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This spring I teamed up with an international crew of ski mountaineers to traverse Tajikistan’s Fedchenko Glacier. Before the expedition, I had hardly heard of Tajikistan and certainly had never dreamed of crossing one of the longest glaciers outside of the Polar Regions. When the opportunity arose, I couldn’t say no. A high mountain adventure to a central Asian country on the northern border of Afghanistan wasn’t something my sense of adventure would just let me walk away from. The trip came to life three years ago when three Canadian skiers hatched the idea and began the logistics. I was brought on because the team wanted two more experienced ski mountaineers for the remote and relatively unexplored zone of the Pamir mountain range. Having traveled in developing countries before, I knew that I not only wanted to travel, climb and ski in this remote range, but to give back to the mountain communities that would help inevitably help us on our adventure along the way. As I packed my gear for the trip I noticed how much great warm clothing I had to choose from and I realized that I didn’t even use half of it anymore. This was it! I could get people to donate the winter clothing they hadn’t used in years and put it to good use in a country where access to technical apparel was slim to nil. I began a clothing drive and between me and my teammates Holly Walker, Emelie Stenberg, Vince Shuley and Selena Cordeau, we were able to collect and give 350 pounds of clothing to give to the Tajik people who needed the clothes far more than we did. The good vibes from the clothing drive started our trip on a positive note - which was good, because it was a long, hard trip. We planned on one week for getting on and off the tributary glaciers to get to and from the Fedchenko. It ended up taking us thirteen days, nearly twice as long. We planned on setting up three basecamps and skiing 6000m peaks for two weeks; we were tent bound for six of those days due to weather. On top of all that, the snowpack was just about as unstable as it could get. This greatly limited what we were able to climb and ski. Despite the hard work and frustrating snowpack, we had an amazing trip. Massive valleys, towering peaks like Peak Ismoil Somoni (formerly Peak Communism) and Independence Peak (Peak Revolution) and miles of ice surrounded us in a grand scale. We were in a place that few people had been before and completely isolated except for our DeLorme InReach two way satellite texting device. It was humbling and inspiring. We met our goal of traversing the Fedchenko from our starting point in a town called Poy Mazor to its head and descended out the beautiful and rugged Tanimas Valley. Due to the exploratory nature of this trip and having little information about our exit, we left ourselves a few extra days before we would all have to fly home. Our extra days were spent regaining some of the pounds we lost during the expedition eating fresh tandoor bread, kebabs and local apricots and cherries. People greeted us everywhere and invited us to share bread and tea with them even if they couldn’t speak a word of English (and we could only muster hello and thank you in Tajik). The team left Tajikistan with a good taste in our mouths in more ways than one. We explored and lived in a high mountain range for 29 days, were exposed to the kind and generous culture of the Tajik, Pamir and Afghan people and came home safe! Thanks to the Eddie Bauer/ RMI Guide grant for assisting me in this amazing pursuit. The lessons I learned on this trip will forever shape my decision making and goals in the mountains. Until next time... _________ Zeb Blais is a Senior Guide at RMI. He has climbed and skied mountains throughout North America. When he is not guiding, Zeb teaches avalanche courses and ski patrols at Squaw Valley in California. His spare time usually doesn’t save his feet from ski boots.

Rain, thunder and lightning continued late into the Lukla night, but we all felt pretty confident that the dawn would bring perfect flying weather... Which it did. We were up at 5 AM and over to the craziness of Lukla International Airport by 6 AM. At around 7 or so, a twin engine prop plane came in with the right letters and numbers on its tail and we pushed our way through the crowd to catch our flight. That flight was blissfully uneventful and by 7:30 we were just another batch of tourists in Kathmandu... Rubbernecking from our van to catch whatever signs of quake damage we could see on the way to our comfortable hotel. A casual observer could easily go unaware of the tragedy unfolding in the country around us... things are quickly returning to "normal" for those with means in the capital. The hotel was jam-packed with correspondents, camera crews, diplomats and a few grubby climbers. We met a number of our guide friends -some of whom had ambitious and worthy plans to go out to remote villages to do what they could to save lives, and some of whom, just like ourselves, intended to get out of the country as soon as possible so as not to require care and feeding from an already over-stressed society. Our team passed the afternoon resting, cleaning up, exploring and reconnecting. I was lucky enough to connect with the legendary Miss Elizabeth Hawley for the team's all important post-climb interview. As expected, there wasn't much to relate in terms of climbing goals achieved... none-the-less, we chatted for a delightful -and perhaps a bit melancholy- hour over the continuing challenges of these contemporary Everest seasons. Back at the hotel, our team assembled for one final evening together, with a couple of toasts and a fine rooftop dinner. We were not even remotely cold or uncomfortable, we weren't in danger and we had a rising and beautiful full moon to entertain us. Tomorrow we'll scatter to ride a number of bigger and faster aircraft toward our own homes. Thank you for following along in this challenging season. We each feel extremely fortunate to have come unscathed through extraordinary circumstances. To this point, we've had the convenience and satisfaction of placing cash directly into the hands of those who've suffered... from this point onward, we'll try to match the generosity of those at home... Making considered contributions to responsible aid organizations benefiting all Nepalis. Best Regards, RMI Guide Dave Hahn

