Humans understand time. We didn't invent it, and we can't control it, but our sense of it is innate. Our first connection is at birth. We become more aware with age and experience, figuring out what to do with time. We mark it with a birthday, once a year seeing ourselves age. Perhaps there's a point where we realize how insignificant human time is. This becomes particularly obvious when we view time geologically or astronomically. Through this prism,replicas relojes we become ever more aware of how precious each moment is. Eventually, we will cease to exist, and the carbon that is our body will repurpose itself on a journey that began 4.54 billion years ago. What we do with the time we are given is life's big question.
The "time of your life" is an affirmative saying reflecting our happiness at a given moment. These personal moments, shared and affirmed, are what we live for. Family time, community gatherings, sporting events, graduations, and vacations are all sweet spots that could constitute the "time of your life." My own special moments revolve around being outdoors, specifically climbing mountains. Wild places build teamwork and camaraderie, a human connection that's amplified by the natural setting. This basic quest has led me to a life in the mountains.
My father's family is from Tuolumne County, California. The Sierra Nevada and Yosemite National Park were just up the road from my grandparents' ranch and café. Sleeping under the stars as a child, after a day exploring meadows and rock gardens, drew my imagination to the greater ranges of the world. In 1963, a year after I was born, a team from the United States climbed Mt. Everest (Chomolungma) in Nepal. The ascent of the West Ridge by Tom Hornbein and Willi Unseold was such a momentous achievement that my dad, at age 33, hung the poster up in the household den. In turn, climbing books and atlases were the basis for adventures that showed up every month in the yellow rectangle of the National Geographic Magazine. These narratives my parents had around the house fueled my imagination. While other kids wanted to be an astronaut, I aspired to climb. At 14, I tied into a rope and instantly realized there was no plan B. I was going to do this.
I've spent the past 34 years in the mountains. The sport's various disciplines have offered countless opportunities to refine my craft – ascending the most improbable places on Earth. New routes in Zion and Yosemite (Streaked Wall and Continental Drift) provided a foundation of wall climbing, where I could cover technical ground and camp out. Ice climbing, the pursuit of seasonally frozen waterfalls (like the Extreme Comfort route in the Stanley Headwall) pushed me to cover changeable ground in hand-numbing temperatures. The glaciers and fierce weather of Alaska (Kichatna Spires 2x, Hunter, Denali 5x) and Patagonia (Badlands, Torre Egger) tempered my fair-weather skill. All of these experiences culminated in my ascent of the Shark's Fin on Meru, a peak in the Garwhal Himalaya – my friend Jimmy Chin made a movie about that one. The elation of the summit is always overshadowed by death, the omnipresent force that makes climbing real. After the trials of hardship that we choose to pursue, our friends and climbing partners become ever closer. We return from the mountains humbled by our weakness and in awe of the incredible beauty and power of these extreme landscapes. We see the precious value of life, this diamond of experience that we polish with gravity. We see the value of time.
Given all of the above, for decades I felt a pull to Everest. The altitude was a mystery, the one final layer of difficulty to the puzzle of climbing. Everest was my dream, a mountain that took 22 years to reach. In 1999, at age 36, as part of the Mallory and Irvine Research Expedition on Mt. Everest, I discovered the body of late pioneer climber George Mallory. In 2007, as part of biographical film on Mallory, I free-climbed the Second Step, at an altitude of 8,610 meters. And in 2012, I was the leader of a National Geographic expedition to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the 1963 United States team, summiting without supplemental oxygen. Please allow me to share a little more about this last climb – and how my choice of timepieces reflects how I look at time from two different perspectives.
In 1963, the world was pretty much analog. A climbing watch's highest attributes were durability and ease of maintenance. In the years to come, functionality improved at exponential rates, and digital timepieces eventually got so good – complete with alarms, altimeter, route tracking, heart rate function, text and email functions – that one might've wondered, "Why bother with an analog watch at all?" Especially on an expedition where every ounce of gear is so precious. But when I made my ascent in 2012, I carried both.
In the mountains, time shifts and splits. There's one kind of time below base camp, and then a very different kind of time on the peak. Climbing in the Himalaya includes a long approach up from the Khumbu Valley, and on that approach, you interact with the people who live in the shadows of these great peaks. They all have their own perspective on time – or, rather, multiple perspectives.replicas rolex When I ask my friends in Nepal the distance to a place, their reply is in qualified hours. Do I mean average pace, tourist pace, youth pace, or yak pace?
Once you understand these multiple realities, it all makes sense. Time below base camp is relaxing. Patient. If you ask someone in a teahouse for the time, they might glance at a watch and say, "quarter till eleven," as they would anywhere else. Once the climb begins in earnest, when I've switched trekking boots for mountain boots, the rules change and so does my timepiece. The terrain is unforgiving, and a slip can accelerate into a fall. Time becomes both more abstract and more real. Minutes and even seconds can be the difference between life and death.
Nothing makes this more real than the Khumbu Ice Fall, a stretch in the upper reaches of Everest that magnifies human insignificance. In a short distance, glacier ice cracks, topples, and solidifies in a cycle that is not conducive to human travel. It is the deadliest stretch of Everest, one where luck overshadows skill and ability. The best way to climb this is probably to be oblivious to the dangers. The greater your experience and the depth of your understanding of the lethal force of ice, the greater your fear. If you have no idea of the potential danger, the ice fall is a nice walk in a deep blue maze. Either way, it's a rite of passage that steels one for the summit. Under these conditions, the myriad computer functions of a digital timepiece come in handy.
On my approach to Everest in 2012, I wore a Nixon analog watch, all black. My kids helped me pick it out. The heavy compact face was a break from the ultra-slim Skagen watch I had been wearing a few years earlier. I figured going to Everest required a sturdy watch. Plus, watches make great gifts – and are tradeable for food. The approach for Everest takes 3 -12 days, depending on your level of fitness and acclimatization. I enjoy the slow approach, a moderate hike each morning followed by lunch and a side hike. The days spent getting your "mountain legs" under you pay off later on the climb. Once we began the climb, I switched to a Suunto altimeter watch. My analog watch would take a spot next to the radio repeater. Whoever was at the station, monitoring the team on the mountain, had a backup clock.
On a personal level, switching out my watch meant moving between the horizontal world and the vertical one. For the high-altitude climber, a device that can measure elevation and barometric pressure – and that has a robust alarm – is a starting point. If you've ever struggled with a heavy pack, you know that catching it on your wrist is a poor use of effort (plus, gloves fit better without a watch, and the pulse point that keeps your fingers warm has one less object to heat up), so instead, I used ribbon to create a lanyard that rested on my sternum. By hanging the device in my tent a few feet above my head during periods of rest, I had a way to make sure I heard my alarm. At the end of the 2012 expedition, I climbed Everest without supplemental oxygen – but with my altimeter watch.
Success on Everest is a culmination of experience, technique, tools, and luck. One of my favorite tools is the watch. Humble in size, reliable in nature. And confidence-inspiring in so many areas. In 2012, both watches kept me in good form – a gentle and constant reminder that time is the basis for all experiences. Experiences provide knowledge and memories. And knowledge and memories make for the time of your life.
Conrad Anker is one of the world's most decorated climbers, with a lifetime of experience on peaks from Antarctica to Zion.replicas relojes He led the North Face athlete team for 26 years, co-authored the 1999 book The Lost Explorer, and starred in the 2015 documentary Meru. He lives in Montana.
Comments
Post a Comment