Mark Healey surfs Teahupoo, Tahiti; Photograph by Fred Pompermayer

Learn how the photographer got the shot and see more images like this in our Extreme Photo of the Week gallery: http://on.natgeo.com/i3409T

Adventure: What were you thinking at this moment?
Mark Healey: I was thinking that falling wasn’t an option!

A: Tell us about this wave? What was it like to ride it?
M.H.: This wave is named Teahupoo. It’s at the end of the road on the southeast corner of Tahiti. It is truly one of the wonders of the world, and I’ve been making an annual pilgrimage there for the last 17 years. The wave is created because of the dramatic bottom contour. It goes from 150-feet-deep to dry reef in a matter of 100 yards. That means that the unimpeded energy of Southern Ocean swells are forced up in a matter of seconds creating a violent, albiet “rideable” wave.

A:We have heard the waves have been better than average at Teahupoo. Why? And why has this moment been so special to surfers?
M.H.: In a typical Southern Hemisphere swell season we get, on average one very large swell for Tahiti, and it usually peaks for a matter of hours. Last week we saw three days straight of some of the biggest surf to hit Tahiti in recent memory. This was due to a complex storm system that spawned off of Antarctica and was really three storms acting as one, feeding off of each other.

A: When did you hear this swell was coming in? What did you do?
M.H.: I saw the forecasted storm on the charts about a week out and monitored it about 20 times a day until it came! I try not to get emotionally attached to a swell that far out, because so much can change. When it was 48 hours out and still looking massive, I booked my flight to Tahiti.

A: For a big-wave surfer, what does it mean to you to be riding waves like this in the ocean?
M.H.: This was a very special wave for me because it was the largest I have ever ridden there. It took a culmination of experience from my years there to ride it successfully. To be a part of an energy like that is something that’s hard to put into words.

A: How many other big-wave surfers came out for these ways? What was the scene like?
M.H.: A lot of big-wave surfers showed up. The swell was no secret. It gets really crazy out there. The photo boats get so close to the wave and are jockey-ing for the best position while the surfers are jockey-ing for the waves themselves. It can make an already dangerous situation a lot worse. People were being sent off to the hospital almost hourly. Thank God no one died.

A: How do you know when it’s time to go home?
M.H: After I caught this wave, I got on the Jet Ski and towed my friends into some waves and ran safety. You can’t get too greedy. I got what I had come for that day.

A: Are you working toward any big goals right now?
M.H.: I’m always training and looking to ride the biggest waves on the planet, but lately I’ve been focusing more on bringing my experiences in the ocean to a wider audience. I want to show people the amazing things that our ocean has to offer. If that causes people to value it more, then they are much more likely to want to protect it.

One of Mountainfilm’s outdoor screenings; Photograph by Gus Gusciora

Celebrating 35 years of inspiration, the 2013 Mountainfilm festival in Telluride, Colorado, will run another exciting program of movies and speakers over Memorial Day weekend. The impressive lineup includes leading adventure athletes, environmental activists, and documentary filmmakers. Beginning with the Moving Mountains Symposium on Friday, the festival revolves around the theme of climate solutions. Here festival director David Holbrooke explains how the team is taking one of the world’s most critical issues head on for what promises to be the most innovative Mountainfilm yet.

James Mills: Why did you pick this year’s theme?

David Holbrooke: I wanted to do something on climate change. We haven’t really looked at it at the festival since I’ve been the director. We have certainly messed around it with energy and food and population themes in the past. But I thought we really needed to look how climate change has been handled. And we wanted to put our own twist on it—climate solutions seemed to be a way to do that.

J.M.: What can you tell us about the special guests who will be speaking on this topic during the Moving Mountains Symposium on Friday?

D.H.: We’ve got some knockout guests this year. We’re really trying to make this a symposium unlike any other. So we have a scientist like Daniel Nocera, who’s doing all this work on artificial photosynthesis. And then someone like Tim DeChristopher, fresh out of his federal prison sentence. We’ll look at geo-engineering. We’ll look at the roles art and music play in climate solutions. We’ve found a really wide variety of speakers, from philosophers to, for example, Aspen Ski Company’s Auden Schendler, who is a really thoughtful guy on what they’re doing in their world. We’re going to look at it both from a global perspective, but also a little of what’s going on southwest Colorado. It’s really something that impacts all of us, and if we do this right, and we’re bloody-well determined to, it will have a real resonance for people that will go way beyond Mountainfilm and out into the world in a way that is very real and palpable.

J.M.: One of things that you’re going to highlight is the 50th anniversary of the first American summit on Everest, with some of the 1963 American Everest Team present. How do you think recent events on the mountain might affect the conversation?

D.H.: Having Jim Whitaker  back at the festival and Tom Hornbein at the festival for the first time is just wonderful. Our roots are so immersed in alpinism. These guys, their achievements are so remarkable.

