Editor’s Note: And now, for the third and final installment in our Women into the Wind series. In part one and two, we follow Anno Davis and her crew of Argentinean mountaineers as they attempt to become the first all-female team to summit Volcan Lautaro—the highest peak in the Southern Patagonian Ice Cap. In this final edition, these self-proclaimed “Mujeres al viento” grapple with every mountaineer’s toughest decision: should we stay or should we go?

By Anno Davis

There we were, staring at the now-clear summit of Volcan Lautaro, faced with a difficult decision: should we risk it and make a second attempt or pack up and head home wasting months of preparation?

Reaching a consensus between five women with differing minds, perceptions, experiences, emotions, fears and ambitions was now our foremost challenge. One perspective: make the most of the now-clear day and head back up the mountain as far as we could. The opposing view: play it safe since conditions weren’t optimal, and take advantage of the relatively stable weather to return to the eastern side of the ice cap. Although we were wary of summit fever, we had spent months of preparation for this moment. We also had to consider the need to be conservative due to our remoteness, and the energy we would spend going up Lautaro would mean diminishing margins of error. But one thing was clear: if we couldn’t all agree, no one would convince others to go up against their desire. And so we continued back to the tent, deeply saddened and disappointed by the circumstances.

There was little time to loose. Solemnly, we broke camp and crossed the ice field again, this time taking advantage of strong, favorable winds that pushed us as we used our benefactors’ banners as makeshift sails. We turned around periodically to watch lenticular clouds form over Lautaro’s summit which, at around 4 pm, turned into a dark cape, quickly sweeping over the peak from the west; we were glad not to be on the mountain. Four miles past our first campsite on the glacier we reached the Chilean glaciology hut, Refugio Gorra Blanca at 9:30 pm, having skied at total of 16.25 miles from the base of Lautaro. We rested that night and the following day, listening to the howling wind outside, waiting to descend Paso Marconi at the right moment to avoid low visibility and gusting winds that could complicate our return.

Return across the ice field

The next day, we got an early start and skied all the way down the Marconi ramp, this time with just enough snow to make some delicate moves over thin snow bridges and reach the bottom of the ramp without removing our skis. There, we stashed our gear and food in hopes of making another attempt at Lautaro. This turned out to be a fortuitous decision; almost as soon as we started hiking down the rest of the glacier, the wind accelerated through the valley causing us to brace ourselves against the gusts. We laughed at the awkward feeling of being tossed around. But we would not have been able to take the situation with such humor if we had been carrying our sleds and skis on our packs.

We descended all the way to the trailhead—13 miles and 3,200 vertical feet below—back to Chaltén where we celebrated our safe return with a rich dinner and dancing until the wee hours of the morning.

Over the following days we discussed and debriefed our experience trying to eliminate lingering frustration and disappointment. We anxiously checked the forecast for the possibility of a second attempt. But as much as we wanted to summit Lautaro, we were starting to realize it wasn’t going to happen—this time around.

We decided that we would attempt the neighboring peak (Gorra Blanca), a more accessible mountain standing at 9,200 feet on the eastern flank of the ice field, on our way to pick up our stashed gear. Unfortunately, after reaching 7,600 feet, we started fighting strong winds before the clouds moved swiftly across the ice cap toward us. We could see these weren’t just passing clouds and, once again, decided to turn around. We headed down Gorra Blanca enjoying some of the best turns of the trip.

To Gorra Blanca

Gorra Blanca

Reflections: Post Lautaro

I find the saying, “hindsight is 20-20,” to be partially true. The lessons learned through the direct experience of carefully meditating and executing a plan are quite clear, like the importance of being in the right place at the right time, especially in Patagonia where the weather can make or break your success. Our trip reinforced our invaluable teamwork skills, like the need for clear and respectful communication at all times. We learned about mind-over-matter, realizing how important our initial motivation was in helping us reach the base of Lautaro faster than our original plan and quicker than any other past expedition. And we learned about the physical recuperation process, since we did not anticipate the lingering fatigue when considering a second attempt.

Something that I’ve learned over the years in the mountains and was confirmed on this trip: success is determined by your ability and willingness to return. And we will summit Lautaro—some day. In the mean time, we’re satisfied with our first “Mujeres Al Viento” adventure. It has reinforced our desire to continue to grow and learn by pushing our limits, and enjoy ourselves in this endless playground we call the outdoors.

