I’ve often been asked why I go to the mountains and put myself through the tribulations and risk of injury that I described in my last blog. It isn’t actually that easy to find an answer. In my early years it was, to a fair degree, a mixture of bravado and a desire to prove myself. However, beyond even that there was the ultimate awe of the environment. It is amazing how the size and majesty of the mountains can remove any delusions of self-importance and invincibility. The mountain environment alternates between moments of incredible tranquility and unbelievable violence. Having been avalanched twice while on expeditions yet lived to tell the tale, I have no illusions about the fragility of one’s existence when seeking to push the limits. Balanced against this is the knowledge that when you achieve the summit there is such a feeling of euphoria that all the effort and pain disappears, albeit only momentarily as the journey down then begins to beckon. So why am I doing this expedition now? I am no longer a young man, I have young children and I certainly am no longer seeking to impress. I think the answer is that for the duration of the expedition there is some time to look at the bigger picture of one’s life and take stock of how things are going. The immense beauty of the scenery instills, in me at least, a sense of calm and harmony that I find in few other situations. It is a while since I have undertaken something on the scale of Makalu and I am stepping into the unknown and perhaps it is that desire to achieve something which no one else has ever done that continues to drive me on. We will see if it is sufficient to drive me on when my heart and lungs are burning with the pain of the cold and airless heights of the mountain.
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