When we arrived in Ecuador last weekend it had been rainy for weeks on end.  Even the first couple days of this trip were quite stormy in the afternoons.  But over the last couple days the patterns have been changing for the better.  This morning we leave the Chilcabamba Eco Lodge and have our fingers crossed for one more day of good weather!  Tomorrow is the main event, Cotopaxi summit day, and the excitement is palpable.  Looking out the main window of the dining room at Chilcabamba we can see the summit of Cotopaxi and most of the route.

Included in the pictures are a couple from Iliniza Norte yesterday and one of Cotopaxi from the back porch at Chilcabamba.

RMI Guide Dustin Wittmier

Just a quick note to you that everyone here at Annapurna is safe. Yesterday everyone came down off the mountain to wait out some heavy storms. It had been snowing steadily all day today when the large earthquake struck just before noon. It was so forceful! It felt as if we were inside a snow globe being shaken by God. The storm kept us from seeing much but we could hear avalanches ripping down the mountains all around us. The roar was so loud I thought we'd surely be hit. Annapurna Base Camp is situated on a muddy ridge clinging to an adjacent mountain. During the earthquake large sections peeled off and cascaded down some 800ft to the glacier below. Totally insane, but nothing made it to us, and everyone is safe here. My thoughts go out to everyone in Nepal, especially my friends in Kathmandu and over on Everest. Climbing Update: The 24th of April I descend all the way from Camp 4 at 7000m on Annapurna to base camp. But before I get into why I descended without attempting the summit I'll talk about the earthquake. It had been snowing steadily all morning today when, at around noon, a large earthquake struck. The earthquake was so forceful, it felt as if we were inside a snow globe being shaken by God. The storm kept us from seeing much but we could hear avalanches ripping down everywhere. The roar was so loud I thought we'd surely be hit. Annapurna Base Camp is situated on a muddy ridge clinging to a adjacent mountain. During the earthquake large sections peeled off and cascaded down some 800ft to the glacier below. Totally insane. As I write this another roar of what sounds to be a massive avalanche rips down Annapurna. On the 23rd I made my way up from Camp 3 to Camp 4. The route is straight-forward. It starts with a low angle section of ice up a serac out of camp 3. To a traversing section of steep snow then a long ramp to C4. The ramp connects the German Rib with the summit area of Annapurna. The ramp is a slope of 30 to 45 degrees and it was covered in fresh deep snow up to waist deep. That afternoon myself and another team set up camp underneath a serac at 7000m. Their plan was to start out that same night with their 4 Sherpa guides to leave at 8pm to break the route and the 4 members of their group to follow at 9pm. I decided not to attempt the summit because: - Too cold of a night to climb without supplemental oxygen - Retreat would be difficult at night as the wind was blowing too much snow and covering the track. - no previous time spent above 18,000', so I was not properly acclimatized. - too much technical ground below us - with forecasted storm by Noon the next day. - high risk of avalanche if caught above camp 2 after the storm. I descended from C4 the morning of the 23rd. As I was leaving, the members of the team that had attempted to summit started straggling in from their failed summit attempt. They were too tired to descend from C4. I re-broke the route to C3 in sketchy and quite heavy deep snow. As I dropped down a final steep descent before Camp 3 on an arm wrap rappel, I plunged into a concealed crevasse. I was already feeling quite sick from overheating in my down suit. The sun had come out and started slowly deep frying me in the down suit. But luckily I was stable enough that I could wriggle out of the suit without falling any further. Half way in a hole, about to vomit from overheating and my arm wrap biting into my forearm, I comically rolled down into C3. I was moaning in discomfort, dry heaved a few times, and laid there motionless for a time. I had to get moving again though, because the weather was coming in fast. I cached a few things at Camp 3 and started rappelling off the serac whose top forms the flat surface of camp 3. The route down the German Rib is steep and riddled with crevasses and alpine ice. But large areas of the route had deep snow blown in from the night prior. ... Another large avalanche is ripping down Annapurna... this place is quite unstable since the earthquake. Soon after completing my descent from the serac I, twice, stuck a leg into a concealed crevasse while rappelling down the further slope. I shouted to a Sherpa named Pemba from the summit team that we'd better employ the buddy system and re-break the route together. As we started down the visibility went to zero and a heavy fall of snow started. About midway down we lost our rappel lines and started carefully climbing down without the safety of the lines. Searching the snow with our ice tools for the rappel lines while slowly inching our way down. We were In a couloir with seracs all around and above us, my mind kept telling me we were in a very dangerous place to be moving so slowly. A few minutes before finding the lines again we set off a small slab slide 3 ft to our right. Things were getting spooky! Finally, we made the last rappel onto the glacier below the German Rib. Now the last hurdle was finding camp 2 in a whiteout. An island of safety in the insanely dangerous glacial field below the crosshairs couloir and sickle ice cliffs. In the reduced visibility we wove through large ice blocks of avalanche debris by GPS. We moved with baited breath - hoping not to hear that tell tale rumble that has become such a familiar sound to me here at Annapurna. The Korean team a day earlier had had a near miss right in this area. After having been on the move on a very scary mountain, in terrible weather, for 11 hours I finally arrived at Base Camp at 8:40pm that night. Descending through deep snow and limited visibility all day. At Base Camp I found out that an avalanche had hit the team at camp 4 earlier that night. No one was hurt but they had to cut their way out of their tents. They were also all exhausted from their summit attempt. Including one climber who had frostbite on his hands and one suffering from HAPE. They would later be rescued via helicopter. Three of the 5 teams here at Base Camp are leaving, The team that attempted the summit blew their oxygen supply. Another team's Sherpas bailed because of concerns that Annapurna wasn't to be climbed this year. The mountain is angry. Yet another small team's permit has run out. I was planning to stay until mid-May as now I am acclimatized and my equipment is cached. However, with recent events I'm not sure what will happen, there's a lot of hearsay... and Annapurna sounds extremely unstable right now. I've heard at least three avalanches while I was writing this. -RMI Guide Alex Barber

