well-made mountaineering boots will last a lifetime. After every trip inspect, clean and dry your boots. First, clean off large debris and dirt with a stiff brush. Next use a gentle soap such as saddle soap or Nikwax Cleaning Gel according to manufacturer’s instructions. Allow to dry away from any heat source as heat can damage the leather and liners. If additional waterproofing is required follow the manufacturer’s instructions.

Black Diamond Cyborg crampon with automatic bindings

Compatibility With Crampons

Boots may have a welted heel, welted toe, or both. A boot with a heel welt can accept hybrid crampons while a boot featuring both welted heel and toe will accept automatic (or step-in) crampons. Boots lacking welts will require strap-on crampon bindings.

Crampon Bindings

There are three main types of crampon bindings. The type of crampon binding you decide on will be decided by your boot type. (see left)

Step-in Crampons — require a stiff boot with welts on the toe and heel. On the heel a lever keeps the crampon tight to the boot while a front bail fits into the toe welt. These are generally used on mid and heavyweight boots with a half or full shank.

Hybrid crampons — require a heel welt but do not need one on the toe. Instead a toe strap holds them in place on the toe.

Strap-on crampons — can be affixed to almost any boot. They are simply help to the boot using nylon webbing.

C.A.M.P. C12 crampon with hybrid bindings

Crampons

Crampons are boot attachments that feature metal spikes to provide traction on snow and ice. They come in different configurations, are made of different materials, and have different methods of attaching to boots. It’s a good idea to take you boots with you when purchasing crampons. While most stores will be able to get you a crampon you can take home and affix to your boots there is peace of mind that comes with leaving the store knowing you are ready to start your adventure. Again, the type and binding of crampon you settle on will be decided by their intended use.

Crampon Types

Rigid crampons — are designed for climbing vertical ice (WI4 and above). The crampons are constructed to provide no flex and therefore may take some time to get used to and are not suitable for trail use, but they provide the most stable platform when front-pointing vertical ice.

Semi-rigid — crampons provide some flex — essential for walking on icy trails or glaciers — yet they will also provide a stiff platform for climbing less-than-vertical steep ice (up to WI3). This balance of walking and climbing performance makes this style of crampon the best choice for general mountaineering (and also the most common type of crampon available).

Flexible crampons — are generally attached to the boot with straps and are the most comfortable crampon for walking on icy trails because they allow the user to maintain a relatively normal stride. They do not, however, provide any stability for climbing and thus are best suited for occasional use on low grade terrain.

Grivel G10 crampons with strap-on bindings

Materials

Crampons are generally made from a high-strength steel alloy and will last many seasons with proper care. There are also crampons made from lightweight aluminum that are best employed for occasional use — a multi-day trip where crampons will be needed near a summit but you don’t want to be carrying steel in your backpack for the remainder of the trek.

Points

Good crampons will generally have between 10 and 14 points. 10 point crampons are generally reserved for occasional use, whereas general mountaineering crampons will normally have 12 points, and crampons designed for climbing vertical ice will typically have 14. The point orientation will also have an effect on the utility of the crampon for specific applications. Mountaineering crampons will normally have two horizontal front points and the second row will be more vertical allowing good penetration in ice while walking. Crampons designed for ice climbing may have one or two front points orientated vertically for strength with the second row angled toward the toe to make front-pointing easier.

Crampon Maintenance

Crampons will last many years with proper care. Always inspect your crampons before and after each trip and repair or replace damaged linking bars, straps or bails. Sharpen points with a hand file as they dull. Carrying a hand file with you on long trips may be necessary.

A man transports good via bicycle at the Tsukiji Fish Market

In Tokyo exists one of the craziest places on earth. The Tsukiji Fish Market processes in excess of four and a quarter million pounds of fish with a value of more than fifteen million dollars every single day. However, if you want to see this show you have to get up early as the place is all but closed down by midday. The true spectacle is the tuna auction which starts at a few minutes after 5a.m. and finishes a couple hours later. Visitors are allowed however they are confined to designated areas, limited to 120 on a first-come first-serve basis and there are times the market is closed to the public, most notably around the new year. Once the auction concludes the goods are transferred via bike, cart and forklift to one of the almost 1,000 wholesale stalls. You would be well advised to keep your head on a swivel. If you keep a low profile and stay out of the way most visitors won’t be bothered and can roam the market and see the processing of all assortments of fish from the smallest minnows to large tuna weighing upwards of hundreds of pounds. If you go, know you won’t be alone and check the closures online at the markets homepage: http://www.tsukiji-market.or.jp/tukiji_e.htm
The market is composed not only of the inner market where the auction and processing take place but also an outer market. The outer market is where fish is sold at retail stalls along with prepared foods, hand crafted knives and kitchenware. Be on the lookout for sushi restaurants in the outer markets where you will taste some of the freshest toro possible.

Ice vendor cuts ice blocks

Ice gets loaded into the crusher

A market vendor receives ice to keep his goods cool

Tuna await transportation and processing after the early morning tuna auction

Tuna being transported via cart.

Men load a crate onto a cart

A fresh tuna awaits processing

Fish for sale in the outer market

Admiralty Island

In 1993, I was a second-year wilderness guide leading day trips on Admiralty Island for brown bear watching. Brown bears are the same bear as grizzlies. Many decades ago, a hunting club decided any grizzly living within approximately 100 miles of saltwater would be called a coastal brown bear, while the interior bears kept the name grizzly. For those not familiar, Admiralty Island holds claim to having the world’s highest concentration of brown bears, with a little more than one bear per square mile. This population of bears is higher than the total grizzly population of the lower 48 combined. Native Tlingit call the island “Kootsnoowoo”, which translates roughly to “fortress of the bear”. On a typical day we would fly in via floatplane from Juneau, pick up canoes at a cache, and paddle over to prime bear-watching areas. We would then spend the day taking advantage of prime sightings, photographing the bears up close and personal – often within 10-20 feet of multiple bears, sometimes dozens at a time.

