In Memory Of...

Jonny Copp in Joshua Tree, Photo Mark Reiner

Apres Film Festival, a great local french band

film fest

film fest

How do you honor the people in your life who you lose far too soon? How do you carry on their memory? How do you embody all the things they taught you, showed you, helped you to grow into?

My mind wanders through these questions after a week of climbing with Matt K and his mission to raise awareness and money for Climb For Kids, www.climbforkids.org, in memory of his daughter. While climbing Mont Blanc, AGAIN, isn't my favorite work, the mission, to climb it for a reason was, though still painful!!, rewarding. As Matt delved into his heart, mind, and memory on the summit of Mont Blanc, all the steps that had taken him there, both physically and emtionally, and tears poured from his eyes I had to respect his journey, his mission, and his commitment to honor the memory of his daughter and the journey of his family, and try to help others through raising awareness and funds.

My most recent loss, and I say most recent, because while we live in a life of passion, and passionate people, we embrace a lot of loss as well, was of a close friend and mentor, Jonny Copp. Jonny Copp, Micah Dash, and Wade Johnson were tragically killed in an avalanche in China just a few months ago.

The last time I saw Jonny, he and Micah Dash were living in my semi-demolished new apartment. I had ripped walls out, and doors off, but not started any renovations. Jonny asked if they could crash there. I said sure, but there is no shower and the toilet has no walls, so you might want to get a shower curtain. Ahh and there is not stove. But it fit the bill, it was free 40 square meters of roof, a flushing toilet, running water, a fridge, and a bed in Chamonix.

When I returned from Alaska there was a plastic shower curtain with blue fishies on it, hanging around the toilet. There were a handful of camping stoves set up on the counter, and stuff (mostly mine) piled in every corner. There were thermarests tucked into each corner and a guitar Jonny had found to borrow for the time he was here. My semi-demolished home was full of wine, laughter, and music. The first night I slept there, I remember meandering through conversation with Jonny perched in a corner on the floor, and me tucked cozily in my bed, as lightning flashed in the window and thunder resonated across the glacier perched precariously up the valley above my apartment. We giggled and conspired, our conversation ran deep and wide as it always did with Jonny.

We spoke of the film festival he had created and a vision of brining it to Chamonix. I was thinking small, a few films, Jonny was thinking HUGE as he always did. It scared me the thought of huge.

What if no one comes, what if it fails?
It won't, said Jonny with conviction. If you build it with your heart.

That sort of conviction in his passions, in his dreams was so large it was hard to fathom. I wanted to have a fraction of that sort of confidence. As we started working on the festival, life became too busy, too complicated and my bank account too empty. So I had to step away from working on the festival, sadly.

In the light of hearing of Jonny's death, I realized that the festival had fallen, in part, into my hands. It was up to me to carry on Jonny's spirit, dreams, work, and conviction. So I asked to re-join the team and help to finish one of Jonny's last projects.

With a lot of effort, hard work, time, a bit of red tape, by a handful of amazing people at the Adventure Film office in Boulder Colorado, Dylan Taylor (who joined the team to help make things go), Raphael LaGrange (who was already working with the Festival), the town hall (especially Cathy Meot), Patagonia Europe and USA, and many other locals and seasonaires, we sent off the first film Adventure Film Festival in Chamoinx!!!

Over two nights there were more than 500 attendees, fantastic beer and food served by the MBC (Micro Brassarie de Chaomnix) and the Vert. Paraponting air spectacles performed by the Acro-twins. After parties with local bands and DJ's. And many diverse films watched.

As the festival wrapped up, I was exhausted and satiated. I was left wondering how Jonny juggled so many balls. How he dreamed so large and made them all come true. How he inspired people into action and motion and life. And I was sadened to have lost him. But only in body, not in spirit, or action.

So, I guess, in conclusion to my own questions, how do you honor the memory of someone, you act through their inspiration and through that you keep their spirit and essence alive eternally.

So...I hope to see you all next year at the 2nd ANNUAL Adventure Film Festival in Chamonix, because we will continue to keep Jonny's spirit, inspiration, and dreams to share art, adventure, stories, erase boundaries, and just take time out of our life to be together with friends and meet new people, through Adventure Film Festival Chamoinx!