Leaving Chalten

Jeremy Barnicle, Chief Development Officer at Mercy Corps, one of our key Partners for Change, recently journeyed to Cairo for a global leadership conference to discuss the seminal changes that have occurred in the region over the past year. He spent most of January traveling through Tunisia and meeting with local activists who, with support of Mercy Corps, are trying to build a vibrant civil society in a place that never really had one. Below are his reflections on the brave protestors of the Arab Spring and what we can learn from them.

A year ago, not far from where I sit writing this, a massive group of protesters forced from power a dictator who controlled their lives for 23 years.

The overthrow of Zine el-Abidine Ben Ali sparked a wave of anti-authoritarian uprisings unlike the world had ever seen: Egypt, Libya, Yemen and now Syria.

Over the past two weeks, as part of my work with Mercy Corps, I have been lucky enough to meet some of the people behind the changes in Egypt and Tunisia, and I have two reactions.

The first reaction is deep admiration. The courage people have shown is stunning. Going to Tahrir Square in January 2011 meant accepting a very real possibility that you might be arrested, beaten, injured or killed. One Egyptian activist told us how he said goodbye to his young children at night before heading out to Tahrir, warning that they might not see him again. It’s hard for me to imagine what would drive me to take that kind of risk, and yet thousands of people stayed in Tahrir until Hosni Mubarak was gone for good. Now that activist works in Parliament.

My second reaction is shame. Watching the 2012 campaign unfold from a distance, it is clear to me that the American political system has become ridiculous at a time when we really need it to work. Our system has become ridiculous because we have let it, because many of us — myself included — have come to take for granted a set of political rights and responsibilities that people here in Tunisia and elsewhere in the region are willing to die for.

We Americans have lapsed into disgraceful complacency, allowing super PACs, talk-radio hosts and a hysterical 24-hour news culture to control the way we govern ourselves. Government has become a zero-sum game that rarely rewards moderation and compromise.

In a December 2011 Gallup poll, 86 percent of Americans disapproved of the job Congress is doing — the worst since Gallup started asking 30 years ago. And yet fewer than five percent of Congressional seats are really competitive in the 2012 election cycle, according to the Cook Report.

In presidential election years, just over half of all voting-age adults actually turn out to vote. In the off-year elections that choose every U.S. House member, a third of U.S. senators, a dozen or so governors and countless state legislators, a little more than a third of voting-age adults take the time to cast a ballot. More Americans log on to Facebook in any given month than bother to vote in any major election.

We Americans like to think we are modeling democracy for the rest of the world. But next to the brave protesters of the Arab Spring, most of us look lazy and spoiled.

The Arab Spring movements have their flaws. They have venal politicians, rigid ideologues and apathetic voter segments of their own. But everyone I talked to was proud and hopeful. “Now, if the government we elect doesn’t do what we want,” a young Tunisian lawyer told me with a wide smile, “we can just vote them out.”

Future generations of Egyptians and Tunisians will see the leaders of their 2011 revolts as founding fathers and mothers. And yet for all of the idolatry American politicians demonstrate for Washington, Jefferson and Franklin, do we really think we are living up to the ideals of the American Founding Fathers?

“That government is the strongest of which every man feels himself a part,” Jefferson wrote. Tunisians feel part of their government; they seized that right and are holding on tight. A young guy in the town of Tataouine told me if they felt the ideals of the revolution were being ignored, they would go right back out on the streets. If polling and voter turnout numbers mean anything, few Americans feel part of the government and that needs to change.

As usual, Alexis de Tocqueville has a sharp and relevant observation on our democracy, and it makes me hopeful:

“The greatness of America lies not in being more enlightened than any other nation, but rather in her ability to repair her faults.”

If we want to live up to the vision of our founders and be the great country we aspire to be, we Americans need to learn from the Arab Spring, repair our faults and take back ownership of our system.

Reprinted from the Huffington Post courtesy of Jeremy Barnicle.

Editor’s Note: The much-anticipated part two of our Women into the Wind series is here. In part one, we met Anno Davis and her intrepid crew of Argentinean mountaineers. In part two, we follow them as they attempt to become the first all-female team to summit Volcán Lautaro—the highest peak in the Southern Patagonian Ice Cap.

The Expedition by Anno Davis

The weather: it’s the limiting factor for anyone who plans an expedition in Patagonia. The area is dominated by strong winds and moisture which accumulate over the vast Pacific Ocean and empty on the protruding Andes. Since our mobility on the glacier depended on the crevasses being entirely covered by snow, our particular expedition relied on ideal weather conditions. This also meant that we had to be incredibly adaptable and develop an alternative strategy based on the conditions along the way. In addition, once we ventured into the mountains we would need to be completely self-reliant since our only contact with others would be through spotty satellite phone service. And since there weren’t any helicopters in the vicinity, a quick rescue would be out of the question.