On this particular day I was to take two clients to an area known as Windfall Harbor. I obtained permits for this area as the rules of Admiralty Island, a National Monument, and UNESCO Biosphere Reserve, are tightly regulated. An area known as Pack Creek was the normal part of the island for our entry point, but today was different. Pack Creek was full, with another guided group and several independent observers already drawing the spaces for viewing the bears. While Pack Creek is frequented by sows – female bears – and cubs that are habituated to human presence, Windfall Harbor is known to have larger, non-human habituated boars. This presented a new facet of guiding and directing my clients for safe bear viewing. I was going to have to bring out the skills learned from years in the field, and a training class known as “bear school” I had to undertake for my guiding privileges.

Brown Bear

We loaded our gear into the De Havilland Otter in Juneau and flew to the canoe cache. After unloading and saying goodbye to our pilot and airplane, we watched the airborne “security-blanket” break the water’s surface and head east toward Juneau. We loaded out gear into the canoes and enjoyed a wonderful paddle over to Windfall Harbor, seeing harbor porpoise and dozens of eagles as we made our way through the calm, briny water. The weather was unseasonably hot, with temperatures approaching 85F degrees and blue skies; not exactly prime bear watching weather. Think of it this way, if you had a fur coat on, would you go out in 85F weather? Knowing that I had my work cut out for me, we began our search for the bruins.

We found plenty of fresh tracks on some tidal flats, but no bears. Around lunchtime we decided to head over to the designated lunch area, set up by the rangers, where we had tied off our bear boxes containing our picnic lunch. After a jovial lunch filled with jokes, tall tales and flat out lies we decided to head back out to the tidal flats in hopes of sighting bears. My concern was mounting, however, as I know that these clients pay considerable amounts of money for the opportunity of a bear sighting and I feel obligated to do everything in my power to get make that happen.

Shortly after lunch and back on the flats, one of the clients spotted what he thought were two bears in the distance, coming over a small knoll on the exposed tidal ground. Immediately my clients began assembling their gear and cameras. I focused my attention on the bears as they began coming toward us. Knowing that a bear’s eye-sight is very poor and thinking there was no chance they knew we were here, I told the clients to enjoy and get ready for the bears to get very close. As I continued to watch, the bears began to run towards us. As a guide, I had witnessed bear charges before, and knew that most of the charges are ‘false’ charges, where the bears charge to within ten or so feet of you and then stop, look at you and continue about their business. So I was alert and on guard, but not necessarily concerned as the bears started toward us.

That all changed, however when the bears started bearing down at us at full tilt. Now, they were about 1000 feet away running full speed in our direction. At this point I told the clients to get to the treeline, and if possible, get up a tree. I also told them not to run. So, naturally, the clients ran. I turned towards the bears, and for the first and only time in a career that has now spanned almost 20 years, brought my shotgun into the ready position and advanced a round into the chamber. The bears were coming, I had five rounds in a shotgun and I knew I had little chance of stopping one bear with the weapon, let alone two. I remember distinctly thinking at this point, “I quit. I don’t want guide anymore.” I remember thinking about writing a letter of resignation. Still, here were the bears and I had no choice but to deal with this situation.

What We Came to See -- Brown Bears

The bears stopped about 300 feet away. They stood there for several long, drawn out minutes and I was shaking but trying to hold my ground. As time passed I remember thinking that perhaps this was bluff charging after all, and that we would be fine. Then all hell broke loose.

The bears started coming at me full tilt again. My internal voice told me this was different, this was not a bluff. Against all training and better judgment, I too turned and ran. I was about 60 feet from the treeline and I went for it. I could swear I covered the distance in three steps. I made it to the trees, and was about eight feet past the tree line where I found a small dogwood tree and tried feebly to hide behind it. It provided a psychological respite even though it would do no good against the bruins.

The bears were now at the tree line but for some unknown reason they would not come into the trees. They did, however, show all the classic signs of aggression – popping jaws, flipping the hump, and pounding the ground. I was horrified. I also had to find my clients. I turned and looked into the trees, and there they were, each up their own small hardwood tree, rarities for the region.
What snapped me out of my fear and into anger was seeing one of the clients taking pictures of the whole affair. I was incensed by the thought of them profiting from photos of my impending, gruesome death by bruin. I barked at them to listen to me and proceeded to give instructions of what we would do when, or if, the bears left the area.

We waited five or so minutes, an eternity in a situation like this, and I then had to go out onto the tidal flats to see if they were still there. I summoned all my courage and went. The bears were gone, I instructed the clients to come down. We made it to the canoes, paddled over to the rendezvous spot, and waited for the floatplane to take us back to the urban safety of Juneau.

Back in Juneau we parted ways. I had paperwork to fill out and an extensive debriefing to go through, but we arranged to meet at the Red Dog Saloon that evening. When I met them later they already developed the film, this being pre-digital days. They gave me a set of the prints, which to this day are some of the most cherished pictures and possessions I own. Having a visual record of this bear charge is a gift. One of the clients then gave me three crisp, fresh, hundred-dollar bills and a business card. It turned out he was the manager of a very upscale hotel in New York City I was told to give him a call if I was ever in New York. A year later I was flying back from Turkey through New York City and called him. I ended up being put up in the hotel and had a grand time. When I was brought into his office, he proudly displayed the picture of the two of us, after the encounter. Not a bad finish truly remarkable adventure.

Eric Cedric is a former mountain guide and expedition leader with 20 years of professional experience. Cedric has worked on Denali, Elbrus and a handful of Himalayan peaks. In addition, Cedric is a private pilot and professional environmental and conservation writer. Cedric splits his time each year between the Adirondack Mountains, Southern California and Costa Rica.

