2008 Newsletters
Spread Some Holiday Cheer With One Of Erik's Books
Dec 11th, 2008
Hans Florine in an amazing Tyrolean Traverse to reach the summit of Carstenz Pyramid with Erik.
Greetings and Happy Holidays from Erik Weihenmayer and the HighSights team. As you are thinking about holiday gifts for your family, friends or team, we ask that you consider one of Erik's books. Touch the Top of the World and The Adversity Advantage. Both explore how to face obstacles head on and emerge, not just as a survivor, but with more innovation, focus, determination, and with a clearer sense of our own purpose in life. These messages are especially relevant as our nation faces tough economic times. For more information on how to order, please visit Erik's website www.touchthetop.com or contact ben@touchthetop.com, or call 303-903-8824.
Read Two Short Excerpts
The following excerpt is taken from Erik's second book, The Adversity Advantage.
Positive Pessimisms
My friend and climbing partner, Chris Morris, is famous for a little trick he uses to deal with suffering. He calls it "positive pessimism."
On Aconcagua, I had just struggled to the 22,841-foot summit. I was barely hanging in there. Chris gave me a big hug and croaked, "Big E, you may be blind . . . but at least you're slow!" As hammered as I was, I laughed and shot back with, "Chris, you're not the nicest guy in the world . . . but at least you're stupid."
I have seen people use positive pessimism in all aspects of life. Once a guy was hiking with me in Colorado and was struggling to keep the pace. From behind me I heard him say, "I may be fat . . . but at least I'm old."
How about a well placed positive pessimism in the office? "I'm going into a three hour meeting . . . but at least I didn't have time to eat lunch." Or: "We didn't get that big account . . . but at least our stock price went down." At home, try this one: "Honey we're on a real tight budget . . . but at least our heating bill doubled." Or: "We may be moving into a smaller house . . . but at least your mother is coming to live with us."
*****
In the following excerpt from Touch the Top of the World, Erik recounts his 1989 trip with his father and brothers, Mark and Eddi, to the rainforests of West Papua. Erik returned this past August to the same region on a successful expedition to Carstensz Pyramid, often called the "Eighth Summit." Until the 1960's, the local tribesmen practiced ritualized cannibalism.
Flailing to Independence
One day we had been traveling over a rolling trail on which the topsoil had been washed away by the spring rains. The trail now consisted of exposed roots with radically different shapes and sizes, jutting out at different angles, all slippery with rain. At least twenty times an hour, I would take a step and slip several feet through the network of roots, landing on the uneven forest floor or squishing knee deep in mud. Only occasionally would I land squarely on my feet. Usually, my twisting flailing body, trying desperately to recover, would crash down, perhaps a foot touching first but then knees and shins, and sometimes elbows. I was scraped and gashed from ankles to thighs, and my arms weren't much better.
The Yali hunters we encountered along the way, who ran across sharp rocks in their bare feet and climbed seventy-five-foot trees as quickly as a panther, must have puzzled over this young blind foreigner clumsily stumbling and crashing down the rough trail...
An hour later Mark and I realized at our present slow pace, we would not make it into camp before dark. Mark asked our guide, Rudy, "Any problem with hiking in the dark?"
"Panthers hunt at night," he responded. "I will help." He blew into a horn and the deep sound echoed through the jungle. Soon, Yali porters were running up the trail toward us. I felt like I was in a Tarzan movie. They took out knives and began cutting down small bamboo trees and lashing large elephant leaves and vines through them. Before long, they had erected a makeshift hammock. "They want me to get in that thing?" I laughed in shock. "They might drop me." Rudy translated my concern and a Yali replied, "He will be easy to carry. He is much lighter than a large sack of yams."
As the Yali team lifted me up on their shoulders and began to chatter back and forth in high, quick voices, Mark said, "Erik, I'm serious. These aren't our guides. I don't recognize a single one."
"Come on, Mark," I pleaded, "I know you're just joking around."
"These guys are total strangers," Mark insisted, allowing his voice to grow frantic. "I think this was all a ploy to get you tied up."
"Shut up, jerk!" I shot back, trying unsuccessfully to free my arms from the tightly lashed vines.
As the Yali began running with me on their shoulders, Mark called out behind me, "As long as I live, I won't forget you, little brother." From my hammock, I could feel we were flying at breakneck speed over the treacherous trail. Many times I heard crashing, foaming rivers churning below and knew they were carrying me over slippery tree-limb bridges. Please don't let them drop me, especially in the crocodile-infested river, I thought. Mark scampered along behind us, barely keeping up, snapping pictures and singing a parody to "She'll be Coming Round the Mountain." His version went, "They'll be carrying him over the mountain, when he comes."
A few days later, as we approached Angarook, horns blared and villagers ran hours from far distant places to gather under a large thatched roof, two hundred people in all. The women sat on one side, clad only in their grass "flaps"; their children beside them, bellies extended by undernourishment and disease. The men sat opposite, bedecked only in penis gourds, some a mere eight inches but others a curved, rather exotic three feet. My family, Rudy, and I sat very quietly in the back, wearing shorts and hiking boots, and not knowing at all what to expect. A high priest, brilliantly bedazzled in body paint and with colorful bird feathers in his hair, spoke in local dialect while Rudy translated: "Today we sit proudly with a blind man who has come many days across our mountains. We would never have thought such a journey was possible. The blind people of our villages sit in their huts and weave baskets. Maybe we have something to learn from this blind man. Maybe there is a better way for the blind people of the Yali."
Listening intently to the words, I realized that scrambling over boulder fields and sludging across glaciers took on a greater meaning than I had originally thought. Although I was blind, and probably would be forever, I had the ability to teach those around me, not by my words or my intentions, but by my actions. Afterwards, I smiled sheepishly as the village priest presented me with an honorary penis gourd. It was much longer than I needed.
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