A few hours ago Carine McCandless shared with me that she’d just received a call from the Alaska Department of Natural Resources informing her the bus where her beloved brother Chris McCandless lived and died in the summer of 1992 was airlifted out of the Alaska bush this morning by a Chinook military helicopter, placed on a flatbed trailer, and trucked to an undisclosed location for “safe storage.”
A few hours ago Carine McCandless shared with me that she’d just received a call from the Alaska Department of Natural Resources informing her the bus where her beloved brother Chris McCandless lived and died in the summer of 1992 was airlifted out of the Alaska bush this morning by a Chinook military helicopter, placed on a flatbed trailer, and trucked to an undisclosed location for “safe storage.”
A few hours ago Carine McCandless shared with me that she’d just received a call from the Alaska Department of Natural Resources informing her the bus where her beloved brother Chris McCandless lived and died in the summer of 1992 was airlifted out of the Alaska bush this morning by a Chinook military helicopter, placed on a flatbed trailer, and trucked to an undisclosed location for “safe storage.”
A few hours ago Carine McCandless shared with me that she’d just received a call from the Alaska Department of Natural Resources informing her the bus where her beloved brother Chris McCandless lived and died in the summer of 1992 was airlifted out of the Alaska bush this morning by a Chinook military helicopter, placed on a flatbed trailer, and trucked to an undisclosed location for “safe storage.”
A few hours ago Carine McCandless shared with me that she’d just received a call from the Alaska Department of Natural Resources informing her the bus where her beloved brother Chris McCandless lived and died in the summer of 1992 was airlifted out of the Alaska bush this morning by a Chinook military helicopter, placed on a flatbed trailer, and trucked to an undisclosed location for “safe storage.”
In July 1993, I made the first of several visits to the bus where Chris McCandless spent the final months of his life. Many of Chris’ belongings were still present, including a gold crown that (according to his journal) had fallen off one of his molars. In this photo I shot inside the bus, the crown is visible on top of a grizzly bear skull. The bear had been killed long before Chris arrived in Alaska, but he definitely wrote the graffito on the skull: ALL HAIL THE PHANTOM BEAR, THE BEAST WITHIN US ALL. ALEXANDER SUPERTRAMP MAY 1992
This morning I celebrated my 65th birthday (24 hours early) by splitboarding on the Continental Divide with Geoff Friefeld. The screaming gale and subzero wind-chill on the summit were challenging, but the ride down was bliss. My apologies for the shaky video of the descent, but I shot it with a handheld iPhone while trying to keep pace with Geoff on my snowboard. The light in the high country today (swipe to see second image) was dream-like. I’m still floating from the experience.
This morning I celebrated my 65th birthday (24 hours early) by splitboarding on the Continental Divide with Geoff Friefeld. The screaming gale and subzero wind-chill on the summit were challenging, but the ride down was bliss. My apologies for the shaky video of the descent, but I shot it with a handheld iPhone while trying to keep pace with Geoff on my snowboard. The light in the high country today (swipe to see second image) was dream-like. I’m still floating from the experience.
I headed out on a 9-hour solitary mindfulness retreat/splitboard tour in the Indian Peaks Wilderness before sunrise this morning. The snowpack has been weird and scary for quite a while now, so I dialed down my expectations about what terrain might be safe to ride. When numerous pits, hasty pits, and other careful analysis revealed this classic line from the summit of one of my favorite mountains to be well within my level of acceptable avalanche risk, I was happily surprised. Being able to ride it made a wonderful day even better.
I spent much of today on my splitboard, wandering up and down the Continental Divide alone, without a predetermined destination. For my entire life, I’ve almost always preferred being alone and have had to work hard, with the help of therapy, to engage with others in a healthy way. Unlike normal people, social distancing is not a sacrifice for me—it’s a guilty pleasure that quiets my overactive mind and soothes my soul.
Just got home from a multi-day splitboarding/backpacking excursion into Colorado’s largest, gnarliest wilderness area with @joshjespersen, @tadwsolstice, @isaiahjboyle, Paul, and @jarrettluttrell. Nourished my soul and blew my mind.