After three days of portering our gear to the base of the glacier and one day to rest and pack, we decided to go for it; the next 3-4 days presented a decent weather forecast. We carried our skis and sleds on our packs through the lush Lenga Beech forest. At Piedra del Fraile,we re-strategized since our planned six days in the mountains didn’t fit with the forecast and re-rationed our food to lighten our load. Our first night was at La Playita, a rocky beach on the west back of Lago Eléctrico with spectacular views of the north face of Mt. Fitz Roy. The next morning we picked up the remaining gear, now carrying well over 60 pounds each, and mounted the glacier first by foot where the ice was covered with rock and wound our way around gaping holes and cracks. We eagerly put on our boots and skis and roped-up to ascend the ramp of North Marconi Glacier, where the ice pours over a steep section fracturing into many crevasses, luckily still sufficiently covered with snow. Once over Marconi Pass and up on the expansive ice field (4.5 miles and 2,800 feet higher than La Playita, now at 4,800 feet in elevation), we were on relatively flat terrain and were able to ski comfortably un-roped since the crevasses were completely concealed by a solid layer of snow.

Day 1: the west back of Lago Eléctrico

Day 2: North Marconi Glacier

Day 3: to Lautaro

Now in Chilean territory, we left the granite spires of the Fitz and Cerro Torre ranges behind us. The great white expansiveness ahead was an astonishing moonscape. We were ecstatic. Roughly 12 hours and 8.5 miles from La Playita, we set up camp in total solitude. By sat-phone email/text message a friend confirmed the weather conditions would hold up just enough to permit our plan to cross the ice field the next day (Tuesday), try to summit on Wednesday (the last day with a somewhat stable forecast) and return to the eastern side of the glacier on Thursday as conditions deteriorated.

We enjoyed a perfectly calm night and were setting out again as the sun rose painting wispy clouds pink. Lautaro, whose summit protruded18 miles to the northwest, could be seen in the distance, but slowly started to cloud over by mid-morning. As we moved out into the middle of the ice field, a constant head-wind picked up. The landscape warped all parameters of space and time as we skinned in as straight a line as possible for nine solid hours. Surrounded by more and more magical peaks, we stopping only briefly to change layers, take pictures, hydrate and eat small bites of gorp, crackers and cheese. Not far from our anticipated campsite, the cloud finally reached the base of Lautaro, enveloped us in a dizzying yet calm grey, and we decided to pitch the tent (13 miles from our previous camp and around 5,450 feet in altitude).

Day 4: our attempt to summit

Once we set up camp, we consulted the forecast and weighed our options. At midnight the skies would clear and the day would stay relatively calm until winds picked up at 6 pm and continued to increase the next day, with worsening conditions developing. The girls appeased my worries of being entirely isolated with weather permitting very little margin of error, so we stuck to our plan of a summit attempt the following day. It was our only foreseeable opportunity. The summit lay 6,500 vertical feet above us and about 4.5 miles in horizontal distance over glacial terrain and we estimated a minimum of 12 hours round trip. Since clouds inhibited us from studying the mountain up-close during the approach, we aimed to leave camp between 4 and 5 am to avoid searching for a route in the dark.

The next morning we awoke to lingering clouds spitting snow and began to wonder how much we could rely on the forecast. But we started up anyway. It was 5 am. Low clouds came and went. We made it a couple of hours up the gentle slope (an estimated 1.25 miles and 900 vertical feet) before punching our skis through the first crevasses hidden under a thin layer of snow and stopped to rope-up.  Increasing wind and diminishing visibility added to our uneasiness. Should we risk the weather and go on? After debating briefly, we decided that the present conditions wouldn’t allow us to get very far. With knots in our throats and bellies, we turned around and began to ski down to camp.

Much to our dismay, within an hour of deciding to return, the peak slowly began to clear. It was one of the most difficult moments of our entire trip; had we made the right decision? Should we turn around and head back up the mountain? While the now-clear conditions appeared favorable for ascending, snow blowing off the long summit ridge indicated wind up high. Was it worth the risk of being caught on the far side of the ice cap in a storm the next day? Seeing our present summit possibilities fading fast, we wondered: should we try to make a second attempt?

Stay tuned: in part three of our series, find out whether Anno and her team decide to risk it and make a second attempt or pack up and head for home.