Perspective

Photo: Zoe Hart
A solitary rope and a blue door...what is behind the door, what adventures has the rope participated in...I leave it to your imagination, perspective...Zawia, Haute Atlas Mountains, Morocco

Matt Kowalczyk (yes that's how you spell his name, I didn't just punch random keys on the keyboard, and imagine trying to spell that out to a French person...not easy)....back to Matt, my client for the week, here to climb Mont Blanc and take in the views in honor of his non-profit organization Climb For Kids (you can read more on Climb For Kid's mission on www.climbforkids.org).

Ok, there was no thread on where that was going, so now that you know who Matt is, on we go.

Matt and I settled into the Torino hut for an early afternoon nap. After a nice bimble across the Vallee Blanche, traversing from Chamonix, France, to the Italian side, with a few eye opening crevasses and snow bridges to cross, we decided to take advantage of the quite hut while it lasted, before the snorers invaded our room.

Dark, billowing, black clouds, that grew from whisps, to horse tails, to towers, floated in and out of the sky as the light refracted through our window like a prism.

"How can you sleep right in the middle of the afternoon? And if you sleep now, will you sleep tonight?" Matt wondered.

"Ahh, but the hut, in the afternoon is the best place to sleep. There is nothing else to do, but read, sleep, or listen to music, pod casts or books on tape. I take the opportunity to have no "to do list" guilt, and catch up on all the sleep I miss the days I wake up at 2am to start climbing."

A smile crept across Matt's face, he understood.

Before the book fell onto my face, and my breath slipped into a rythym only achieved in a dreaming state, I was reading a book called the Spell of the Sensuous by David Amram. The book is full of interesting philosophies, concepts, mental meanderings, some of which I believe in others which interest me but I haven't yet formed a perspective on, and others I don't buy at all. But fundamentally his discussion is about Ecology, and the human connection to the earth, nature, animals, all that exists outside of us as individuals, all that we affect with our daily choices, all that we experience and experiences us.

I find this interesting because Nature is essentially my job, or being in it, and interacting with it, and experiencing it.

He discusses Merleau-Ponty's description of perception
'as a mutual interaction, an intercourse, "a coition, so to speak, of my body with things."

Abrams discusses the argument of Science versus Phenomenology
'Phenomenology....would turn toward 'the things themselves,' towrd the world as it is experienced in its felt immediacy. Unlike the mathematics-based sciences, phenomenology would seek not to explain the world, but to describe as closely as possible the way the world makes itself evident to awareness, the way things first arise in our direct, sensorial experience.'

I don't want to delve too far today, but these thinkings made me question and evaluate how I perceive the world around me, specifically the natural world, and how I interact with it. My impact, my contribution, my life.

So I leave you with the task of thinking about the same thing, can you do more, can you take less (can I?)...at least think about it...I will as well.

Guides are Human Too!! The tale of the solitary crampon.

Photo: Maxime Turgeon, cold, clear and windy up high in the Mt Blanc Massif, gearing up for Pinnochio (winter mixed climbing) unrelated photo of similar area.

Hard as I try, it's certainly a chore for me to pack my pack the night before. Max, my logical, organized, engineering brained other half encourages me endlessly to embrace this as part of my normal routine. It works when I go climbing with Max because he packs my pack, no joke, totally serious. I'm completely ok with this! But when I'm guiding, and especially guiding a lot, I usually fail.

But last night, I managed. Maybe it was because I had the house to myself and less distractions as Max and Jonno were up in the mountains attempting to climb some heinous rock route on the Italian side of Mont Blanc, maybe it is because I thought about that extra half an hour of sleep the following morning, maybe I had over ambitious ideas that I would wake early, run, do yoga, read a book, read the New York Times, write in my journal, but really I hit snooze and slept that extra half an hour. Regardless, I succeeded. I packed my pack the night before.

As I stopped to dump the trash and recycling down the road from my house I realized I had forgotten my ice axe. No stress, I was less than two minutes from my house. Upon returning I saw a lonely crampon in the front yard, close to our storage "cave's". Without much thought, I tossed it into the rest of the pile of Max's gear I had dumped from his box last night looking for my missing crampons.

