| Growing up with a Rockhound (i.e. why I climb mountains) I credit my father with instilling in me a passion for the outdoors. A lifelong scout, and mountaineer in his younger years, my father has been there with me on numerous adventures. As a professional geologist and amateur photographer, Dad has spent much of his professional life in the field all over the world. He has had some amazing experiences ranging from the North Slope of Alaska to the volcanic fields of the Galapagos Islands. Dad took me to the Galapagos when I was 12 years old, and I had the "ahem" pleasure of joining him in the field for some geology. Not that I don't appreciate all that he has taught me and my brother (and I guess Mom too) about geology, but I must admit I have hit my limit a few times. One of those time was our trip across the Southwest U.S. from Colorado to California. Did you know that the landscape features a vast array of basins and ranges? Well believe me when I tell you that I can never forget that fact. My brother Jimmy and best friend Mike like to relay the story about slumps. Now to the casual observer a slump looks very much like a small landslide or mudslide, something you might see off the side of the road after a good Texas rain. But to a geologist, this phenomenon of "slumping" terrain holds a special place. Needless to say, Dad spied a slump to die for on a drive through North Texas, and the neophyte passengers riding along couldn't quite grasp the significance of this geological "formation". They did, however, have the opportunity to renew their faith as they prayed for their lives while Dad ogled his "beautiful slump" instead of paying attention to his driving. But back to climbing. Dad has always been an avid hiker, camper, and outdoorsman. His version of hunting involves an early morning walk through a mountain forest, armed with a camera and keen awareness of the world around us. I must admit that some of my most spiritual moments have occurred in the mountains. From the sun spilling over a cloud deck below Mt. Rainier, to the sun setting over a high alpine meadow as the elk come out to graze, these are the places and times when the things that are important in this life become clearest. So, no, I don't climb because it's there...I climb because it's good for my soul. [Go Back] - Jeff |
| Climbing to cure lymphoma |
 |  |  |  |  |  |
| Brother Jimmy, Father John, and Jeff in the Grand Canyon |
| Dad doing his camera thing on some unsuspecting fossils |
| Sunrise on Mt. Rainier...priceless! |
| The merits of being an Eagle Scout (i.e. how I got the name "Sherpa Jeff") coming soon... |
| At a young age I was exposed to all things outdoorsy, and it just seemed a good fit for me. All my experiences in Boy Scouts laid an early foundation for what was to come. As an Air Force Academy cadet, I spent one summer in survival training, followed by a summer as a survival instructor. My following summers were spent as a backpacking "Ranger" at Philmont Scout Reservation. My job was to take groups of scouts into the back-country and, in three days time, teach them to be self-sufficient for their remaining week of backpacking in the New Mexico wilderness. All these experiences helped me develop the physical and mental toughness required for more grueling mountaineering endeavors, but in retrospect, they may have also distorted my view of what the typical person is capable of in a back-country setting. So when it came time to plan a trip with my brother Jimmy and friend Mike, I felt confident that a three-day backpacking trip in the Colorado Rockies covering about 28 miles seemed reasonable. Now while Jimmy and Mike were both young and fit, they had been living the city life in North Texas, where four-digit elevations only exist on radio towers and high-rise buildings. Not to mention the fact that their backpacking skills lacked a recency of experience. So off we went to Colorado for a grand adventure. Day 1: This was to be an 8 mile day with full packs, up and over a high mountain pass in excess of 11,000 feet. Piece of cake right? Well the first four miles went well, but as the day wore on, it became apparent that perhaps we had bitten off more than we could chew. Somewhere between mile 5 and 7 I began to lighten the packs of my fellow backpackers by taking on the lion share of the group equipment (tent, stove, pots & pans). The only problem was that lighter packs did not translate into more oxygen as we climbed to the 11,000 foot mark. So it was that we ambled into camp that night with some fairly spent individuals. I pitched the tent and Mike and Jimmy crawled into their sleeping bags and lended their moral support as I cooked dinner for the three of us. Day 2: We survived the night, but it was clear we needed an exit strategy. The previous days exertions had taken their toll on long neglected backpacking muscles and associated joints. Mike was suffering from an aggravated knee, so it didn't sound like a good idea for him to make the 8 mile trip back to the parked car. So we inked out a route for Mike that would get him to a National Forest campground in less than 5 miles. Jimmy and I would head back to the car and drive to meet up with Mike. Of course I would have the distinct privilege of carrying everything I could in my pack. I believe this is the day that the alias "Sherpa Jeff" was first uttered. Sherpa refers to the ethnic group residing in the mountainous regions of Nepal. They are frequently employed as porters for Himalayan expeditions and are well known for there sheer strength and ability to carry heavy loads at high elevations. Well we made it back to the car, and we greeted Mike at his destination with a fresh Dominos pizza and beer. So how's that for roughing it? Well after that aborted trip, the Sherpa Jeff alias stuck, and has been used by friends and family ever since to stick me with the biggest and heaviest load anytime we head outdoors. So I extend my gratitude to Jimmy and Mike for providing me countless "training" opportunities to get me in shape for climbing the big mountains. [Go Back] |