But Everest is problematic these days. The 2012 season was a bit of circus, and the 2013 season is certainly starting out that way with the massive fight and all this controversy. There was a picture in Outside Magazine that just stuck with me. There was just a line of hundreds of people with all their gear, their packs, and everything just lined up to get on up that mountain. I thought to myself, I wouldn’t want to do that in New York City. Why would you want to do it there?

There’s been this boiling over of tensions and issues on Everest. So this year isn’t surprising. I read a lot of the comments about the fight on Adventure Journal and a lot of people are saying, “Enough with Everest. This is nuts.” What happened sounds so ugly, all around on every level from the Europeans to the Sherpas. It just sounded really horrible, and I’ll be really curious what Hornbein and Whittaker will have to say. And we’ll also have Conrad Anker here at the festival. There will be a lot of people here who have climbed Everest. There’s clearly something wrong going on at the top of the world.

J.M.: What about the program itself? Are there any particular highlights you want us to know about?

D.H.: There are a lot of terrific films—this year seems to be a particularly banner year for documentaries. A lot of films that would have normally made it into the festival didn’t make it this year just because the quality of the submissions was so good. I’m really excited about the Crash Reel. I think it’s a really important film that will save lives. And we’re particularly pleased that we helped support it with a MountainFilm Commitment Grant. Lucy Walker, who directed it, is just a remarkable filmmaker and Kevin Pearce will be here.

We’re also playing the American Everest film High & Hallowed by Jake Norton. We’ll have the world premiere of that and that will be exciting. And then there’s just a ton of other stuff. The list just goes on. There are a lot of films that are not necessarily traditional Mountainfilm films. Life According to Sam, about a young teenage boy with progeria, which is an aging disease, is just beautiful. God Loves Uganda, by Roger Ross Williams, who won an Oscar for Music by Prudence, is about gays in Uganda, being persecuted by in a lot of cases American Christians. That’s just a really important film. And Lunarcy, which we love, is about people obsessed with the moon and that played at South By Southwest.

We’re doing three different films this year that are about war. Which Way Is the Front Line From Here? is about Tim Hetherington, the war corespondent who was killed in Libya in 2011. Manhunt is about the hunt for Bin Laden. And Dirty War is about secret U.S. forces and drones in Yemen and other countries that we’re not technically at war with. Those films I think are saying a lot about what America’s role is in the world right now which is so complicated.

And then, of course , we have films about climate solutions. We’re showing Pandora’s Promise. I think a lot of people will be talking about that and nuclear power. We have a film called the Last Ocean, about the raw sea, which is quite beautiful. Black Fish which is about a killer orca at Sea World.

And then Gasland 2. I think it’s a really important film. It’s the sequel to Gasland, which just premiered at Tribeca. Josh Fox will be here. We’re at a pivotal time in this country, and this film is about how we get our energy. I think looking from a climate-solutions perspective, it’s really important that we consider everything, but it’s also important that we don’t do everything. A lot of these film are trying to say, there’s a way to do this right and there’s a way to it wrong. Tearing up a whole lot of our landscape to pull fossil fuels out of the ground in some really rough ways may not be the best way to go about this. And I think a film like Gasland 2 really looks at some of the real both environmental and human costs of this.

There are films that, again, I think people won’t necessarily think of right off the bat as “Mountainfilms.” There’s a film called Tiny about people who live in really small houses. We’re playing a film that’s really neat called X-Mas Without China. It’s a young Chinese American who starts asking his neighbors if they would try and have Christmas without buying anything Chinese. Yeah, it doesn’t leave you with a lot of options.

I think all these things are tied together. Whether it’s extraction or consumerism, these are all different kinds of adventures, and I think we’re really open to that at Mountainfilm. We look at each film and say: “Are these people striving to do something that’s different and unlike anybody else?” Just turn your head any-which-way at Mountainfilm and you’re going to find people who are.

J.M.: How has MountainFilm changed in the last 35 years to become what it is today?

D.H.: In a lot of ways I think it’s changed dramatically and in a lot ways I think it hasn’t changed at all. Where we started with alpinists and climbers, people who like to get away, they went to farthest reaches of this planet over the 35 years of our existence. If you asked people like David Breashears and Conrad Anker they would say those Himalayas that they’ve been going to for a long are looking different and that’s because of climate change. And what I like about those guys and lot of our people is they’re well aware. Yes, climbing is important to them, but they’re well aware of the real crises that we’re facing, whether it’s population or climate or water or food. They’re bringing an extra level of expertise and so I think it goes hand in hand with what the original vision was for MountainFilm that we’ve expanded.

I think there’s sometimes when we’ll see a film that’s a stretch and we have to say no because it’s too much of a stretch. But there are a lot of times when we say our audience is used to being stretched at this point and they’re psyched to see a film like Life According to Sam, which is just so beautiful. And in the end a kid like Sam embodies what our tag is about which is celebrating the indomitable spirit and I look at that as a real measure for whether or not a film should be in. It’s celebrates this and that’s important.