Day 4: in the clear

This past December, our friend, Anno Davis and her crew of intrepid women set out to reach the summit of Volcán Lautaro, the highest peak in the Southern Patagonian Ice Cap.  Because its summit requires a difficult and often dangerous expedition through isolated peaks and fierce weather, it has less than a dozen ascents on record. But if successful, Anno’s team would became the first all-female team to reach its precipitous summit.

In this three-part series, Anno chronicles their journey—from chance meeting to blustery ascent—and everything along the way.
By Anno Davis

Meet “Mujeres al viento”, a dreamt-up name roughly translating to “women into the wind”. This group currently consists of five young women whose common thread is a strong desire for outdoor adventure: Adelina Odriozola (Ade), Flavia Mazzina (Fla), Marina Etchart (Meri), María Roldán (Maru) and Andrea Davis (me), all Argentine (from lovely Bariloche, to be precise) except myself. Our paths had crossed in different points in space and time, but all five of us had barely met until we were called together by Maru and Ade in April 2011.

The email invitation was sent from Maru and Ade to six women explaining their careful selection of us. The recipients all shared a passion for getting into the mountains on skis and a series of positive attributes. Their idea: to plan the first of many female outings and challenge ourselves in a male-dominated realm. They suggested, as an ambitious first foray, that we explore the Southern Patagonian Ice Cap on skis—our favorite mode of transport for such snowy places—and that we choose a peak in the area to add some verticality to the otherwise-flat itinerary. Three of us enthusiastically accepted the proposal, beginning a journey of unknown dimensions and implications.

Our first of many meetings over the course of the following five months, would be virtual, with Maru, Ade and I gathered around the computer on Ade’s kitchen table in Mendoza (central Argentina), Fla connected from Jujuy (far north, where she was working), and Meri from Bariloche (south). Amidst our shared excitement of beginning this adventure, we also felt an urgency to put our ideas into words. The Club Andino Bariloche was celebrating its 80^th birthday by accepting expedition grant proposals with a deadline of just one month away. It was time to get serious about our goals, choose a peak to ski and begin planning our itinerary, logistics, budget and other aspects that make up a solid expedition. It was complex planning in which none of us had much experience.

Together we chose the ambitious goal of skiing Volcán Lautaro, an active volcano and the highest peak in the Southern Patagonian Ice Cap reaching approximately 11,800 feet (3,600 meters). It is situated in Chilean territory and accessed from the well-known mountaineer’s destination town of El Chaltén in the Santa Cruz province of Argentina. Due to its isolation and severe weather conditions, it has less than a dozen ascents, and we would be the first all-female team to set out with this goal. The Club Andino Bariloche agreed to fund half of our budget, an opportunity too good to be true.

There was no turning back.

Vespig Summit on one of our training runs

THE PREPARATION

Preparation for the expedition took the better part of five months. We sought out support from everyone we knew and were surprised by the positive responses we received. We were able to cover almost half of our budget with donations and discounts on food and gear (thank you, Nau!), as well as equipment loans. We were even lent a truck to travel from Bariloche to Chaltén, greatly reducing our travel expenses.

We hired a trainer who helped us arrive at the start of the expedition in similar physical conditions. Friends and guides familiar with the area gave us advice. And amidst all the planning, organizing and our regular studies and jobs, we managed to get together on two occasions to go on ski outings in Bariloche and Mendoza to test gear and brush up on different technical, safety-related and organizational skills.

In late October, the five of us finally convened in Bariloche for an intense week of last-minute preparation. The moment had finally arrived. We loaded the truck, hugged friends and family goodbye, and hit the road. I was filled with exhilaration; we had an incredible adventure ahead of us, no matter what the outcome would be.

Stay tuned for next week: In part 2 of our four part series on “Women Into the Wind,” Anno and her crew attempt to summit Volcan Lautaro despite the fierce weather conditions.

On our way to Volcán Lautaro

There are many things we love about our friends at Grain Surfboards. Not only do they build beautiful, natural wood surfboards akin to a work of art, they do it sustainably.  Rooted in traditional boat-building, Grain uses locally harvested cedar to carve out stunning modern boards built to last. And, as we learned, they’re not afraid to share their secrets.

This week, in the Thought Kitchen, our friends at Grain give us a little insight behind the business of building surfboards, how they came to be here, and why you should come to Portland (or their hometown in Maine) to build one of these handcrafted wonders yourself.

Grain Surfboards is a small hive of activity located on the coast of Maine. With our small, tight crew of eight, we handcraft, classic surfboards, out-of-the-ordinary wood belly-boards, hand-planes, and skate boards out of local timber. And in the process of creating beautiful, custom boards, we end up building an off-kilter community of independent thinkers around us.

