six days in shangri-la
a short story, and a short film
for, my brother
the setup
my brother and i, accompanied by our good friend, left new york city bound for vancouver on a week long vacation. the itinerary was kept hidden in the shadows by our friend who organized it. i knew we were heading north from vancouver to go hiking, and we would be led by an experienced guide. jovial, and ready for campfires and nature walks, we arrived by ferry on vancouver island. we will never be the same again.
the details begin to unfold. we will be living on snow. we will have only the bare essentials to survive. we will have: one t shirt, one long sleeve shirt, one light jacket, one rain shell, one neck warmer, two boxers and three socks. besides the luxurious boxer change, and the di-luxuiorus sock change, these clothes will become like a second skin, unwashed, and unchanged for six days.
no showers. no deodorant, it could attract animals. we will share one roll of single ply toilet paper. we will drink water from the creek. we will be airlifted by helicopter to a location on vancouver island where humans just don’t go. in the history of the world, it is estimated that no more than sixty individuals have ever step foot in the valley we will be camping.
we are not hiking, we are mountaineering.
we are not vacationing, we are surviving.
the valley is known as shangri-la. on day one, as the helicopter puttered through dense fog and treterous mountain terrain, all notions of s’mores and fishing rods had vacated the groupthought. if this snow desert we landed in is truly the paradisiacal shangri-la of lore, then i’m afraid, perhaps, hell hath finally frozen over.
on day one the extreme shock of both our isolation, as well as the vicious weather conditions we encountered from the start, i was left completely unable to even consider something as frivolous as writing in my journal. but as time wore on, i quickly realized the emotions and difficulties overwhelming us need best be recorded.
the following story is my journal from this trip. the entries were not premeditated, were not edited, and at the time of writing, were not even flipped back over, or ever re-read. these are stream of thought entries, where my pen did the talking. the body of immense thought that came about from living in the wild was poured through my brain like a mesh sieve, and collected in the mixing bowl of my little pad.
after the text and photos is a video compilation comprised of more than fifty brief moments from the week long expedition. it’s patchwork will become clear if the journal is read first.
my writing begins with day two.
day two
we’re on the mountain now and again we are quarantined to our tents by a freezing rain storm. thick clouds are sitting on top of us, eliminating site of everything save the immediate area surrounding our base camp. base camp consists of two tents, and an ice cave we shoveled out of a snow bank near the creek. as amazing as it sounds, food--of all things--is of supreme quality, and is probably the one saving grace from making our current situation completely unmanageable. our tents sit atop at least ten to fifteen feet of snow pack. snow is the only ground available in this or any direction for hours on foot.
we used our hunting knives to salvage some branches off avalanche strewn evergreens nearby, and used them to stake out tents into the snow. the six inch stakes that come with the tent would do little to keep us in place on the frozen bedding. we shoveled a small hole next to the door in out tent so that when sitting down and gearing up, we can have our feet down low, knees at ninety degrees.
our food is packed in vacuum seals in exact weights for exactly notated moments. we had to dig a small alcove into a snow bank to bury the food for both refrigeration purposes, as well as keeping away the potential bears and cougars--both of which have little reason to be at this elevation due to the snow and absence of food.
last night’s dinner, our first meal in the mountains, was sprouted grain pasta with bison ragu. local greens with a ginger vinaigrette. i shit you not. all the food was sourced from vancouver island in the days leading up to the trip. without the presence of these g-dly treats, little would make this expedition thus far comfortable--save, of course, the lovely cocoon that is my sleeping bag.
according to our guide, a local expert, no humans have been in this valley since last august. presently, in mid-july, the temperature is dancing somewhere near the freeze point. sleety rain confines us to tent, but once it passes we will begin some basic mountaineering skills necessary for the coming days: walking with an ice ax, walking with crampons (razor sharp cleats for our boots for walking over ice), and what to do if the snow gives out to a slide, or hole.
i should back up to day one.
day one the terrifying. day one the freeze. day one the wake up call. perhaps it need not a cute nickname, but however you slice it, day one was intense like a mother fucker. the four of us climbed into a helicopter on the northern end of vancouver island heading to an unknown destination. thick, brooding, grey skies delayed our departure, but after communicating with some up-mountain loggers, we got the word via radio that a clearing was upon us. into the chopper we climbed, and up into the clouds we ascended. as our pilot points out, fog and snow are of almost identical hue, leaving him almost no reference point for flight. scary, exhilarating, but ultimately successful.