The Joy Trip Project is made possible with the support of sponsors Patagonia, Rayovac, and the New Belgium Brewing Company.

Ultra trail runner Rory Bosio in southern Iceland’s Lakagígar lava fields; Photograph by Tim Kemple

Anyone who has picked up a camera has heard of  the “magic hour.”  It’s that perfect, golden light that appears an hour after sunrise and an hour before sunset that landscape photographers, in particular, fall over themselves to use to capture iconic scenes across the globe. Think Yosemite, Delicate Arch, Santorini, and the likes. And while I’ve been known to wake up early to catch those early morning rays that create such beautiful depth, shooting at “magic hour” isn’t my favorite time to shoot at all. It’s safe, predictable, and expected. I loathe all of those words—what photographer wants his images being described as “expected”?

That’s why my favorite time to shoot is on stormy days.

I have a host of reasons why I love shooting on days when it’s raining, snowing, windy, or about to storm. Here are a few of them:

• Landscapes come alive after a good rain or snow.
• Clouds, rain, fog, and snow create depth in a landscape that you can’t see on sunny days.
• While sunset light is beautiful, it’s the same day after day. It is predictable.
• Nobody else is around so you have locations to yourself.
• On overcast days, I can control my lighting of the action easier and more freely.

Getting the Shot
In this photo ultra runner Rory Bosio and I were at the Lakagígar (or Laki) lava flows near Vatnajökull National Park, Iceland. We had scouted the location earlier in our trip, but on a sunny day, the landscape felt flat and monochromatic. The moss on the lava fields was more brown than green and the subject would get lost in the complicated background of the scene.

But on the day of our shoot, we rolled up to a popular trailhead and there wasn’t a soul in sight. The rain had kept everyone indoors and we had miles of lava field to ourselves. We were caught in the middle of one of those spring storms that would pour rain and then stop for a couple minutes. The fog was rolling through the background and the waterfalls in the distance were drinking in the fresh supply of water. I was stuck by how vibrant the color of the moss was when the rain would clear and the sun fought to come out.

The flat light made the color of Rory’s pink jacket pop out of the landscape, so it was OK that she was surrounded by moss, instead of having to be above it. I love showing the environment and how different athletes play in their element. So when we were shooting it was important for me to capture the ease with which Rory runs—as well as the fun she seems to have bounding through such and alien landscape.

As a runner and athlete myself, it’s important that when we are shooting the action is as authentic as possible. When shooting running, I like the athletes to get warmed up as best as possible. For trail running, I like to focus on sections of trail that aren’t super technical. This allows the runner to get up to speed and have a natural stride. In this shot I moved as close to the action as I could, without losing part of Rory in the frame.

Knowing that I wanted to shoot a horizontal image, I placed Rory on the right side of the frame so that I could show the trail (where she had run from) on the left and she could then fill the frame on the right. Seeing the skyline, hills in the background, and hints of snow in the distance were also important in capturing the scale and depth of the place.

I shot at a fast shutter speed (1/2000^th of a second) to stop the action at f2 with an iso200. That exposure was under half a stop intentionally to keep as much information in the sky as possible. It was actually raining lightly when this image was captured. I prefocused on the area that she was running through and timed my manual shutter release with her perfect stride.

Being able to capture images like this is a testament to how much our equipment has progressed in the last few years. Unless it’s raining torrentially, I’m not using any special water protection (our cameras can take more than we think), the quality of the higher ISO settings is cleaner than ever before, and the dynamic range in the raw files is capturing more depth in the landscapes. All this makes shooting on those stormy days easier—your personal hardiness becomes the limiting factor. Give it a try, and I suspect an epic snow storm or foggy morning will reveal as much magic as “magic hour.”

This photo was taken with the Olympus Tough TG-2 iHS camera.

Jim Whittaker; Photograph by Cory Richards

See more of Jim Whittaker in this video and portrait gallery. Read more about the state of Mount Everest in the June issue of National Geographic.

The first time I met 84-year-old Jim Whittaker, a giant both in height (6’5″) and spirit, he was literally throwing around the heavy (and sharp) ice ax he used to become the first American to plant a U.S. flag on Mount Everest’s summit. At a small gathering in Salt Lake City, Utah, he challenged that we needed to “get the bastards outside” by educating them and sharing the value of being connected to nature. He raved about his summit partner, Nawang Gombu, “a prince of a man” with whom he was lifelong friends. Each additional encounter with Jim—and there have been as we honor the 50th anniversary of that expedition—has been just as memorable, humorous, and kind spirited.

Expedition Denali Short from Distill Productions, LLC on Vimeo.

