Entries By 12/2024

Thursday, December 5, 2024 - 8:40 am PT

It is always amazing to reflect on how long it takes for anyone to dream and prepare for any large mountain, especially for one as remote as the Vinson Massif. For some that time can be measured in decades. For today we can reflect as we decend from high camp. We started from over 12,000' elevation down the fixed lines, past Camp 1 where we pick up our sleds, all the way to Vinson Base Camp. From there we flew back to Union Glacier Camp. Once we got off the ski plane we got confirmation that after dinner we are going to board our Boeing 757 to Punta Arenas tonight. Meaning we get to go from negative thirty something to nice hotel temperatures. What a change in settings.

RMI Climber Forrest Heller

100% Summit!!

I was thinking the other day about just how motivated people have to be to come climb big mountains. It just takes so much effort, from paying for it, training for it, and actually doing it. Real go getters, doers. At the same time, I thought it was quite funny that those same type A, don’t sit around type of people. Have to sit in tents, bide their time, and do nothing for days on end in order to climb these mountains. They take time, patience, preparedness, and luck of course.

Today was our lucky day. We finally had the night we’ve been wanting. Still, cool, clear. And in the “morning” (the sun only hides for 2 hours behind Vinson) it was all systems go. We throttled the stoves and ate our breakfasts. We got our harnesses on and donned our gloves. We started to climb, and… continued to climb.

Vinson summit day involves gentle rolling slopes with bouts of steep seemingly unrelenting hills. It climbs Southeast through the Vinson Massif in the Jacobsen Valley situated at the base of Vinson. Behind, breathtaking views North to Tyree and Shinn from angles we hadn’t yet encountered. The Grand Finale? The summit ridge. A long traverse over the top of Vinson with steep drop offs to both sides, sprawling views, and bitter wind. 100% of the team stood on top this afternoon at 3:34PM.

We did all that today and more. We accomplished a goal that didn’t know we could achieve, we summitted the tallest peak in Antarctica on the best day we could have asked for. We’ll sleep well tonight after we scarf our dinners and run to our tents. Tomorrow, we start the descent.

RMI Guide Dominic Cifelli & Team

December 2, 2024 - 12:41 pm PT

The first thing you notice about Antarctica, as you look out the airplane window anxiously anticipating your arrival, is the scale. The scale of Antarctica is infinite. Snow, ice, mountains and clouds seemingly go on forever.

Then you notice the colors of Antarctica. The colors of Antarctica are equally enticing, but they are few - only the endless white and the brilliant blues. The pure white ice and snow that cover this grand continent interrupted only by the the hints of blue tinting the cracks in the glaciers when the sun hits them just right, the natural blue ice runway, and the vast blue sky. (This of course ignores the spectrum of bright primary colors in the climbers’ down coats, tents and other gear that pepper the landscape, but those are not the natural colors of Antarctica.)

Then you notice the sounds of Antarctica. The sounds of Antarctica are many, and they are distinct. Each step on the ice in our mountain boots and crampons delivers a high-pitched squeak,  like pieces of styrofoam being rubbed together - squeak, squeak, squeak - so loud it’s impossible to have a conversation while walking. Each plant of our poles similarly punctuates every step with an exclamation mark. The sound of Dominic firing up our camp stove is similarly unique. The roar of the white gas igniting like a miniature jet engine summoning us to our cozy mess tent for hot drinks.

And the melodic chatter coming from the tents of the Chinese contingent we are sharing high camp with, matched by the friendly sing-song of Anja’s voice greeting us each day - “good morning” - wishing us a nice meal - “bon appetite” - or singing us a German lullaby before bed.

But the most distinctive and telling sound of all is the howl of the wind. And boy does it howl. The howl tells us it’s cold, very, very cold. And, unfortunately,  for the last two nights starting in the early hours of the morning the relentless howl has clearly and triumphantly announced that we would not be climbing today. That we would remain at high camp, confined to our cramped tents for another day. That the summit would have to wait. The howl is the gatekeeper to our adventure. So here we are again today - our third day at high camp - relying on our creativity to pass the time. Meeting other climbers from around the world and chatting with them for as long as you can stand the biting cold, shivering in front of the stack of squeaky styrofoam ice blocks arranged to give a hint of privacy while you try to poop into a plastic bag before you get frostbite in places you had never before worried about getting frostbite.  Or laughing and telling stories of our prior adventures in the mess tent over cups of hot chocolate.  Or listening to a podcast, concerned the entire time you’re wasting valuable battery life that will cost you pictures of the summit when we get  there tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day …

RMI Climber Chris Lind

Sunday, December 1, 2024 - 11:45 am PT

Yesterday we had the most beautiful day, mostly calm, clear skies, warm enough. The strange thing was that it was forecasted that we would have high winds and blowing snow. It wasn’t that the forecast was wrong necessarily, it just got the timing wrong. At around midnight the winds showed up, transporting about half a foot of snow around our tents and in every nook and cranny it could find. Bitter cold, shaking our tents, and making it clear today was no summit day. So instead we woke, winds still howling, and got to work. Building higher walls, clearing the nooks of our gear of snow, and making a high camp breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hash browns. We’ll take another day to recoup, rehydrate, and eat eat eat. Crossing our fingers that tomorrow is our day! Whoever didn’t wish us luck back at home, we blame you entirely.

Till tomorrow!
RMI Guide Dominic Cifelli

Sunday, December 1, 2024 - 11:45 am PT

Yesterday we had the most beautiful day, mostly calm, clear skies, warm enough. The strange thing was that it was forecasted that we would have high winds and blowing snow. It wasn’t that the forecast was wrong necessarily, it just got the timing wrong. At around midnight the winds showed up, transporting about half a foot of snow around our tents and in every nook and cranny it could find. Bitter cold, shaking our tents, and making it clear today was no summit day. So instead we woke, winds still howling, and got to work. Building higher walls, clearing the nooks of our gear of snow, and making a high camp breakfast of bacon, eggs, and hash browns. We’ll take another day to recoup, rehydrate, and eat eat eat. Crossing our fingers that tomorrow is our day! Whoever didn’t wish us luck back at home, we blame you entirely.

Till tomorrow!
RMI Guide Dominic Cifelli