Nikon Coolpix AW100

Nikon AW100

Nikon certainly wasn’t first to market with a ruggedized camera, in fact they were pretty close to last. That said, the wait was worth it. With built-in GPS (a glaring oversight on many cameras in this class) you can go back and find exactly where a photo was taken. No more guessing. Using software that will map photos such as Apple’s iPhoto, Google Earth, or the built in maps at the bar can be a fun way to share memories of your trip. The AW100 features full 1080p video, 16MP photos and one handed operation. The AW100 is designed to take a decent amount of abuse too. Waterproof up to 33ft. shockproof up to 5ft. and freezeproof make the Nikon AW100 one star performer in the outdoor camera arena. Probably not quite worth upgrading if you already have a camera in this class, but if not, this is the one.
$379.95
http://www.nikonusa.com

Hydro Flask Growler

Hydro Flask Growler

Earlier this year Hydro Flask released their growler and frankly, it’s glorious. The double wall insulation keeps beer fresh and cold until you’re ready to drink it, up to 24 hours. Because it’s made of 18/8 stainless steel it will stand up the abuse that riding in your pack all day will dish out. It also won’t break when if falls on the rock or gets banged around in the back of your car on the way home. You can also store anything you would like to keep warm in the growler (soup, chili, tea) but we prefer to the use it for it’s intended purpose. Hydro Flask makes double-wall insulated flasks in sizes ranging from 12oz. all the way up to the 64oz. growler including a food flask of which we are big fans of the entire line.
$49.99
www.hydroflask.com

Mountain Hardwear Medusa

Mountain Hardwear Medusa Gloves

Cold hands? No problem. Even while ice climbing all day in some of the most demanding conditions. Mountain Hardwear bonded their propriety OutDry waterproof membrane directly to the Medusa’s outer shell making the gloves some of the most waterproof gloves we have ever tried. The Medusa’s also include a removable windproof softshell liner not only makes the glove nice and warm but protect your hands when you need the added dexterity of not wearing the shells. The nose wipe on the thumb is another great feature. While the wipe isn’t the softest material on earth it does stay free of snow and ice. If you are looking for a pair of gloves that spends a decent amount of time outside during the winter you could do much, much worse than the Mountain Hardwear Medusa.
$150
http://www.mountainhardwear.com

Adventure Medical Kits

Travel Medical Kits by Adventure Medical Kits

Adventure Medical Kits makes first aid kits for a range of outdoor and travel medical kits wherever your choice of activity of destination. Adventure Medical Kits packs all of their kits in very organized kits that are very convenient to use and carry. Kits designed for use on the water include watertight cases, travel kits are in portfolio type cases that make for easy packing, and an women’s specific travel kit is available. If you have a loved one that spends much time outdoors or on the road get them piece of mind that comes with knowing they have medical supplies should they need them.
$10-70 (travel series)
http://www.adventuremedicalkits.com

Apple iPad

iPad 2

The last thing you need is someone else telling you how great the iPad is. Sorry, but it’s true. For those that travel on a regular basis lugging a laptop around can be a real pain. With countless travel apps for checking into flights, reserving hotels, finding things to do in a new city, and countless other tasks once you get hooked on your iPad for travel it’s tough to do without it. But it’s the fact that it can all but replace lugging around your laptop where the iPad shines. E-mail, web browsing, apps for blogging, text processing, presentations, and almost any other items you need to get done on the road. Presentations can even be given with available adapters. While doing a lot of content creation on the go can be a little awkward on the touchscreen a bluetooth keyboard is available that will ease that pain. Many people are big fans of the other e-readers on the market such as the Kindle and Nook as well. And while we can certainly get behind that we love the versatility the iPad offers. And while there are other tablets on the market that promise similar functionality none have caught on to this point. So this year it’s the iPad 2 that gets the nod and even with the 3G making travel more convenient the wi-fi version should be sufficient for most people.
$499-$829
www.apple.com

Donations to Charity

Charities in this country provide many services that are near and dear to many of our hearts. If you have someone in your life who travels or loves the outdoors there charities no doubt protect some of the land they use. With the prolonged economic problems currently facing us many charities have seen a large drop in donations and this can be your chance to help them. If you really don’t know what to get that special person maybe a donation in their name could be the best gift. Some examples for donations include the Access Fund, Doctors Without Borders, or even the Red Cross. Many local charities are great candidates for your gifts as well. In addition you get a tax deduction for this gift, it is the end of the year after all and it’s kind of like giving and getting at the same time.

On Consuming

With the holidays upon us it is almost too easy to get caught up in the giving spirit. While it is nice to receive things and certainly a joy to give please consider the impact before you buy something you don’t need. Monday, Nov 28 also known as Cyber Monday turned out to be a record in sales…ever. Patagonia on the other hand ran a full-page ad in the New York Times with the title ‘Don’t Buy This Jacket’ (ad below) reminding us that everything we buy damages the earth. No preaching, just thought the ad was worth sharing. Enjoy.

Patagonia 'Don't Buy This Jacket' Ad

Adventure Insider Magazine - Winter 2011

We are pleased to announce the release of the winter issue of Adventure Insider Magazine. You have two options to get a copy.
1) Download a copy
2) Buy a print copy from MagCloud

In this issue you’ll find out (admittedly last minute) holiday gift guide, a story of a wilderness guide who had a brush with a large bear, our mountaineering boot and crampon buyer’s guide, and a photo essay of the Tsukiji Fish Market in Tokyo. In addition you’ll find out standard sections: canine corner and exposed.

Check it out and let us know what you think.

Blue skies above

No one complained during their commutes to work, but those of us who enjoy a good day of skiing on our local backcountry 14er looked painfully upon barren Pikes Peak.  After a glimpse of spring in early March that had me excited for warm days of climbing, the snow and rain hit hard.  From the end of March through most of May the Front Range went from a drought to above average levels of precipitation.

Long after I had decided that it was time to pack away the skis for the summer, my roommate Josh, floated the idea of a ski day ‘the Peak’. After a few phone calls it was set, and I committed to the trip so long as the weather wasn’t more conducive to rock climbing.  I woke up on May 15 to rain and really wanted to stay in bed. Josh told me there was enough new snow on Pikes Peak that the road was not currently open far enough for us to get any decent skiing. The ranger advised us that they were working on getting the road open to the summit and it was currently sunny with no wind. Skeptically I continued to get my things together hoping for any news that would let me return to my pillow.