Before sunup on the 24th of May, the RMI Everest climbing team left Camp III at 24,000 ft on the Lhotse Face, bound for a shot at the top of Mount Everest. The only trouble was that everybody else on the mountain had the same idea at the very same time. We were shocked to see how many climbers were already on the fixed lines. Estimates ran to as many as two hundred, although it was later figured that a fair proportion were simply doing carries to the upper camps and weren't intent on staying at Camp IV or climbing for the summit. Suffice to say that we couldn't set our own pace for climbing, but eventually, by keeping going when other teams elected to take breaks, we made it into the open above the difficult Yellow Band at 25,000 ft. The Geneva Spur didn't present a significant barrier to our reaching 26,000 ft by late morning. There we found a steady wind and our Sherpa team building tents on the South Col. It was easy enough for our team to get in and start re-hydrating and resting for a summit climb, but it was tougher trying to get a read on the conditions that climb would be undertaken in. A quick count revealed about fifty other tents pitched on the Col, and a few impromptu meetings with other climb leaders decided us that perhaps in excess of a hundred climbers would be going for the summit that night. The winds continued and the latest forecasts confirmed that a ribbon of 50 mile-per-hour air would still be menacing the mountain for a further 24 hours. We looked at the steep triangular face and saw that its middle third would entail loose rock with a good chance for some of that getting kicked loose onto teams below. So there were three things that didn't work well for us… rock, crowds and wind. We made preparations for a climb, but we also began to explore the possibility of delaying 24 hours and shooting for May 26th as a summit day. We each knew that we'd be putting all our eggs in one final basket by doing such a thing. We had resources for such a delay, but we didn't have unlimited resources. If we skipped the 25th, with its known problems, we'd have to take the 26th with its unknown problems… or go home without a summit. We tried to hedge our bets, telling our Sherpa team that we'd still prepare to get up in the night unless the winds were still blowing. At 10 PM, long after the other teams had left for the top and were to be seen as a Christmas parade all up and down the Triangular Face, the winds were still strong. We committed to the next night. It was a slightly surreal day, as always, hanging out at 8000 meters on May 25th. We wondered whether we'd missed our shot as the neighboring teams came down with a summit under their belts and not too many bad stories to tell, after all. Yes it had been windy and cold and crowded, but most seemed to have done ok and there certainly weren't new tragedies to report. Finally, in the late afternoon of the 25th, the winds began to die down. That was encouraging, but our headcount for the coming summit day was less encouraging. We'd assumed we'd be up the hill with perhaps fifty climbers, but as we prepared dinner and turned in, we'd become aware of about 80 or 90. And nearly all of these climbers were leaving quite early for the top (as in about 7 or 8 PM). There was no way to beat them out the door without simply aiming to summit in the middle of the night (a bitterly cold and slightly unrewarding proposition). We'd set out afterward and take our chances on being able to pass people when we needed to. Our alarms rang at 10 PM and we ate, drank and geared up for two hours in delightful stillness. The South Col was dead calm and quiet with the wind absent and the vast majority of the climbers already well up toward the balcony. Lam Babu Sherpa would stay at the South Col, just in case, while Tsherring, Kadji and Passang accompanied the four person climbing team. We set out at midnight and four hours later topped the balcony in perfect conditions. A half hour later we experienced an incredibly colorful sunrise and