we touched down next to a frozen lake, unloaded the packs, indicated the “all clear” with a thumbs up to the pilot, and watched the chopper bank off into the clouds. as the bird lifted off the air was sucked away, creating a momentary breathless vacuum. and that was it, just us and the mountain. visibility: a hundred or so feet. no way out for six days, and at that point, it will require a half day hike with our entire camp carried on our backs. alpine, to sub alpine, to forest, to civilization. until then we will be completely dependent on each other, and the resources around us, which at times, can feel like nothing.
thankfully, a creek of pristine water flows nearby, and this is where we will camp.
we spent three or so hours shoveling a cave into a twenty foot snow bank. we shoveled benches into the snow to sit on. it’s an ice cave, and as we heat up tea on our tiny burner steam fills our lungs and ice melts down onto our jackets. the caves not much, but it’s ours, and it’s all we got. if not in the tent, or in the cave, it’s nothing but the great frozen wild.
thoughts of fine clothes and nice restaurants have all been wiped clean. all that is important is surviving in these extreme elements we find ourselves thrusted into for the first time in our lives. emotions, thus far, have been as dynamic as the weather. my brothers extremities have remained white and unthawed due to shoddy circulation. he continues to insist we didn’t pack enough layers. time will tell if he’s right.
if only the sun could find the strength to shine down and bathe us in warm light, i think all would be different.
day two stats
- sleep: eleven hours
- breakfast: scrambled local eggs with goat feta, russet potatoes, and peas
- tea: roasted dandelion root
- lunch: a hunk of bread, half an avocado, one plum tomato, one piece of cheese, and some jerky.
- snack: dried fruit and nuts, bison jerkey
- dinner: grassfed beef stew
day three
and the world has changed. g-d, the almighty, jah earth, the mother herself has blessed us with the life giving, soul filling power of the all mighty ra--the sun g-d. she's risen above our world and breathed warm blessings of good feelings on the soggy barrel that is my back.
how can i possibly explain what i'm seeing? i'm surrounded, on all sides, by great billowing mountain tops. from between the endless white of snow stands monstrous, sitting walls of grey stone. grey, of course, is a generalization, as many shades of many colors can be seen. deep reds and rich browns streak through the grey, and a spiderweb of black rocks, pitched dark by the trickle of the melting snow that engulfs it. in fact, in the entire half globe of mountains my eyes can gather as i sit atop this hill and write, no less that five pounding waterfalls are cascading off the near vertical cliffs--slamming not into, but past, a wide assortment of ledges, banks, turns and trees. just as suddenly as they appear from atop their snowy source, they also disappear. gone down into another sea of snowy drift, the waterfalls vanish to the fire blue rivers which run constantly beneath our feet.
we're sitting, and living, and cooking atop several meters of snow pack, which, as this is almost august, are constantly shifting and melting--joining the watery exodus flowing beneath us. water so pure and crystal blue that we would never think twice from falling hands and knees to the ground, and pursing our lips to mecca wherever a small trickle might show its luscious self.
shaded by the great grey ceiling which sits overhead, despite the sun's intermittent presence, the mountains are cast with a dull-lighted mask, muting their appearance. and dancing across its' face, moving as quickly as the clouds oversky, are amorphous slivers and circles of sunlight--the anti-clouds--which squeeze through the weather above wherever possible. these beams of warm light radiate across the mountainscape, bringing a clarified beauty to whatever surface it graces.
and us too, sitting in the valley, and i, upon this hill, sit in cold grey struggle just hoping and waiting in powerful anticipation for it's warm breath to pass over us as well.
and when it does, we become filled with primal joy, stretching with gratitude to the beating heart in the sky. down at base camp, more fundamentally, our tents become warm, and our socks and shirts and jackets begin to steam off three-day-old moisture as they drape across our tent tops and bake in the occasional rays.
we climbed just shy of four hours today--two of them up--one wet snowy step at a time, straight up the mountain--and the last two, spent boot skiing straight down the mountain, with the occasional pull of the e-break, ice ax in thrust. the stiff rubber sole and plastic bodies of our boots enable great feats of footwork down near-vertical climbs. only a sliver of a ledge is sometimes offered as we descend snowless stone pastures.