Just got home from a multi-day splitboarding/backpacking excursion into Colorado’s largest, gnarliest wilderness area with @joshjespersen, @tadwsolstice, @isaiahjboyle, Paul, and @jarrettluttrell. Nourished my soul and blew my mind.
Just got home from a multi-day splitboarding/backpacking excursion into Colorado’s largest, gnarliest wilderness area with @joshjespersen, @tadwsolstice, @isaiahjboyle, Paul, and @jarrettluttrell. Nourished my soul and blew my mind.
Just got home from a multi-day splitboarding/backpacking excursion into Colorado’s largest, gnarliest wilderness area with @joshjespersen, @tadwsolstice, @isaiahjboyle, Paul, and @jarrettluttrell. Nourished my soul and blew my mind.
I never feel more alive than when I’m in the mountains alone.
The deep snowpack in Colorado this summer means that many roads into the high country are still inaccessible to cars, but that’s not a problem if you’re willing to get creative. Photo 1: @Charley.Mace enjoying the absence of traffic this morning. Photo 2: Charley and Bill Briggs skinning towards our objective—the lovely peak above their heads. Photo 3: Objective reached, 12,933 feet above sea level in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. Photo 4: Dropping in. (Photo by Charley)
The deep snowpack in Colorado this summer means that many roads into the high country are still inaccessible to cars, but that’s not a problem if you’re willing to get creative. Photo 1: @Charley.Mace enjoying the absence of traffic this morning. Photo 2: Charley and Bill Briggs skinning towards our objective—the lovely peak above their heads. Photo 3: Objective reached, 12,933 feet above sea level in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. Photo 4: Dropping in. (Photo by Charley)
The deep snowpack in Colorado this summer means that many roads into the high country are still inaccessible to cars, but that’s not a problem if you’re willing to get creative. Photo 1: @Charley.Mace enjoying the absence of traffic this morning. Photo 2: Charley and Bill Briggs skinning towards our objective—the lovely peak above their heads. Photo 3: Objective reached, 12,933 feet above sea level in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. Photo 4: Dropping in. (Photo by Charley)
The deep snowpack in Colorado this summer means that many roads into the high country are still inaccessible to cars, but that’s not a problem if you’re willing to get creative. Photo 1: @Charley.Mace enjoying the absence of traffic this morning. Photo 2: Charley and Bill Briggs skinning towards our objective—the lovely peak above their heads. Photo 3: Objective reached, 12,933 feet above sea level in the Indian Peaks Wilderness. Photo 4: Dropping in. (Photo by Charley)
I ran into a whole lot of my elk buddies at 12,000 feet in the Indian Peaks Wilderness this morning. They were chillin’ in their usual spot
Encountered 12 inches of fresh snow when I went outside to shovel the sidewalk in front of my home just now. Lovely and peaceful
South Face of the Mooses Tooth, Denali National Park, Alaska. In July 1975, Tom Davies, Nate Zinsser, and I reached the summit of the Tooth via a new route up the narrow ice couloir visible near the center of the photo, which someone christened “Ham and Eggs” around the time the second ascent was completed 24 years later, in May 1999. Since then it has become a ridiculously popular climb, but I don’t think many people realize that I submitted the first ascent of Ham and Eggs as my senior thesis at Hampshire College, and it was actually accepted, allowing me to earn a bachelor of arts degree in January 1976. Hampshire was not your typical institution of higher education.
Pam Brown on the summit of her first alpine climb. June 1978, Bugaboos, British Columbia.
In 1972, when I was 18, I bought this 1961 Volkswagen microbus for $500, rebuilt the 40-horsepower engine, and drove from my home in Corvallis, Oregon to Amherst, Massachusetts to attend a weird new experimental college called Hampshire. I took this photo of my beloved ride parked on the Hampshire campus shortly before I graduated. Right now Hampshire is facing financial problems that threaten its existence, prompting me to write an Op-Ed that was just posted on the New York Times website: https://www.nytimes.com/2019/01/31/opinion/higher-education-hampshire-college-.html
