by Kitty Calhoun Iceland is frozen in time. Arriving there in February 2012, it was exactly as I remembered from 1998 when I was there to climb with Jay Smith and the late Guy Lacelle – grey, windy, and remote. It is the largest land mass along a mountain ridge that begins under the ocean, where the North Atlantic and Eurasian tectonic plates are pulling apart. The soil is poor, so most food is imported or grown in greenhouses. The horses, sheep and cattle are 1,000-year-old purebreds, brought over by the Vikings. The quiet is only disrupted by the sounds of millions of birds born in the undisturbed sea cliffs.My mission, along with Dawn Glanc, Pat Ormand, and Jay Smith, was to do as many first ice climbing ascents as possible in two weeks. Prospects looked good, since Iceland’s coast is barely eroded and most of the snow on the plateau above tends to melt and refreeze. Rapid changes in temperature produce wild features on frozen waterfalls such as tunnels, hanging umbrella-like roofs, and daggers that freeze horizontally. Iceland is not well-known in the climbing world and there are only an estimated 40 local climbers – most of whom find enough ice near Reykjavik to keep them content. Or so they led us to believe. In exchange for a slide show for the Icelandic Alpine Club, we diplomatically pried inside information from a very welcoming group. They confirmed our suspicions: the West Fjords, just below the Arctic Circle, was the mother-lode.[Dawn Glanc and Pat Ormand on Angel of Mercy. All photos courtesy of Kitty Calhoun]


After a six-hour drive, we arrived in Isafjordur, founded as a salting station for the once-plentiful cod coming from Greenland. We were keenly interested in meeting Runar Karlsson and Sigi Jonsson who have a business, Borea Adventures, in which they sail to a nearby nature preserve or to the east coast of Greenland to ski, kayak, or climb. We hoped the temperatures, which hovered around 32 F, would drop so we could do some boat-assisted ice routes.After spending the first day on slow winter roads and driving as much of the peninsula as possible, we finally discovered the prize – a cliff band in a cirque an hour’s hike from the road. A dozen emerald blue smears pasted the black face, overhung by a large ice cornice. It appeared that the snow had been saturated with water and then froze, while nearly retaining its original shape. The entire quarter-mile-long wall was untouched except for one route on the far end. After three punishing days of climbing, we completed seven new routes, most of which were two pitches long, WI 4-5. [Kono Wall, Iceland] [Kitty Calhoun on Kono Wall.] [Kitty and Dawn on Captain Calhoun.]I felt like I had grown soft, having spent most of my winters climbing on well-climbed ice in calm, sunny weather in Ouray, Colorado. In Iceland, every climb had a wall or column of overhanging ice and there were massive unstable ice lenses that were too big to clean. Gingerly climbing up them was like playing Russian Roulette. To add to the stress, the winds grew by the hour and by afternoon I found it difficult to maintain composure while being battered by the gust, as my face and eyes stung from the driving snow. Yet down in the fjord, the birds were bobbing in the swell, making life look easy. In fact, the farmers below, in the town of Nupur, build stone shelters to encourage wild eider ducks to nest. The birds use some of their feathers to make the nests and farmers collect them. Iceland is still the largest exporter of eider down in the world. The next new routes we climbed were just past Haukadalur, site of one of the more famous Icelandic sagas. These are generally stories of bloody family feuds between 94-980AD. In the saga of Gisli, Gisli takes revenge for prior misdeeds by stabbing his brother-in-law through the heart. He goes on to perform increasingly violent deeds and is eventually hunted down and killed – but not before being declared an outlaw and a hero. Always searching for the crown jewel of ice climbs, we were tipped off to possibilities in “Betty’s Valley” at the furthest tip of one of the peninsulas. We were greeted by Betty, her 13-year-old son Thor, and 200 sheep. Thor goes to school on another peninsula and had not been home in three weeks because the last 20 km home hadn’t been plowed since the last storm. His mom, a single woman of 57, had post-holed two hours to get to a party a few nights earlier. Like the ducks in the swell, she seemed unfazed. Unfortunately, the hanging daggers we had come to climb above her farm were too thin, so we hurried back over the pass and up another valley to attempt a couple more climbs before heading home. We had scored though – by the end of the trip we’d done 12 new routes in seven days of climbing. [The road to Betty's Valley.] [Betty's place.]“What’s been the high-point of the trip for you?" Dawn asked me on the last day. Again, I thought about the birds bobbing on the water. Every day I had a routine – get up before dawn, eat, drive, hike up a slope, climb, and reverse the process. I shivered constantly, got pumped, excited, and scared. In hindsight, there was no high point. It was all necessary, and all good. Overnight, the wind obliterated our tracks up the slopes. Unless we told someone, there would be no record of our ever being there. It was simply a moment, frozen in time. Kitty Calhoun is a Patagonia ambassador and Chicks Climbing instructor. Chicks Climbing is the premier provider of women’s ice and rock climbing clinics in the United States. They have two desert trips planned for this spring: Red Rock in March and Indian Creek in April.
 