A few hours later, after doing the bits and bobs in town we needed, Matt, my client for this week, and myself arrived at the top of the midi, on a stellar, sunny day, with ambitions of climbing the arete des Cosmiques. As I unloaded my pack, harness, rope, gear, helmet and CRAMPON! NOT CRAMPONS!! I instantly realized where the other one was. For a moment, I convinced myself that I could walk down the steep, narrow, exposed, icy arete, safely while keeping Matt safe, with one crampon. That dream dissipated quickly and I swallowed my pride and headed to the worker's room.

I poked my head through the door. And with the biggest, cutest smile I could muster, asked if I could interrupt their lunch and ask for a favor.

The man looked at me and told me I had gone through the wrong door.

No room left for modesty, I pulled out the stops. I pulled back my top jacket flashing egotistically, and hopefully, my Guides badge. I think half of them choked on their first bite of lunch.

I am a guide. And I arrived here with one crampon. Is there ANY chance I can borrow a pair, I will bring them back in a few hours. I asked desperate, and at their complete mercy.

The mood quickly changed with the understanding that I, a female, was also a guide! The man, once skeptical man, Jean Michel, hopped to his feet, and brandished a pair of crampons out of his locker. Another, unrelated worker popped in right at that time and laughed out loud. Ahh you are lucky you are cute!

So yes, I worked it. I took advantage and in the end, we safely climbed the Arete des Cosmiques in crampons, safely. And I promised to bake brownies for the kind gentleman in return!

The thing is most people make mistakes, or forget things, but when you're guiding it usually happens in front of an audience and it's quite embarrassing!!!

A plus, a humble zoe.,

Simplicity

I ran into a friend, Cecile, on the telepherique today as we downloaded from the Flegere lift.

"Have you been working lots?" She asked?
"Ah, a bit, but not too much." I responded

"Oh I haven't seen any posts all summer on your blog so I figured you were super busy!" She giggled.

Ah right, again that category of best laid intentions. The idea to share stories, triumphs, failures, adventures, mental meanderings through a blog. To challenge my writing in a public, relatively non-critical (yeah right) forum. And, even maybe to use it to take account of my path and purpose in life. Ah, but I've been comsumed by busy-ness. Or a perception of busy-ness.

There are so many things I, we, want to make time for in our lives, and writing is always one of them, so why do I let it fall to the side.

Ok, maybe I'll save this personal reflection for my hand written journal and leave you with some stories.

Today's post is called simplicity.

After the tragic, and unexpected death, of very close friends, I am left wondering, yet again, maybe always, the purpose of mountains, climbing, climbers, in my life. Your attention span is too short and my thoughts to unconcluded to go too deeply into that here so instead I will approach my response. Simplicity.

I have been remembering the joy of running, mountain running, trail running. A day where I enjoy nature, the landscape, the mountains, from a different perspective. From a safer perspective, where I don't walk across a glacier. Where I don't traverse under a hanging serac. Where I am not exposed to rock fall. Where pushing myself means controlling my mind and my pace and my breath and my focus, not working through a pump on an ice pitch where falling could be deadly. Not fumbling with a piece of gear as my hand jam slips. Not precariously perching a front point of a crampon on a granite nub on a mixed pitch.

There is certainly value in each of those moments. Personal growth, reflection, mind control. But do we need to live in that space all the time? Do we, as Alpinists meet the criteria of "thrill seekers" that some non-climbers write us off as? Can I find pleasure in a sport that pushes me through those mental challenges without fearing for my life? I think so.

I find Ultra Running to be one of the most inspiring sports I can think of. The discipline, the commitment, the time inside your head. My interest has been peeked. I have been asking friends for the recipe to try to delve into that world. For sure I won't be entering any races any time soon. But for now, I will embark upon a new-ish sport, and see where it takes me.

The simplicity of it all. A trail, a pair of running shoes, and ME!! No ropes, rack, backpack, no partner even.

So today, despite an urge to go climbing, I joined some friends to hike a portion of the TMB, The Mont Blanc Trail. We hiked, caught up on life, on 5 or so years that saw us each leading different lives and on different paths, we laughed, we got yelled at for being too loud and "infringing" on someone's nature experience, we picked wild blueberries off of bushes, we indulged in a coffee at a hut, Dana braved the icy glacial lakes for a dip, and we laughed, SIMPLY.