I’ve been told it shouldn’t matter. But as one in a handful of black professionals in the outdoor recreation industry, I can’t help being wildly excited. In June the first team of African-American climbers will attempt to reach the summit of Alaska’s Mount McKinley, the tallest peak in North America. Also known as Denali, at 20,328 feet this mountain is literally the highest physical point anyone can achieve in the United States. And as metaphors go, it is the ultimate realization of the dream Martin Luther King Jr. outlined in the 1963 speech that followed his historic march on Washington.

“I have a dream today,” he said, “that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight.”

The Expedition Denali team; Photograph courtesy NOLS

Called Expedition Denali, this climb marks the first time a team made up of black men and women will aspire to stand at the very top of North America. And though many African-American alpinists have reached the summit over the years since it was first climbed in 1913, Expedition Denali is a bold statement meant to inspire a new generation of all races and ethnicities, particularly minority youth, to travel out into the natural world in search of adventure—and join in the movement to help protect it. Organized by the National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) this project aims to encourage under represented members of the population to seek  recreation experiences outdoors as well as career opportunities in service of the environment.

But in our “post-racial” society there are those who believe that initiatives like Expedition Denali are unnecessary and not even noteworthy. After having come so far as nation to rise above our tragic past of racial discrimination and prejudice, many wonder how a climb distinguished by race can be a significant accomplishment in modern mountaineering.

In an effort to help me discover the history of black climbers who had  made it to the summit, a friend posted a query on two climbing website forums: “Does anyone out there know who the first African-American to summit Denali was?”

The discussion, which lasted for several days, was filled with comments from climbers who share a common belief: When it comes to mountaineering race doesn’t matter. And some even questioned the logic of inspiring young people by proving them with role models who share their ethnic heritage. Several respondents asserted that an effort like Expedition Denali was itself racially divisive. But there were at least a few who seem to recognize the central point of the issue.

“In a perfect world it doesn’t matter,” wrote marc801 on RockClimbing.com, “but we are involved in a sport/endeavor that has a severe lack of Afro-ethnicity participants. Look at all those triumphant summit photos over the years of the big peaks with the proud ascentionists and I fear you’ll probably have enough fingers to count the number of Afro-origin climbers in those photos.”

That lack of participation is the problem. It’s not a question of whether or not African-Americans can climb high mountains. What matters is as group we tend not to. And for a variety of different social and cultural reasons the world of mountaineering has been relegated almost exclusively to white men. Without any deliberate effort to prevent blacks and other minorities from becoming involved in the sport,  the number non-white participants is conspicuously low. The organizers of Expedition Denali merely hope to change that by introducing a new narrative into the mix and perhaps redefine what it means to be a climber.

“When you think about the story that mountaineering has been it’s been predominantly white male,” said Expedition Denali team member Erica Wynn. “If a little black girl were to look into mountaineering and hear that single story she would probably say I don’t have much of a place there, or the odds are against me. I hope that Expedition Denali and being a part of this helps to change that story.”

This initiative aims to demonstrate that despite so few current participants people of color do indeed have a place in this world of adventure. Upon their successful return from Denali each of the team members will go back to their respective communities across the country and share that message of inclusion. Connecting directly with young people of color in particular the Expedition Denali team will serve as role models who share many of the same life experiences and aspirations for the future. This national outreach initiative will include the distribution of feature-length documentary film and a non-fiction account of the climb to be published by the Mountaineers Books.

In answer to my query online I discovered that the first African-American to climb Denali was a Boeing engineer from Seattle named Charles M. Crenchaw. Part of the 1964 McKinley Expedition Crenchaw made it to the top of America the same year the Civil Rights Amendment was signed into law. At a time in this country when millions of African-Americans were denied the right vote as well as many other liberties we take for granted one man took it upon himself to fulfill his own dream in the world of climbing. Crenchaw would go on to climb Denali again the following year and through his career he also summited Mount Rainer, Aconcagua and several other notable peaks. He was a member of the Seattle Mountaineers as well as the American Alpine Club having served on the board of each for many years. Crenchaw died in 1998, well regarded by his friends and fellow climbers in Seattle. But with no children of his own he passed away quietly with no one to share his legacy so that future generations might be inspired by not only his courage as a climber but the contributions he made to the mountaineering community as a whole.

The obligation and privilege to share Crenchaw’s story now falls to me. As a journalist and supporter of diversity in outdoor recreation I have the rare opportunity to impart upon aspiring adventurers young and old the knowledge that they are part of a great tradition of mountaineering that continues through this day. Expedition Denali is the next chapter in an ongoing story that truly matters.

Learn more about Expedition Denali and their Kickstarter fund.

The Joy Trip Project is made possible with the support sponsors Patagonia, Rayovac and the New Belgium Brewing Company

A cold, dark winter subsides as the days grow longer and the sun’s rays intensify. The inevitable change in seasons triggers an innate response in all living creatures—bears awake from hibernation, birds take flight, and fish swim upstream. Migration is a matter of survival for certain animal species while select humans prefer to make it a way of life.