things got slightly easier, even as we took on the steep slopes below the South Summit. At the South Summit around 7 AM we crested to see an amazing and at first, frightening, phenomenon. There were at least a hundred climbers lined up waiting to descend the summit ridge. At any given point there seemed to be about 8 climbers simultaneously on the Hillary Step and dozens upon dozens on the tricky rock features between us and the step. We decided we had no choice but to sit and wait patiently in the small dip past the South Summit. There was no practical way that we could pass so many climbers on such awkward terrain. The wait turned into an hour-and-a-half, which made each of us quite nervous… since such a thing is very much the definition of not being in control of one's climb… but then we each had to remind ourselves that conditions were benign. There was zero wind, the sun was shining and there was plenty of time left in the day. Also, we salivated at the prospect of having the mountain to ourselves after the long conga line of climbers passed on their way down. Finally we stood up, shouldered our packs and shook off the cold. It didn't take long then to scramble across the ridge, up the Hillary Step and onto the summit. It turned out that three or four climbers were on the summit from the Tibet side, but that didn't stop us from thoroughly enjoying about 55 minutes on top. We had unlimited views and a very happy team as we connected with Lam back at the South Col, Yuberaj at Camp II and Mark Tucker down at Basecamp. The descent took just a matter of hours, since there was virtually no traffic left high on the mountain. We came back into the South Col feeling satisfied, but also knowing that the big work of the day was yet-to-come. We needed to pack up camp and descend a mile to ABC in the Western Cwm. With heavy packs and hot down suits we slid down the ropes for hours and hours. Past the Geneva Spur, past the Yellow Band, past Lhotse Camp IV and Everest Camp III… down to the part of the face that suddenly seemed to be melting under our very crampons. In the space of two days, spring had turned to summer and it seemed the climbing season was supposed to be over. We were greatly relieved to hit the bottom of the wall in safety and to trudge into ABC just after sunset. Morning still held a little anxiety for us as we each knew we'd have to successfully wend our way through the Khumbu Icefall one more time. The word was that it was crumbling and collapsing and heating up. And that turned out to be true, but we saw that the Icefall Doctors were doing a magnificent job keeping a route cobbled together through the mess. We took our time and placed our feet carefully and eventually hit all of the comfort and safety of base camp by mid-afternoon on the 27th of May. The 28th was shower-and-pack-and-keep-fingers-crossed-day for the climbing team. Showering and packing for the obvious reasons, but keeping fingers crossed because the Sherpa team still had a final day of working in the Icefall to get all the gear down. Their strength and skill and our finger-crossing worked because they emerged victorious and unscathed by mid-day. The climb was over. By the morning of the 29th, we'd heard that there were long delays for those attempting to get fixed-wing flights from Lukla. The monsoon had worked its way into the lower valleys already and the weather was sloppy with cloud and rain. Instead we arranged a series of memorable helicopter rides from base camp to Kathmandu. There was plenty of hurry-up and wait… there was awe at the beauty of mountains and gorges seen from the air, there was sheer terror at the power of thunderstorms on small aircraft, there was gratitude for the skill of the pilots we'd watched performing miraculous rescues all season long… and at the end of the day yesterday, there was an easy dinner in a Kathmandu restaurant and a comfy hotel bed. Soon there will be home. Thank You Very Much for keeping track of our expedition. Best Regards, RMI Guide Dave Hahn