Weather down below

One thing you should know about my friends and me is we don’t do things halfway. So I hit the road to grab the pop-up tent, table, grill, cooler and a host of bar-be-que supplies.  The burgers were made, the beer was cold, and thank God the ranger was right.  After driving though clouds we hit 10,000 ft. and saw the sun for the first time that day.  With palpable excitement we set up camp in no time, piled in the pick-up, picked up some fellow skiing hitch-hikers, and headed upwards.  Although there is an old ski area with a few runs cut into the trees that can be accessed from the road, we spent our day riding what most people consider to be the better terrain.

Glen Cove offers something for everyone.  There is a nice run that is easy to reach less than 50 yards downhill from a pull-off on the side of the toll road.  There is also more technical terrain to descend, like the W’s, and wider shoots like Little Italy, which offer a nice mix of open terrain and narrow shoots.  It allows you plenty of area to turn out of the fall line but is still reasonably steep with enough consequences to keep your attention.

Hero Snow on Pikes Peak

It was the kind of day that keeps the smiles coming and makes for great ‘you missed it’ talk at the bar later. I can’t say enough about the snow.  True hero snow. It was soft enough to let your edges dig in, but firm enough to let you rip.  That day in May we were all better skiers.  The endless number of tourists made us feel like better skiers as well.  Questions like “are you going to ski that?” poured out of car windows. And the people forced to pull over with overheated brakes near to our base camp further reassured us of our awesomeness.

After a handful of runs we broke for lunch. Unbelievably the majority of the conversation that day wasn’t about how great the snow was.  It was about how we still could not believe the weather. From the top of Glen Cove to our base camp at the bottom, the usually visible Colorado Springs was amazingly obscured — buried under thick clouds.  Our smiles grew as we donned some more sunscreen and thought of all of our friends stuck in the rain.  In town it was the kind of day you could only enjoy if you were miserably hungover. It was dreary and you wouldn’t feel bad about staying at home and watching ski movies all day. We were living it.

Since that day in May, Pike’s Peak has gotten more snow and I can happily report that my skis are still out and ready to hit ‘the Peak’ again.  Just waiting for another rainy day… At least for those who stay in town.

CJ Sidebottom

About CJ Sidebottom

C.J. Grew up a long way from anything resembling the Front Range of Colorado where he now calls home.  He was closer to the highest point in Kansas that the red sandstone towers of the Garden of the Gods.  C.J. left cow-tipping country and headed to the big city for college.  He stumbled upon a couple of climber while in college and quickly developed a passion for the sport.  Working as the climbing coordinator for the college and as a guide for the Front Range Climbing Company during the summer his skills and love for the sport grew rapidly.  While in college C.J. took the opportunity to dabble in white water kayaking, mt. biking, backpacking, and some backcountry skiing.  Today C.J. spends almost all of his free time pulling on rock across the western US.  He retires a lot of ropes falling on cams, nuts, bolts, old scary pins, crash pads and the occasional ice screw all within the given year.

Paragliding Mt. Fuji

When I was a very young child in England, there was a programme on television that granted wishes. It was run by a man called Jim, and children from around the country would write to him with their hopes and dreams and wait for him to sort them out: a kind of Santa Claus for experience, instead of presents. There was a little boy who got to drive James Bond’s car, and a child who got a part on Doctor Who; there was a young viewer who managed to temporarily become the third drummer in Adam and the Ants, and a class that got to eat lunch on a moving rollercoaster (or try).

I wrote to Jim every single month for three years, and eventually my mum said she wasn’t giving me any more stamps unless she knew where they were going.

“I`m writing to Jim,” I finally admitted.
“What have you asked him for?”
“To fly,” I said, showing her the letter. “Like Peter Pan. Or a bird.”
There was a pause. “Umm,” mum said eventually, “Sweetheart, that’s quite a tall order.”
“No it’s not,” I told her firmly, because I’d thought about it a great deal and it seemed perfectly feasible. “Peter Pan can do it. So I can as well.”
“Well… Will you mind terribly if Jim attaches you to a string and swings you from the ceiling?”
I glared at her. “Peter Pan doesn’t have a string and he’s not attached to the ceiling.”
“What about if you go up in an aeroplane or a helicopter? Will that do?”
“No.”
“A hot air balloon?”
“No.”
“What about if I take you to the top of a tall building and then swing you around by your arms?”
“Mum,” I sighed, rolling my eyes at her. “This is why you`re not Jim, isn’t it.”

I waited and I waited, but Jim never wrote back. Because – my mum eventually told me, when I was a few years older – what I wanted was impossible. Not for small fictional children, obviously, but for real life people. Flying just wasn’t one of the privileges granted humans, she said, and the sooner I came to grips with that fact the happier I’d be on the ground.

She was wrong, and I never adjusted to the disappointment of being land-based. Over the next twenty years, I tried it all. I tried the aeroplane and the helicopter, but it wasn’t like flying at all: it was like sitting in a moving room. I tried the hot air balloon, but that was like standing in a moving basket. I went up in a micro-light, and while it was definitely closer to the sky it was also noisy and jittery and felt like a machine. I got one of the local theatre companies to pull me around on a string, but – as I had suspected at the age of five – that was very much like being pulled around on a string. And my dad had to stop swinging me around, because eventually his arms started hurting.

It was only on moving to Japan, however, that I finally got the wish that Jim hadn’t been able to grant me. It was only in Japan that I found paragliding.

Mt. Fuji dwarfs paragliders

In the world, there are dozens of perfect paragliding spots. You can paraglide over the Himalayas in Nepal and the Dolomites in Italy; you can hoist yourself over Table Mountain in Cape Town and Coronet Peak in New Zealand and the Swiss Alps; over the rainforest in Brazil and from fairytale castles in Europe. You can fly over the plains of Africa, or in India, or Korea, or Pakistan, or France; from Pakistan or Canada or the UK. Basically, if there`s a hill and a view you will find a nearby paragliding school.

In Japan, there is nowhere better to paraglide than Mount Fuji. It’s not just because it’s the legend-riddled symbol of the nation, beloved by poets and artists for thousands of years, or the fact that it’s a near perfect volcano: almost perfectly symmetrical and at the right time of year topped with snow like the cream on a Japanese shaved ice “Kakigori”. It’s not just because it’s beautiful, or the biggest mountain in the country, or an internationally recognizable view. It’s not just because there are paragliding companies spread around the base of it so you can take your pick, or because the distinct four seasons in Japan mean that no flight is ever the same: blossoms in spring, red leaves in Autumn, a haze of white heat in summer and a blanket of snow in the winter.