Haines, Alaska; Photograph by Will Wissman

When the snow melts in the Lower 48, passionate skiers and snowboarders travel northward in search of cold, deep snow. Instinct and passion supersede rational thoughts. I know this because, as a commercial fisherman in Alaska, I have followed my own migration for 32 years. My livelihood depends on spontaneous decisions based on intuition and ever-changing conditions. Chasing large schools of fish into the Bering Sea during a violent Pacific storm challenges conventional wisdom, but I have always believed in chasing my dreams.

Skier Hayden Price in Haines, Alaska; Photograph by Will Wissman

Similarly I recognize and admire the dedication amongst the team of skiers and snowboarders that have been chasing their dreams along the Powder Highway this winter.

For the past two months, I have following this nomadic tribe of mountain people, recognizing familiar faces likes Reggie and Zach Crist along with Wyatt and Yancy Caldwell as well as Lynsey Dyer, Lexi Dupont, Jamey Parks, Leo Ahrens, Colter Hinchcliff. There are even a few new names I have yet to meet including Jacqui Edgerly, Hayden Price, and Sam Cohen. It seems that their travel plans and destinations are always changing, but as the season progresses I know they will eventually migrate northward to Haines, the frontier of Alaska heli-skiing where the road ends and the ocean and the mountains collide.

Sam Cohen in Haines, Alaska; Photograph by Will Wissman

Some team members arrive by airplane while others travel by ferry, car, and even a motorcycle.  One by one, each person finds his or her  way up the Funny Farm driveway, reunited at our beautiful three-story lodge that everyone affectionately calls home.

Erradic pieces from a complicated and diverse puzzle, we are all part of the same clan, a family that looks after one another. This was made clear to me four years ago when I was diagnosed with cancer and Reggie Crist organized a benefit to raise money for my treatments. Eddie Bauer matched the proceeds raised on that night.

Our tribe is many, including Nick and Kami Trimble, owners of the Fort Seward Lodge, along with the entire SEABA guide staff lead by Scott Sundberg. Collectively we work together to preserve and strengthen the annual migration knowing full well that as one season ends another begins.

Yancy Caldwell in Haines, Alaska; Photograph by Will Wissman

About the Powder Highway Road Trip
There is nothing like a good road trip to set the mind free. “Hitting the open road in search of adventure is a part of the American Dream,” said Pat Bauman, an original member of the K2 Performers. In the early 1970s, Bauman teamed up with local Sun Valley skiers—John Clendenin, Charley McWilliams, Jim Stelling—to tour the country in a flashy, red-white-and-blue motor home with the intent of showing people just how much fun it can be to strap a pair of skis to your feet. Inspired by this original band of skiers, a new generation of Eddie Bauer guides and athletes start their own road trip and head north into Canada to search for perfect conditions along the infamous Powder Highway.

See previous dispatches >>

Climbers on S Couloir in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado; Photograph by Terry Stonich

The other weekend, I climbed my first couloir. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure what a couloir was. I knew it was a mountain feature—but I figured it was somewhere in the realm of too extreme for me.

I’ve always been intimated by technical mountaineering. So how did I find myself in the backcountry of Rocky Mountain National Park attempting such a thing in late April after a storm dumped more than three feet of snow? Well, I signed up for a mountaineering class to get my butt in gear for my upcoming attempt to climb Mont Blanc in Chamonix, France.

It turns out a couloir is a deep gully on a mountainside—a great training ground. And it was awesome. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it was all peaches and cream and kittens. It was challenging. But that’s the point.

I’m bound to learn a few lessons as I tackle this new hobby.

Lesson #1: You have to deal with what the mountain gives you.

Confession alert: I’m a bit of a fair-weather hiker, biker, camper, skier, whatever. If it looks like it’s going to rain, be freezing, or blow a gale, I’d rather not go. But when you sign up for a mountaineering class (or a mountain climb), you have to suck it up. It’s going to get uncomfortable at times.

When we started out, the wind was howling. We were snowshoeing into 50 mpg gusts that nearly knocked me off my feet. The wind chill made it feel like the South Pole. “Get over it, “ I said. “You are not going to wimp out just because of a little wind.”

Lesson #2: Be prepared to not achieve your objective. But don’t give up too soon.

Given the wind, our guides warned us that we might not be able to do the climb. We’d have to wait and see. I have to admit, a few times during the approach, when the wind was hitting me head on and I was freezing, I wondered if I was cut out for this sort of thing. But I told myself to dig deep and stick with it.

Lesson #3: It’s mind over matter in the mountains.