the ascent, by comparison, is up vertical snow faces. while demanding on the legs, it feels surefooted in comparison to the snowless bouldering of the summit. each step in the snow, one solid kick with the foot, requires unrelenting mindfulness to assure safe moving. two hours straight up the mountain earned us the reward of the summit. a three hundred and sixty degree view of untouched nature. it's crown land here, and it represents her majesty well.
in the distance, the pacific ocean off the west coast reveals its nasty head. it's her, i believe, who's enormous blue canvas can be thanked for the heavy wet cloud which weighs down on our valley.
conditions on days one and two were extreme, and a challenging first step to this journey. sleety rain mocked our jovial expectations of this camping trip and quickly asserted its' control. she's in charge. we get it now. on day three, as our story unfolds, she backs off, acknowledging our tough trial. we and her have come to some sort of understanding--a middle ground. and from here on out, we'll all get along just fine.
if more rain comes, may it come at night, while we rest in our tents--leaving sunshine for some glorious days we hope lie ahead.
as i rise up from writing on this hill, relieving my bum from it's frozen recliner, i thank g-d for our health and ability to enjoy such an adventure. to the east, yet another of the many waterfalls have joined my attention. our guide, lying shirtless on a small sleeping pad. smirks to himself while pronouncing, "life is a mountain." out here, stripped of literally anything we know as regular, my sense of both size and importance have shifted. time has all but vanished. we respond only to nature's dynamic cues, and we're enjoying it all.
day three stats
- sleep: 10 hours
- breakfast: quinoa flakes with dehydrated apple (a typical, super light weight mountaineering staple) and yogurt. turkey salami
- tea: organic peppermint
- lunch: a hunk of bread, half an avocado, one plum tomato, one piece of cheese, and some jerky.
- dinner: pasture chicken stir fry, sprouted rice
day four
what a difficult thing.
eight hours after eating breakfast and leaving the base camp we return--proud, but perhaps a bit wounded. we hiked to the peak of mt. alava--elevation: fifty-one hundred feet. base camp rests around thirty-five hundred feet, but we had to hike down-valley the difference between the two to reach the base of alava, before hiking all fifty-one hundred feet to the summit. step, by breath, by step. one step at a time, fully present. one slip of the foot, or one unsteady glance, could send you tumbling.
in most cases a fall, which surely happens, can be aborted with a belly roll, and a quick stab of the ice ax--always held in the ready position. but sometimes, as the mountain dictates, a sharp ledge or a grouping of boulders could be your nearest stopping, at which point an unfocused step becomes all the more deadly.
we stopped for a break once on the four hour climb. we rested our piston legs for five minutes and shared a ration of dry fruit. all of the food on the trip was carefully portioned and vacuum sealed. it must be eaten on a strict schedule to assure it is all consumed before the last day's climb home. the food continues to amaze me. it was all sourced locally on vancouver island, and its' well tended nutrients are feeding both our bodies as well as our morale.
in a few days, when we leave, we will leave with not a trace behind. and come wednesday, the mountains can return to their epic solitude.
we all appreciated today's fine weather, and when the long absent opportunity to sit back upon some sun-warmed rocks presented itself, we couldn't help but bask in the chance. boot covers (gators), off. boot shells, off. inner boots, off. socks, off. liner socks, off. toes, a stretch and a breath. packs, converted into lounge chairs. it's only a forty minute hike back to camp at this point, and instead of pushing through, we basked on the rock for almost an hour--waiting for a cloud clearing to appear--a sun break.
surrounded by stone cutting waterfalls, endless white gullies, a magnetic blue frozen lake, and of course, the summit of mt. alava, five thousand feet o'er head, seeming impossible despite having just mounted it.
it's near eight pm now, and i lie beaten and achy in my tent, feet like raw meat. even a walk to the bathroom involves booting up, suiting up, marching five minutes through deep snow, traversing across a narrow alley, and digging a hole to relieve myself in. the toilet paper: collected in a small pile and burned to ash.
day four stats
- sleep: 9.5 hours
- breakfast: quinoa flakes and dried apples, yogurt
- tea: ginseng
- lunch: a hunk of bread, half an avocado, one plum tomato, one piece of cheese, and some jerky.