No: it’s also because if you fly in front of it, you don’t have to climb it too. That was my reasoning, anyway.

Unfortunately, the infamously mysterious Fuji disappears completely at the slightest hint of fog or cloud, and so the rainy morning of my first ever flight was spent sitting in a room, with an inexplicable box of newborn puppies, waiting nervously to see if the sky would clear enough for us to leave the building. The paragliding company I flew with – WingKiss – is based on the Asigiri plateau, on the South East of Fuji in Fujinomiya, Shizuoka prefecture, and the building was packed full of semi-professionals and professionals waiting to get into the sky, with myself and my friend as the only two terrified first-timers. And, frankly, the confidence we’d had that morning had started to subside about four hours into sitting in a room, watching videos of people jumping off mountains with nothing but large nylon blankets harnessed to their bottoms. “Such a shame it’s bad weather,” we’d ended up muttering to the floor. “We might have to do it another day. Like tomorrow. Or next week. Or, you know, when we’re much older and closer to dying anyway.”

The school – like most schools – offers courses that teach you how to fly on your own. There are any number of combination packages, ranging in experience and time and aptitude and cost, but we had taken none of them. For the first flight, we’d opted for the tandem jump where no experience or knowledge is required. We would simply be hoisted onto the front of a tandem glider with a professional flier and then left to hyperventilate our way down to the ground again with no responsibility whatsoever for our own safety. Easy. And the brief video training required was especially brief for me, because I don’t speak Japanese. So, I had simply watched with round eyes, nodding occasionally and hoping that I wasn’t being told anything I’d be expected to know at any stage in the future.

Just after lunchtime the sun came out and the skies abruptly cleared – as skies in Shizuoka often do – and what was left of the nervous wrecks that used to be my friend and I were piled into a bus and driven to the top of the nearby mountain, Kono Azuma. At an altitude of 1,050 metres, this looked much bigger when I knew we were jumping off it. Before, it had looked quite little. Now, it looked like Everest.

On the top of the mountain facing Fuji was a large, flat, blue tarpaulin area, slanted downwards towards a sheer drop: like an extreme sort of picnic blanket. When the bus stopped and shaky legs were swung out of the sliding doors, I held my hand up.

“I’m sorry,” I told them, “but I’ve just realized that I can’t jump off a mountain. I’m game for flying, but I’m not game for jumping off mountains. They’re two very different things.”
“Don`t worry,” they said, handing me a helmet. “You’re going with an English speaker. That way she can tell you if there’s a problem.”

“Problem?” I squeaked, before being pushed gently over to a very tiny Japanese lady who grinned at how pale my face had gone. “What do you mean problem?” And then I looked at my tandem partner: the woman who would be controlling my life for the next thirty five minutes. She looked younger than me, and half my size. I`d been hoping for a six foot five mass of sheer fat and muscle to break my fall if I needed it.

“Don’t worry,” she said, hooking the parachute on to us and slipping me into the holster. “It’ll be fun.”

“Uh,” I replied, unconvinced, and suddenly I wasn’t so sure about being Peter Pan after all. It was suddenly too real, and too clear that there was absolutely nothing separating me from the air or the ground: nothing but a few bits of material under my bottom resembling a big crotchless rope nappy and a large bit of material over my head that looked like hi-tech bedding. No floor, no metal, no seat. No large basket to walk around in. No in-flight films or speaker systems to tell me about turbulence. No ceiling, and definitely no string. Just me, a stranger, a few bits of material, a very big mountain and a whole lot of sky.

I looked anxiously at the cliff edge.

“Now,” she said, “when I say run, run. And when I say lift, lift.” She started walking forwards.
“Now?” I squeaked. I had thought we’d be given a few hours of motivational speeches first. “You want me to run at nothing?” I clarified.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I can,” I explained. “I can’t really run when there’s earth on the other end of it.”
“Sure you can,” she said from behind me. “Now run!”

And I ran.

I ran the only way you can run towards the edge of a mountain edge when every single natural instinct in your body is telling you not to: muttering swear words under my breath.

“And lift!” she shouted from behind me.

I swore again and lifted my legs. And the ground abruptly disappeared.

Suddenly, it was silent. The only sound was me – no longer swearing but taking large, shuddering breaths as I watched my feet float 1,000 metres above the ground – and the wind around us and on top of us and underneath us. We had been abruptly suspended in the air, the way eagles hang looking for prey: not falling, as every part of my unconscious brain expected to be, but flying. The thin harness underneath our bottoms and the sheet above our heads seemed to become part of us and as natural as wings: to almost disappear completely. And as the parachute swayed gently to the left and the right, my breathing grew steadier and deeper and the sky grew strangely bigger.

Paragliding Mt. Fuji

Around us, the farming lands of Asigiri stretched: green and brown and patchworked and tiny. Below us, a dark green pine forest lined the mountain. To the side, my friend waved from his parachute: presumably no longer swearing under his breath either. And in front, looming perfect and clear and huge, was Mount Fuji. With its snow cap hanging in the air above the blueish cone like some kind of lid you could pop off. The view of a million postcards, and a million calendars, and a million paintings. And much, much better than any of them.

I took another shuddering breath. After nearly thirty years, I was finally flying. And it was exactly the way I thought it would be.

“Like it?” my tandem partner said after ten minutes of watching the sky open up and my feet dangle into nothing.
“No,” I said, still trembling. “I love it.”
“Want to spin?” she asked.
“Umm,” I said, and suddenly the sky disappeared. And we span: in spirals that looped us like an invisible rollercoaster while I shouted until my throat hurt.
“Okay!” I finally managed to yell. “Enough spinning!”
She laughed. “That’s my favourite bit.”