Peter updates from the Hillary Step, very close to the summit.

Poor foot care on a climb can make a mountain out of a molehill and even the smallest blisters or foot pains can become a challenge over the course of a trip. Here are a few things to keep in mind about your feet as you head into the hills:  Fit: It's all about setting yourself up for success and that starts with choosing the right footwear. In addition to the technical specifications of a boot, make sure that the boot fits your foot well. See Whittaker Mountaineering’s Guide to Mountain Footwear for a helpful guide to picking the right boot. Even the most carefully chosen boots often require a little adjustment. Take them out and walk around. Sometimes you'll need to adjust the lacing tightness in certain spots or change the footbed to get that perfect fit for you.  If you're renting a boot for the climb take plenty of time to find the right fit. Bring the socks you plan on climbing in to try on with your boots and walk around a bit to make sure they feel comfortable.  Foot Care & Prevention: The easiest way to deal with blisters on a climb is to never get them in the first place. Use your training hikes to find the best lacing and tightness of your boot and the best sock combination for you. Remember not to lace your boots too tightly - blisters are created by friction and a very tightly laced boot, especially a rigid mountaineering boot, can create extra friction on your feet.  Keep an eye on your feet and treat hot spots immediately. It's easy to stop for a few minutes and make quick adjustments or fixes instead of letting them develop into blisters. Stick some moleskin or second skin over the affected area to reduce the friction. Duct tape works pretty well in a pinch too. If possible, try and identify the issue and fix it so it doesn't reoccur: is your boot laced too tightly? Did a fold develop on your sock?  When you reach camp, give your feet a break. Change out of your socks and put on a fresh pair. If you have camp shoes, slip those on. Your feet will appreciate it.  Treatment: If you do develop blisters, treat them as soon as possible so that they do not become worse. This means draining the blister, applying some antibiotic ointment to prevent infection, then covering it with a sterile dressing. Depending on where the blister is on your foot and how big it is, you may need to add a foam "donut" to create some space above the blistered area and give it a better chance of recovering.  If you are prone to foot problems, be proactive and use your training hikes to identify the best way to take care of your feet. The book Fixing Your Feet is a great resource for climbers and athletes and provides some excellent advice for a range of foot problems.  Foot care is a subtle art: it's certainly not the most exciting topic but if you’ve taken the time to address it, it can make a big difference on the climb.

The Four Day Climb August 29 - 1 September was unable to reach the summit today due to route conditions.  RMI Guides Pete Van Deventer and Dominic Cifelli lead their teams to Ingraham Flats at 11, 200', they enjoyed the views as the sun came up.  The team is now back at Camp Muir and will begin their descent to Paradise later this morning.

Good morning, good morning. It is January 9th, and this is Peter checking in, we're just finishing up a great breakfast of Cream-of-Wheat and a hot drink. The sun just hit our camp, and we’re packing up and getting ready to make the move up to high camp. It was cold last night, cold this morning, but we have a little bit of sun right now. Weather looks good. And I'm gonna walk out and let my tentmate say a few words, Ed Viesturs. Morning everybody, it’s beautiful day. We are loading up the camp here and we’re gonna make that ascent back up to high camp another 3,500 feet higher, and weather looks good and the forecast is pretty descent and we hope to go to the summit of Vinson tomorrow, Monday the 10th so be sure to check in tomorrow, follow the progress and we hope to be hootin’ and hollerin’ from the top of the bottom of the world. Ed Viesturs and Peter Whittaker signing out.

We had high hopes of being able to fly today. After several days of protests and road blocks in Punta Arenas the crew was ready to load the plane with gear, food and more expedition members and fly to Union Glacier. Unfortunately, that didn't happen due to a broken fuel pump. It may be a few days before it can be fixed and the jet is back in the air. The food and accommodations here are great and we are all doing well. Best, RMI Guide Ed Viesturs