- snack: dried fruit, nuts, and jerky
- dinner: mexican night! sprouted tortillas, grassfed sirloin, lettuce, onions, salsa, quinoa and refried beans
day five
under the guise of a "light walk and a skills session", our untiring leader led us up mountain for yet another full day of rock climbing and snow pounding. after two stunning days in the sun, the heavy wet pacific awakes from its' groggy slumber, filling our valley blind. the highlight of this whiteout trek was an impromptu rock speed climbing competition up a pretty challenging face.
what began as a multi minute ascent was quickly wittled down to two minutes, a minute and a half, forty five seconds, and then eventually the knee-slamming, hand-tearing speed of twenty-one point six seconds up the vertical wall. good fun all around, while also being "bigger picture" representative of the progress we have all made in this short mountain week.
from the greenhorn city slickers we arrived as, to the--well--still pretty green, but also pretty capable mountaineering novices we leave as--with only tomorrow, day six, ahead of us--the long journey down valley to civilization, we can look back and think on what feels like a lifetime of survival and mountain skills. not to mention: two summit peaks, for which notches on our proverbial clubs should be carved.
wet, cold, tired, and invigorated with happiness, we return to base camp for dinner, and one last slumber under the waning moon.
day five stats
- sleep: 8 hours
- breakfast: quinoa flakes and dried apples, yogurt
- tea: chai
- lunch: a hunk of bread, half an avocado, one plum tomato, one piece of cheese, and some jerky.
- snack: dried fruit, nuts, and jerky
- dinner: sprouted pasta, sprouted bean mix, turkey sausage, broccoli, swiss chard, and curry sauce
day six
the last day. we awake, and again winter has taken hold of our valley. as we pack up camp on this july vancouver morning, we're in the midst of a wintry mix as nose chapping and sock drenching as any holiday ski trip i've ever been a part of. only here, in the mountains proper, no après-ski hot rum cider slowly simmer for my return. no hot rub quietly bubbles on idle waiting for the chance to sooth my meat locker muscles. there's nothing. no respite. just us, and the whim of the mountains.
today, as we leave the stone belly of this frigid beast, a wet sleet pounds in the faces of our best efforts, pointing out just how human we really are out here in this environment. six and a half hours later, we'll reach the suv.
parked at the end of an old logging road, awaiting our beaten bodies. the descent down mountain--from alpine, to sub alpine, to forest--traverses three totally distinct ecosystems. it was the most challenging day of the trip. the best for last, i suppose.
packs loading down on our backs, and the rain soaking in, we sojourned down snowy cliffs overhanging crystal lakes. we climbed down rocks slicked by permanent water flow. we bush-whacked through brambles, over fallen trees, and around house-sized boulders. we, two at a time and arms linked, waded three times across a swiftly flowing river--rapids and falls awaiting a misplaced step in our plastic boots.
the final two hours of our walk out, being the "bush-whack" portion just mentioned, required a four-limbed and no-eyed approach down the path. sweeping with the legs--nay, seeing, with the legs!-- and karate chopping with the hands to clear a space for the face, we--amazingly enough-made it through what at times felt like a never-ending endeavor. and now that it's over, six hours down mountain felt more like six days. my appetite has never been more ravenous. as i "double light" the seat warmer on our plush rental suv, thoughts of a finely tuned latte from a friendly barista, and a fat slice of ny pizza are slipping back into my thoughtsphere.
i know the words of this journal will never express what this expedition was truly like, but my hope, is that it can add just a touch of color.
back at the hotel, and all i can think: "we're alive!!!!" regardless of whether or not this exclamation was a guarantee over these past six days--as our lives hung on the knowhow of our guide and the whims of the mountain--the only thing i can think of in my head that i know is true, is that we're alive. no other great epiphany has yet come to me, no greater understanding of our process…simply, we're alive.
day six stats
- sleep: six hours
- breakfast: quinoa flakes and dried apples, yogurt
- tea: peppermint
- lunch: two bagels, jerky, and cheese
- snack: some nuts we had leftover. all the other snacks we're eaten the night before in a late night fit of the munchies in the ice cave.