Thirty-five minutes in the air, and it was the longest thirty-five minutes of my life and also the shortest. Every minute felt different, and every minute I noticed something else. Birds were flying below us, and planes were above us: for the first time, I was airborne and squidged in between. Now that the sky had cleared paragliders were appearing by the minute, and the sky was filling with tiny puffs of neon sheets, like bright pollen. The air smelt of the pine trees and the grasslands underneath us. And never before had the adrenalin of an extreme sport combined with such a sensation of peace: the heart-pounding, hand trembling, mind sharpening excitement of knowing you’re hanging 1,000 feet above the ground mixed with the dreamy, calm, surreal experience of floating. Never before had something so unnatural felt so organic. Never had something so dangerous seemed so safe. And while it wasn’t flying the way Superman flew – zooming through the air – it was flying the way Peter Pan flew when he hung in the air and waited for Wendy to catch up. Without a motor, and without metal. Just me and the sky. And that was what I had wanted as a five-year-old. Not to zoom, but to be suspended

As we reluctantly descended, I asked how long we could have stayed up there if I wasn’t paying for a thirty-five minute session.

“As long as the wind lasts,” my tandem partner said. “All day, sometimes. I usually bring a sandwich.” Then she laughed. “Now,” she said as the landing field got closer, “when I say run, run. And keep your legs bent.”

Moonrise over Mt. Fuji

“There’s a whole lot of running involved in flying, isn’t there,” I grumbled, and prepared my legs to run into nothing again. And as we watched the ground approach, I realized that I wanted to cry. It had taken me so long to get into the air, and it seemed so unfair that I had to come back down again so soon. I wanted to stay up there all day too.

“Now,” she told me as the ground approached, “run.”

And I ran until the ground caught up with me, at which point I promptly fell over. All the grace and peace I had found in the sky immediately abandoned me, because I was land-based all over again. And I really didn’t want to be.

“Was everything okay?” my friend asked as we de-parachuted and de-helmeted and I did a few little jumps of happiness; partly to celebrate, and partly to get back in the air.

“Amazing,” I told him.
“I saw you spinning and thought something had gone wrong.”
“Nope. Apparently she just likes doing it.”
“You know,” one of the other parachuters told me: “of all of us, you won the jackpot. You know that girl you just came down with? Your tandem instructor?”

“Yeah?” I looked at the tiny girl behind me with flushed cheeks and the big grin: the one who had controlled my life – and whether I would continue having one – for thirty-five minutes. The one who wasn’t a six-foot-five lump of muscle and fat, and hadn’t had to be.

“She’s a world champion paraglider, just back from the Olympics in Italy. She helps out here for fun. You just had the experience of a lifetime.”

I looked at her again, and then I thought about it for a few seconds. “I know,” I said eventually. Because I already did.

As we drove away from the site, I looked back at the sky where dozens of tiny paragliders were hanging: dots of colour against the blue. They didn’t look like planes, I realized, or helicopters, or micro-lights. They didn’t look like they were on strings, or hot air-balloons, or any man-made type of flying. They looked like birds of prey, hanging in the sky and sitting in the wind. And they looked exactly like Peter Pan and a hundred Lost Boys, just after they had flown out of the window.

The letters I wrote may not have gone to the right place, but they worked in the end. Twenty years later I gotten to fly, just as I was sure I could. And eventually I’ll take enough flights that I’m allowed to go on my own. Because that’s how Peter Pan flew too: all by himself.

Most of us want to fly as children, and sometimes as we get older we begin to believe it’s impossible. As Wendy asked when she was little, “Why can’t you fly, mother?” And as her mother answered: “Because I am grown-up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.”

There aren’t many wishes we make as children that we can grant ourselves as adults, and there are too many dreams we put away unfulfilled.

With paragliding, even the most land-tied adults can remember how to fly all over again.

Paragliding Companies on the Asagiri Plateau, Japan:

Wingkiss
www12.plala.or.jp/wingkiss
Tel – 0544-52-1090

Asagiri Kugon Paragliding Company
www.asagiri-para.com
Tel – 0544-52-1031

Sky-Asagiri Paragliding
www.skyasa.com
Tel – 0544-52-0304

Holly Smale

About Holly Smale

Holly Miranda Smale is a writer, teacher and ex-PR Girl from a place in England that you won’t have heard of unless you read the back of packets of Shredded Wheat, and has never been referred to as “the love child of Anne of Green Gables and Adrian Mole” in her life.

Over the past twenty nine years, Holly has wanted to be: a ballerina, a starving poet, an airplane pilot, Claire Danes, a scientist, a spaceman, a journalist and an internationally best-selling author. She has been: a courgette packer, a dinner lady, a cleaner, a (very bad) fashion model, a PR executive, a receptionist, and a door-to-door salesman. Holly has improbably high hopes that one day something on these two lists will match.

However, until or unless this happens, she fully intends to continue “gadding around the world with no shoes on” and can only hope that when further gadding becomes impossible her younger sister will convert the shed so that she can wrap herself in a blanket and live in it during the winter months.

She lives at www.thewritegirl.co.uk, and is currently based in Japan.

The author readies for battle

With its sleepy, sedated reputation, I expected my recent journey around The Lao People’s Democratic Republic to be a gentle wander through Asia the way it used to be before high rises and KFCs took the place of indigenous hill tribes and wild elephants. Only once I joined up with Stray Travel Asia did I learn my trip dates fell during the one time of year where Laos is not so languid – the annual Water Festival.

Laos, Burma, Cambodia and Yunnan, China each celebrate the season in their own way during the second week of April, but it’s usually Songkran in Thailand that attracts the most attention and subsequent splashy (pun intended) photos in Western travel sections. I’d heard conflicting reports about the Pi Mai Laos festivities. Was it a milder, gentler version of Songkran or a celebration worthy of its own story? I set out to see for myself.

The Water Festival commemorates the sun beginning its journey north and traditionally is marked with cultural performances and religious ceremonies. Homes, temples and images of Buddha are given a good scrubbing in a countrywide spring-cleaning event. The revered act of watering came from the tale of King Kabinlaphom, who lost his head in a wager with an advisor. After decapitation, the seven princesses kept his head in a cave, visiting once a year to sprinkle it with holy water in the hopes of bringing prosperity and good weather to the land. Today, it’s customary for elders and monks to receive gentle sprinkles of flowered or perfumed water during the holiday to signify renewal and reverence. Once tradition is satisfied, the Water Festival becomes the wildest, wettest party of the year. This is great news for the non-monk because now tradition has evolved so even “falangs” can join in.