To find yourself in the business of making stuff for people feels a bit odd, especially to those of us disinclined to accumulate things. But as Brando once said, “one must do something” and at Grain Surfboards, we’ve found that there are deep rewards and contributions to be made even in the world of making what – on the surface – appears to be mere consumer goods.

That may be because of the way we originally came to build surfboards; out of a desire to make our boards in a way that felt more real, more lasting, and of better quality than what we felt was being offered by the so-called “surf industry.” Those origins, combined with our experiences with traditional wood boats, brought us together some years ago. We all had the same idea: to craft surfboards in the same way that boats are built – as a hull around a frame, an essentially hollow vessel, built to last.

Along the way, we discovered that we could adhere to a pretty strict ethos of sustainability, even as we taught others that there were options to the short-lived, industrial surf-craft that has become the norm.  Our teaching roles expanded as we realized the many rewards inherent in “rolling our own” surfboards. We figured out how to assemble wood parts, hardware, and knowledge into the most complete surfboard kit available and began to share the experience of building your own board with people from all over the world. Eventually, we invited people to build boards in our shop. And now thanks to the help of some like-minded companies like Nau, we are able take our classes on the road in cities like Portland, Oregon.

In the process of helping people build their own surfboards or custom build their dream board, we collected a community of people around us. This is one of the great rewards of doing what we do. People often find that what starts as a simple customer-vendor relationship ends in friendship and community. We believe this happens simply because, for us, the emphasis is on the experience and the inherent meaning of what we do rather than on the thing itself.

Ultimately, we found that we can be more than a mere purveyor of stuff. By offering products built with passion that will never see a landfill, we help give surfers a chance to join the collective voice of our customers and friends—a voice that celebrates great experiences, good friends, sustainability, quality and longevity.

In addition to building surfcraft and surfboard kits in Maine, Grain Surfboards holds classes in surfboard building all year long.  A traveling class will be held in Portland, Oregon in an old shipwright’s shop in March.  See details here.

Around here, we’re big fans of people who push boundaries and challenge conventional thinking. That’s why our sponsorship of the Gates Center Track/River City Cyclocross team was a no-brainer; they combined single speeds and belt drives and introduced the duo to the world of cyclocross racing. And they did it with style. Here, in the third and final in a series of dispatches from the team, John Walrod takes the Succinct Trench for an unexpected ride.

Innovation is born from pushing expectations and refining design – two things that, I believe, NAU does while the rest of us sleep. In an attempt to match their constant innovation, I took it upon myself to do a little field testing of the Succinct Trench while on a recent rainy trip to San Francisco.

Here are a few images and my impressions of what turned out to be a superior garment:

Stevil Kinevil of AllHailTheBlackMarket.com. Thanks Jenni Oh for mugshot.

I was in town with my crew for the Single Speed Cyclocross World Championships and to fly the flag for our Gates Carbon Drive/ River City Bicycles Team. After a few nights of heavy shenanigans that turned out to be less than performance enhancing, I was ready to go. An hour before the start I realized that I wasn’t exactly on the start list for this event, so I stole this guy’s number at registration and smeared my face with fake blood so nobody would ask any questions. The trench concealed my stolen number (666 – not kidding) long enough for me to negotiate a semi-sanctioned 667 (under the stage name Chet Texas).

It was finally time to start. The promoters had decided to do a “Le Mans” style start in which the bikes get left on the start grid and the riders march 1/4 mile away for a running start. While the other riders were forced to parade around in their lycra and look like racers, I was able to cloak myself in the woods and gain the holeshot:

In 1st Place at the World Championships!

Now, cyclocross is a brutal sport – aerobic, anaerobic, skills, variables, booze, all of it. After demonstrating dominance in both tactical and race situations, I chose to spectate for awhile :

The Succinct tails were a perfect barrier between me and that clearly muddy log - who knew it had a built in seat?

Luckily for us, an astute spectator observed this and was able to collect some footage.

This photo (Thanks Scottypaz) showcases the knee length of a traditional businessman’s trench coat while also giving a nod to the impervious fabric that kept me warm and dry in a muddy Golden Gate Park.

Overall, the NAU Succinct Trench Coat performed extremely well. Its split tail allowed me to run, jump, pedal, drink, and commentate all without a hitch. Believe it or not, it escaped the weekend without a single blemish (unlike me). I cannot say enough about how well it worked for concealing my identity when needed, acting as a dry seat, keeping the elements out, and adding that bit of stylistic flair that more traditional cycling clothing just can’t offer. Well done, Nau. Well done.