in retrospect--the flight home
for six days, the only wildlife we encountered in the snow was:
one bee
one ladybug
two seagulls
one ptomlen (spelling? a bird who has evolved feathers on its' feet to withstand the conditions)
and a groping of ice worms (nearly microscopic little things)
the first nation tribes that lived on vancouver island before it was further settled never traveled off the lush coast. therefore, shangri-la, our mountain valley home, is not only void of almost all wildlife, but literally of any human impact or contact whatsoever. despite having traveled to a fair amount of places, i can't say i have ever been to another place that is truly: unbeen.
living on snow and ice will change you very quickly. movement was the key to survival. as our feet turned white with blood loss, our only recourse was to exit the wombs of our sleeping bags and hit the snow for a hike-about (regardless of time or motivation).
thrice daily pots of hot tea were put to the burner, becoming a grounding ritual which helped maintain a thread of sane composure throughout a weave of insanity.
the fascinating thing to us all was the rapid speed at which our bodies and minds adapted to such a foreign existence. on days one and two, as frozen wet misery settled inch deep into our collective psyche, we hardly found it viable to leave the tent, accumulating nearly twenty-four hours of sleeptime in the forty-eight available.
for the first time in our lives, we truly witnessed the exhilaration known by the early sun-worshipping tribes. as those first rays of sun flickered through the stormy ceiling, a light inside us too found a flicker of its' own. looking back on my writing from this window shows a distinct shift in morale. praise the almighty ra.
my perception shifted as often as the weather. mountains that appeared impossible for any man to climb from afar proved toppable with mindful determination. things we took for granted: a roof, climate control, a change of clothes--proved less necessary than, say, blood circulation and electrolytes.
our ice cave, which seemed a terrible attempt at escaping the elements on day one, proved on day five to be a cozy parlor for dinner and a game of dice--yahtzee, mountain rules.
we were so isolated in the desolate snowscape that the smallest signs of life leapt off the page. two seagulls over the lake proved eye catching. and the bee: while sitting about a hundred meters above base camp, where i hiked for some meditation when the sun finally struck on day three, i found myself praying to god--something only nature and death manages to stir inside me. after a prayer, and a thankful message for my love, and my family, a lone bumble bee zoomed by, hovered a few inches off my win/sun/snow burnt nose, and zoomed on off at the exact millisecond i found myself saying "amen".
if it wasn't a sign from a greater power, then we're alone in this universe. the prayer bee-miles from pollen or a hive--seemed as confused to see me, as i her. but i, and perhaps she, was grateful for the fleeting companionship.
perception shifted, too, as we began our descent down mountain. the lifeless alpine abyss gave way to slightly less snow, slightly more water, and our first patches of green things in six days time (save some rugged rock-clinging evergreens). with the first signs of green came the overwhelming smells of life. it was almost as if i had smelt nothing all week--without realizing--and now, in an instant, my sense of smell was regained with a rush. fresh, and green, the air smelt of photosynthesis.
down in the forest, incredible sky scrapers-of-a-tree dominate the landscape--standing at full attention. the circle of life is never more present than the forest. it seems for every towering evergreen o'er head lie another one lying underfoot. trees ten stories tall lie shattered and softened in various stages of decay. some i could stick my fingers into, easily pulling apart the once stout pillars. others, were nothing more than a pile--the bare components of their original selves--almost lying as uniformly as if passed through a commercial wood chipper.
as a farmer, the forests of british columbia are like a fertility dream come true. the self-sufficient, humanless realm was a free lesson in good husbandry. the yin and yang of life and death seamlessly flow from forest floor to tree top, with only the bears and the elk to marvel at its' wonders.
and now, in the present moment, flying forty thousand feet over the country, cruising on a redeye back to jfk, i find myself missing the mountains. missing the climb, and the cold, and the summit. missing the wild. we turned into animals out there.
we ripped food and shared it four ways. we drank from the creek and prayed to the g-ds. our true humanness was expressed in all its' glory. imagine the first explorers traveling westward, pouring their thoughts and fears into leather-bound journals. this week, it was we in those soggy shoes. we were men in new land. we discovered a great many things--things about life, about death, and about the dotted line which barely divides them. life was hard--but sweet--and we won't soon forget that.
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