Touring with Stray Asia

Loation countryside

Traveling in the region is tricky in April, as trains and buses sell out quickly and accommodations can cost almost double. As a first time visitor, I wanted someone else to help me sort out the details so I chose to meet up with Stray Travel Asia, a hop-on, hop-off tour of Thailand and Laos with several predetermined tracks. I picked the Tom Yum pass, beginning in Bangkok, taking a train to historic Sukhothai and Chiang Mai, and snaking around north and central Laos via bus before a final night in the capital of Vientiane. Known for small groups and a very laid back vibe, Stray Travel Asia manages the transportation aspects of the experience – buses, trains, tuk-tuks, slow boats – and helps to book into (dirt cheap but nice) guest houses at each stop. The rest is really up to the individual. While I traveled straight through on the Tom Yum itinerary as scheduled, I met several folks who stopped for a few days or a week based on whims. It all depends how much time you have.

Since the trains to the north were booked up, our initial group of three (guide Anna and fellow traveler Amber) instead took public buses on the way to meet the big saffron-hued Stray bus across the Thailand/Laos border. After a fast bike trip around the sprawling historical park and the night market in sleepy Sukhothai, we made our way to the capital of Songkran, the ancient city of Chiang Mai. There’s plenty to entertain there, like the walled old town, dozens of wats, elephant parks and a famous night safari, not to mention a happening backpacker nightlife. This particular week though, everyone was in town for one reason – to get soaking wet at Songkran. Each stall at the night market offered half a dozen varieties of water guns; it seemed everyone was preparing for the Water Festival.

The Tom Yum pass allows for two nights in Chiang Mai, so we were able to sample a bit of Songkran before moving on to Laos. Our first run-in with water was after a relaxing Thai massage. Afterward, we found ourselves trapped inside the spa when a troupe of elementary school-aged kids set up a bunker just outside the door. Though we were able to divert the kids long enough to run screaming down the street and escape a soaking, a little old lady with a hose and a handful of American guys did us in on the way back to the guesthouse anyway.

Getting to know Laos

Loation kids prepare for the party of the year

We escaped Chiang Mai just in time to avoid a complete drenching and made our way to the border, spending a gecko-enhanced night in Chiang Khong, Thailand, before crossing the Mekong and clearing customs in Laos. It was there we met our Stray bus and local guide, Mr. Pon, and began the scenic drive through the Bokeo Province to celebrate the Water Festival in dusty Luang Namtha.

Luang Namtha is one of the best places to begin a true Laos trek and many travelers stop here to acquire a guide and head into the jungle. With so much Water Festival activity in town however, we spent the day dodging scattered pockets of kids and teens with water guns and garbage cans full of water, intent on saturating the newest ‘falangs’ in town. A fierce gang of water gun-wielding toddlers attempted to break into our guesthouse room once they saw we were dry and safe on the inside; luckily, they were unsuccessful in their attempts.  We managed to stay quite dry in Luang Namtha, but only due to strategic street crossing and a lot of fast running. In the evening once the random street soakings ended, we sampled phenomenal grilled duck and mango fruit shakes at the market, followed by a bewildering visit to Luang Namtha’s famous Chinese disco for Beerlaos and some bizarre dance moves with the locals.

A word to the wise: don’t drink too much Beerlaos at the Chinese disco, because the next day’s bus journey through Oudomxai is like riding the Magic Kingdom’s Thunder Mountain roller coaster for six hours.  Though scenic, the ride is not fun even if you don’t suffer from motion sickness; if you do, bring a bucket. Fortunately for the nauseous, we stopped about halfway to get lunch and de-nauseate. But instead of searching out grub, we spent our time locating the best water guns in order to be prepared for our arrival in Nong Khiaw. Little did we know we’d be soaked (and really hungry) long before we made it to the next stop.

As we drove along the rough mountainous roads, smatterings of Laos villagers would appear around the corner, prepared with Water Festival weaponry – guns, hoses, cups, buckets – and thwack! They’d splat our bus, which wasn’t a huge issue so long as we kept the windows closed. Once we had our own water guns however, we turned into a moving four-man war machine, hanging out of the moving bus’ open windows with our guns, spraying giggling children and screaming “Sabaidee Pi Mai!” like vikings on the rampage. Though it means a friendly “Happy Laos New Year,” our vigorous and earnest shouts sounded a bit more like “You’re going to die!” and certainly startled a villager or two along the way.

We drove through a larger village a few hours later, hollering and shooting like modern day pirates, when the bus stopped and Mr. Pon abruptly told us to get out. He and the driver were taking a break, right in the middle of the village. That would’ve been good to know before we soaked everyone along the road on the way in! As we got off the bus, dozens upon dozens of children with cups and buckets encroached and immediately war broke out. It wasn’t a fair fight; there were four of us and at least 50 kids. Ladies in the market roared with laughter as the youngsters splashed us again and again; the sleepy village erupted with activity and I’m sure they’ll remember the random epic falang fight for years to come.

Between the windy mountain bus ride and the village water war, we looked like we’d been through the spin cycle by the time we arrived at our rustic bungalows in dreamy Nong Khiaw, home to the sleepy Ou River, imposing limestone cliffs and Phathok Cave, where North Vietnamese sympathizers hid during the US bombing of Laos in the 1960’s. Water Festival activity was at a minimum here, so we finally had time to dry off, grab a great meal and play Petanque (a game that remained even after the French ended their occupation) with the locals before crashing hard in our sparse hillside shacks.

In the morning, we moseyed down the hill to board a slow boat for a lazy, beautiful six hour cruise up the Ou River to historic Luang Prabang. Rugged and secluded, the ride afforded a view of rural riverside Laos, highlighting the subsistence livelihood of many Laos people. After a brief stop at the Pak Ou caves where the Ou and the Mekong converge, we made our way to Luang Prabang, a UNESCO World Heritage site and one of the most romantic locations in all of Laos. Laos has been occupied by everyone from the Japanese to the French, so the myriad of influences at play in the cultural fabric can be seen in monasteries, Buddhist temples and French colonial architecture.