At the base of the climb, I looked up in awe at the craggy slopes surrounding us. “Where are we going,” I asked. The guide pointed toward an impossibly steep slope with so much snow and rock, I couldn’t see how we would ascend it. Then my mental yoga kicked in. I could have gotten really worked up, catapulting to fearful thoughts of what was ahead. Instead, I chose to take one moment, one breath, one step at a time. All I did was think about putting one foot in front of another. It’s a pretty good lesson for just about anything in life.

Lesson #4: It’s really hard to pee on the side of a steep slope wearing a harness—with guys around.

When it was time to take off our snowshoes, we stomped out a platform on the steep slope and took a rest. I can’t say it was relaxing. I was filled with nervous energy. The wind tossed clouds of snow into our faces. And I had to pee—out in the open, on a slope, in the freezing cold, with four guys standing right next to me. And I was wearing a harness. To say it was awkward is putting it mildly.

I shimmied my way to one end of the group. The harness made it exceedingly difficult to drop my drawers. The pack on my back threw me off balance. And the wind whipped snow in my mouth and threatened to blow you know what all over the place. Suffice to say, it made me want to intentionally dehydrate myself in order to avoid having to do it again. Although that would be stupid. Dehydration and mountaineering don’t get along.

Lesson #5: Mountains bring you into the moment.

Then the going got serious. Thank goodness for my ice axe. I never knew how handy it could be. As we climbed, the gully steepened, the rocks closed in on either side, and I felt like I was living and breathing the mountain. I became part of the couloir. I felt so alive and immersed in the moment. Kick, step, ice axe, rest. Kick, step, ice axe, rest. I could think of nothing but the objective before me. What a way to clear the head!

Lesson #6: When the going gets tough, your soul starts to sing.

When the terrain became more exposed, we roped up. There were a few places where we had to go on belay and use protection while we navigated dicey terrain. In one particularly perplexing spot, the guide really had to think about how to crawl around a rock outcropping surrounded by super soft snow. He disappeared around the corner in front of me and placed an anchor into the rock. I stepped out over a big snow bank and tried to dig in my feet, my hands, and my ice axe. Nothing would grab. The slope dropped at a 60-degree angle. I felt vulnerable and exposed. I could have frozen in fear, but instead, I reached for inner strength and mental calm and carefully picked my way to safety, confident that if I fell, one of my climbing partners would catch me.

Just a little bit farther, we topped out on flat ground. What a rush! I felt such a satisfying, exhilarating feeling of accomplishment as I peered down the steep gully and took in the sweeping mountain vista around me.

Lesson #7: The thrill of accomplishment makes it all worthwhile.

The day was amazing, exciting, uncomfortable, tiring, and inspiring. I had to get up before dawn, fumble with a bunch of unfamiliar equipment, push myself physically and mentally, face adversity, dig deep for courage, and place my trust in a guide I barely knew. In the end, I discovered that not only can I accomplish something challenging that I’ve never tried before, I can have a lot of fun doing it.

I set my sights on Mont Blanc to learn something new—and I don’t just mean mountaineering. I want to learn more about myself—how do I cope with this sort of risk and danger? Do I have what it takes to endure physical discomfort in pursuit of a goal? I’ve always been adventurous. But can I push myself a little harder and a little farther, put myself in a scary situation, and come out the other side stronger, more confident, and empowered?

Something tells me I can. I’m pretty sure this experience is going to be thrilling, plus a little unnerving. But I have a feeling this journey will take me to new and exciting places in the great outdoors—as well as within my own heart. What adventure are you going to undertake this year?

Avery Stonich is communications manager for Outdoor Industry Association. Follow us on Twitter: @OIA and @averystonich.

“He wasn’t just naked on camera,” said director Fitz Cahall as he accepted the award. Cahall and his team did a masterful edit of 20-plus hours of footage to create an intimate portrait of Dempster, a two-time winner of climbing’s prestigious Piolets d’Or award. Seamlessly woven into a riveting narrative from head-mounted camera shots, the movie follows his bicycle and mountaineering trek through the former Soviet Union nation of Kyrgyzstan. Cold, wet, miserable, full of fear, joyful, and never so glad to be alive, Dempster leads the audience on a roller-coaster ride of emotion that’s thrilling to watch because it’s so raw and real. “We fell in love with him,” said Cahall.

These graphic portrayals of adventurers in action are the soul of the 5Point Experience. Captured on film and displayed in pure expressions of ecstasy on mountain bikes, skis, kayaks, running shoes and horseback these stories inspire members of the audience to look within themselves and seek out adventures of their own.

Cascada, winner of the prize for Best Cinematography, transports the audience along a whitewater highway through a Mexican jungle. Narrated and directed by filmmaker Anson Fogel, the movie opens the mind to infinite possibilities as paddlers charge their boats over roaring waterfalls into a churning abyss hundreds of feet below.

“I look around and see everyone doing precisely what they love to do,” Fogel says in the film. “Athletes, artists, the line between to two is gone now. Every moment, each day is perfect.”

But the human spirit is charged not just with adrenalin. Often viewers are made to experience the agonizing loss of each main character as they struggle through the quite desperation of failure. Fogel took an additional prize for Creative Excellence in the film Death of the Bar T. Without a word of dialog the story of an old rancher unfolds in a dazzling display of imagery that illustrates the hard and precarious life of men and women of the West who work the land. Under foreclosure by the bank generations of hopes and dreams are stripped away to leave the rancher and the audience with an uncertain future and an ambiguous ending that literally goes up in flames.

True to the 5Point experience each film carries with it an element of triumph no matter how dire the circumstances. Winner of the Most Inspiring award, All That I Am, tells the story of disabled athlete Aaron Baker. After a devastating motorcycle accident leaves him a quadriplegic, Baker defies the odds to reclaim his life and become a competitive cyclist.

“It’s the culmination of a lot of the blood sweat, fears, and tears, literally. Rebuilding my body, redefining myself from complete paralysis,” he says in the film. “I’ve never been happier in my entire life than right now.”

That struggle against the hurdles life throws in our path can be made to define who we are in life or help us to reveal the person we most want to become. And when we choose the road less traveled we consciously decide to put our very existence to the test.

The film Crossing the Ice set two Australian adventurers on the path to ski unsupported from the edge of Antarctica to the South Pole and back. Hoping to become the first to achieve such an amazing feat covering more than 1,400 miles the main characters Cas and Jonesy suddenly find themselves facing an even greater challenge as they’re plunged into a race to the bottom of the world with the more experienced Norwegian explorer Alex Gamme. Taking the prize for Spirit of Adventure as well as the People’s Choice award “Crossing The Ice” is a marvel of human endurance, perseverance and sportsmanship.

In a four-day program of more than 40 films 5Point is truly an experience to enrapture both the mind and spirit. Captivated by characters, each more sympathetic than the last, the audience can’t help but see something of themselves in every story. Curated with the diabolic intention to thump the heart and the lift soul this year’s collection of films is a testament to the unquenchable human desire to dream big, travel far and aspire well beyond our vision.

The Joy Trip Project is made possible with the support sponsors Patagonia, Rayovac and the New Belgium Brewing Company

Fast forward 50 years and the magnificent peak still captures the imagination of the world, but much has changed in our human presence there. We had the opportunity to ask the people who know Everest best—current climbers and guides, sages from the 1963 American team, and members of the Sherpa community—for their candid thoughts on the state of the rooftop of the world.

Featuring
Conrad Anker
Melissa Arnot
Brent Bishop
Dave Dingman
Norman Dyhrenfurth
Tom Hornbein
Dave Morton
Norbu Tenzing Norgay
Cory Richards
Mingmar Dorgi Sherpa
Jim Whittaker

We will continue to explore the state of Everest. Writer and climber Mark Jenkins‘s full feature story will appear in the June 2013 edition of National Geographic magazine.

A special thanks to the American Alpine Club for their support of this project.

Heredia-Cypresal-Volcán Barva-Vara Blanca-Poasito-Heredia 80 kilometers; Photograph by Zero Kelvin/Tico, Flickr

“I forgot to pack my underwear, but I brought a headlamp!” said Winnie.

By now we had known each other five days. We were in a remote, Costa Rican jungle and I couldn’t help but laugh at my new Swedish friend and expedition mate. Her parents named her after the loveable children’s character and bear, Winnie-the-Pooh. It was appropriate.  Adventurous souls have the perfect mix of Pooh-like characteristics—loving life and appreciating their surroundings—along with enthusiasm modeled after the tiger character Tigger, who has bounce in his step and sees the best in every situation.

When I had a week and a half off, and Costa Rica seemed like a good option. So did a did a Google for a unique experience that would allow me to see the country away from the big cities and beach resorts. I found Coast-to-Coast Adventures and their signature 12-day Coast-to-Coast trip that traverses Costa Rica, 234 kilometers (145 miles), from the Pacific to the Atlantic Coasts, all by hiking, mountain biking, rafting, and kayaking. The actual physical adventure would take just eight days, with a few days on each end of the trip for rendezvous, rest, and travel. Further, Coast-to-Coast Adventures provided the bikes, rafts, kayaks, guides, food, and handled the logistics. All I had to do was show up with a sleeping bag, sleeping pad and move. Awesome!

Our small expedition team included me, Winnie, our four teammates–a pair of Canadians and Norwegians–and two friendly, knowledgeable guides, Maurice and Juan Carlos. Each of us had varying levels of experience hiking, mountain biking, and kayaking. Our ages ranged from 34 to 58 years young.

The 234-kilometer Coast-to-Coast Adventure is rated as this company’s most difficult and physically challenging trip. I quickly learned that they were not kidding.  It is not hard in the ‘technical’ sense, but you need to be in good physical condition and know how to ride a bike.