The Party of The Year

Do bring a waterproof camera

Although technically the Water Festival only lasts a few days, in many towns the party (and the soakings) lasts for a whole week. Since temperatures can reach more than 100 degrees during the hot dry season, no one really minds the constant dousing in cold water, but as we learned in Luang Prabang, Laotians have added to the arsenal of liquids to chuck at passersby. We were told to expect shaving cream, baby powder, paint and even motor oil, and did we ever get it.

Upon arrival, we found that due to the festivities, the Stray bus couldn’t get into the center of town to bring our luggage or our water guns. We’d have to manage with what we had on. It wasn’t hard to procure buckets, cups and a free hose from our guest house, so within moments of checking in, Anna, Amber, Franz and I were in the street whooping it up, soaking passing motorbikes and tuk-tuks like the locals did and beginning to experience the euphoria of the Water Festival.

We ran around Luang Prabang for hours, from hose to hose and bucket to bucket, dousing others and being doused in return, making new friends, dancing to Justin Bieber and Beyonce with groups of raucous teens and seeing the wild side of a normally conservative, quiet society. Only monks are exempt from soaking; I saw people dump freezing buckets of water on completely dry old ladies, tourists with all their luggage and even directly into cars onto drivers who forgot to lock the doors. If you dare show up in Laos the second week of April, accept that you’ll be wet the whole time. And not just wet. I was alternately covered in green, red and blue paint, followed by motor oil, topped off with a splash of baby powder for good measure. There’s no looking pretty on this day.

Later on at dinner, once we’d scrubbed off the paint and oil, we all agreed that our day celebrating the Water Festival in Luang Prabang was one of the most fun days any of us had ever had in our entire lives.

Early in the morning before the revelers were again rousted for more splashing, the monks passed by in their Stray Bus-orange robes and we departed for Vang Vieng, another riverside town in the throes of celebrating the Water Festival. While the scene here is normally filled with rowdy Westerners tubing from bank-side bar to bar, today was off the rowdy Richter scale as the locals joined in to crowd the shallow river and party the day away. There were thousands of people, Western and Laos, mingling, eating, dancing, drinking and singing, all while completely and utterly soaking wet from head to toe. Again, we met new friends, laughed at the silliest folks, splashed little kids and soaked up the gorgeous scenery around us.

Whether or not my journey through Laos displayed the true character of the country, I can’t say. For 51 other weeks out of the year, a trip to Laos would be a lazy jaunt filled with breathtaking scenery and gentle, peaceful people. For that one unusual week though, I felt like a kid instead of a traveler. Nothing else mattered but filling up my bucket and finding someone who really needed a good splash in the face.

Tips for visiting SE Asia during New Year

There’s no way around it, you’re going to get soaked. Pack plastic bags to house anything you don’t want to get wet.

Bring a waterproof camera. You don’t want to forget the watergun fights with village kids or the huge day-long celebrations in towns like Luang Prabang, but you just might if you can’t take any photos.

Dress conservatively. Despite the wild atmosphere during the Water Festival, Laos is no place to be parading around in a bikini and short shorts. Cover up in light fabrics that will dry easily.
By all accounts, Laos is still considered “off the beaten path,” offering everything from rugged mountains to lazy rivers to endless rice fields. Koh Phi Phi was once undiscovered, too, and I suspect it won’t be long before franchise restaurants and hotels spring up here like they have in other Southeast Asia hotspots. Laos is still an ideal destination to stretch the budget for a few weeks, costing around $30-40 a day, and it certainly qualifies as a notch on the obscure country travel bedpost.

Visiting Laos
www.strayasia.com

Angie Orth

About Angie Orth

Angie Orth is a location independent globe trekker. Born in Jacksonville, FL, and ultimately landing in Manhattan, she recently left a career in travel PR for adventures on the road. She’s passionate about the Florida Gators, trying everything at least once, and storytelling at www.angieaway.com.

Adventure Insider Magazine -- Summer 2011

The summer issue of Adventure Insider Magazine is here. In this issue one girl finally realized her childhood dream of flying and she does so with a dramatic backdrop. A look at a very wet new years celebration in Laos. And one group of friends escape the spring rain and get in a great day of skiing on one of America’s iconic mountains. In addition we review a couple items to keep your poison of choice in drinking shape on the trail along with media reviews and an update from our new K-9 editor, Stanley.

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Nixon

In late January the Adventure Insider family suffered a tremendous loss. We had to say goodbye to our best friend, Nixon. Nixon was diagnosed with Osteosarcoma in August of last year. Less than a week after the diagnosis, Nixon had his right hind leg amputated in an effort to slow or stop the cancer but more importantly to rid him of the extreme pain of this disease. Three weeks after the amputation, Nixon began a regime of six treatments of chemotherapy. On December 13th, Nixon turned seven and on the 16th he underwent his last chemotherapy treatment, both of which we celebrated the following Saturday at The Gate in Brooklyn — complete with liver cake and beer. It seemed as if Nixon was keeping the cancer at bay. Then one day in late January Nixon didn’t seem to be feeling well. After being examined at NYC Veterinary Specialists it was determined Nixon had a tumor on his spleen and metastasis on his lungs. The prognosis was bleak. Nixon was telling us it was his time. He’d done all he could and we couldn’t put him through any more. It was a very sad day for all who knew him and he will be missed greatly.

Stanley

It’s different with the loss of every dog, but the emptiness that we felt at the all to soon passing of Nixon compelled us to bring Stanley into our family. While Stanley will never replace Nixon and he’s well aware he has big paws to fill we are happy to have the distraction and Stanley is surely starting to come into his own. In a couple of weeks Stanley will be ready to hit the trails and we look forward to sharing those adventures with you as well as tips and gear reviews from the K-9 community.

If you would like to help find a cure for canine cancer please make a donation to Frankie’s Friends in  memory of Nixon. Information can be found at: http://www.frankiesfriends.com