Day 1 – Mount Up

It is on the Pacific Coast, in the town of Quepos, next to the popular resort town of Manuel Antonio, we started our coast-to-coast adventure.   On mountain bikes, we cycled paved roads out of the little bustling town and onto a single-track dirt road, surrounded by lush, green forest.  After 25km (16 miles) and lunch by a beautiful waterfall, our bikes were loaded onto a support vehicle.  The afternoon was spent trekking 14km (9 miles) up 800 meters (2,600 feet) through backcountry, over a ridge and then down into a picturesque valley where we camped in tents on the village soccer field in Naranjillo.

Days 2 – We Climb

The next day, we hiked out of Naranjillo and up “Cemetery Hill,” a steep and strenuous 13km (8 miles) ascent up another 800 meters to an elevation of 1,600m (5,200 feet).   It was a great leg workout.  Our support vehicle magically appeared over the hill along with our bikes and a bountiful picnic lunch of chicken, tortillas and fresh fruit.  That afternoon we cycled on paved roads to the small town of Santa Maria where we spent the night in cozy bungalows with Wi-Fi!

Days 3 & 4 – Up & Over the Continental Divide

Over the next couple days we rode, and for some of us this included pushing and carrying, our mountain bikes 100km (62 miles), up and over the continental divide, the Talamanca and Central mountain ranges.  We traveled through the beautiful Orosi Valley, lush coffee fields, and forest into the Reventazon Valley, sugarcane plantations and over the Pejibaye River into Turrialba.  At night we camped in parks.

Unlike the rest of our group, Winnie and I lacked true mountain biking experience and because of this, some sections in this adventure were really hard.  We knew how to ride a bike, but climbing up steep mountain inclines to an elevation of 2,400 meters (7,900 feet) and navigating off-road, dusty, hole-riddled declines, (we affectionately dubbed, ‘vertical death descents’) well, turns out those variables make a difference.  For the other members of our group, it was mountain biking heaven.

I fell twice and Winnie once.  By the time we made it to Turrialba we had varying degrees of abrasions on our knees, hands, elbows and shoulders.  In the towns, when anyone asked about them, we said they were the result of a ‘jaguar attack.’ It sounded way cooler.

We did not quit.  Thanks to our sheer stubbornness and patient guides we got through it. They kept us motivated and laughing all the way.

Days 5 & 6 – To the River & Rest

Thankfully, the last day on our mountain bikes was only 25km (16 miles) on paved roads going downhill to La Cruz, the whitewater rafting “put in” on the Pacuare River.  I gladly turned in my bike for an oar and lifejacket.

No rest for the weary, the big, blue raft was launched into raging class III and IV rapids. People have died in these intense waters and everyone stayed alert.  By afternoon we reach the banks of El Nido del Tigre (Tiger’s Nest) and our home for the next two days.

The Tiger’s Nest is a remote jungle oasis, owned by the adventure travel company.  Platform tents with cozy, foam mattresses line the riverbank and an impressive open, two-story hut sits in the middle of the property and its manicured lawns.  The hut has a kitchen and dining area on the bottom and a ‘lounge’ area with hammocks, couch, chairs and board games up top.  Walkways link the tents to the common area and to the clean, open, yet private, toilets and showers.

In the past five days, we had hiked 27km (17 miles) mostly uphill, and cycled 180km (112 miles). We spent our downtime hiking, reading, sleeping or lounging in hammocks trading stories.   It was here I found myself explaining to Winnie the American term ‘going commando’ (without underwear).

Day 7 – We Raft

Our last day on the raft was filled with intermittent class II-IV whitewater rapids surrounded by trees, monkeys, birds and waterfalls.  We landed the raft in Finca Pacuarito and hiked through banana plantation to our last campsite.

Day 8 – Kayaking to Sweet, Salty, Success

It rained throughout the night and into the morning.   It made for a great sleep. At 6am, wet, excited and paired up on kayaks with packed lunches and snacks we paddled the last part of the Pacuare River to the Caribbean Sea. Six and a half hours, sore arms and 40km (25 miles) later, we heard the sweet sound of crashing waves and saw the ocean. We did it!

Some say that where a river and ocean transition, it is a spiritual place.  It felt magical.   Maybe it was just the rewarding sense of accomplishment. We crossed Costa Rica, in actuality going 258-kilometers (160-miles), all by our own physical power.  The distance difference didn’t matter. On this isolated beach, just south of Caño Blanco, we hugged, cheered and celebrated with champagne!

Established in 1996 by Canadian Mike Laplevic, Coast-to-Coast Adventures is based in San Jose, Costa Rica.  Twenty dedicated employees design, organize and run multi-activity travel within Costa Rica, Panama and nearby Nicaragua.  Their goal is to assist adventurers in exceeding their expectations while connecting with nature and the elements.  For more information: www.ctocadventures.com

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