Here are the presentations from the SEA meetings:

Laura Taylor, North Carolina State University, "Achieving Tenure and the Work-Life Balance"Jill L. Caviglia-Harris, Salisbury University, "Teaching Environmental Economics"Will Wheeler, U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, "Grant Writing Best Practices"Glenn C. Blomquist, University of Kentucky, "Sayings from the Professors' Almanac"Lynne Lewis, Bates College, "The Liberal Arts Perspective"Glenn Sheriff, U.S. EPA National Center for Environmental Economics, "Navigating the Journal Review Process"

One more time: many thanks to the presenters. It was a terrific session. Let's do it again the next time the SEAs are in DC.

From The Best Women’s Travel Writing 2011 - an excerpt from “The Labyrinth,” a story about surviving Costa Rican heartbreak and whitewater by Bridget Crocker, Patagonia copy writer. Bridget and fellow BWTW11 contributors will be reading at Diesel, A Bookstore in Malibu on Sun., Dec. 4 at 3p.m. [Author and river guide, Bridget Crocker. Photo by Tony Demin.]“This upper section is called ‘The Labyrinth,’” Roland says, cinching down his frayed lifejacket. “It’s been run maybe three or four times before today. I’ve seen it a couple times and I’d say it’s pretty solid Class V. Lots of steep drops through tight chutes. There are a few slots we have to make—it’s not an option to miss them. I think I can remember them all, but we’ll have to scout as we go. There’s no way out of the gorge once we start.”Normally I would be anxious about taking a flaccid shredder down a little-run Class V boulder garden without the safety of other boaters along or even an evacuation route. Plus, Roland forgot his helmet and we have no throw bag. Oddly, I couldn’t care less. I feel no hint of the usual Class V jitters or concern for our lack of preparedness. It occurs to me that I may be spared a trip to Cathedral Point, as our little daytrip down the Labyrinth is suicidal enough.


[Chorro Rapid at stomping flow. Upper Naranjo River, Costa Rica. Photo by David Findley]We climb into the tiny craft and immediately drop into a sizeable chute cascading onto exposed rocks. It’s continuous maneuvering from there; the maze is relentless and we’re teetering and spinning off boulders, fighting each other’s rhythm. We catch a small eddy and Roland, who’s sitting on the left side of the shredder, shouts out, “Do you guide from the left or right?”“Left,” I say.“I guide from the right, let’s switch sides.” [Keeping the flame alive - the late, great Costa Rican river legend, Roland Cervilla. Photo by Arturo Oropeza.]We start to click after switching, powerfully stroking across current lines and straightening out for the drops. Paddling becomes like meditation; there’s only the hum of frenetic water and our focused concentration on the line.We park on a rock cluster above the first big rapid, “Stacy’s Lament.” Roland explains that the last time he ran down the Labyrinth, he escorted some kayakers from Colorado who were insistent that Costa Rican Class V was really like Class IV in Colorado. After spending a good portion of the upper section upside down, the group became disheartened while scouting the first “real” rapid. One of the more intrepid Colorado paddlers probed it first, hitting the narrow, eight-foot drop on the far left side next to the gorge wall. Just below the drop, he inexplicably veered and smashed headlong into the curving monolith. He swam out of his kayak and was pushed by the funneling current into the collection of sieve rocks stacked against the right wall of the gorge. Submerged for some time against the rocks, he surfaced in a pool of blood minutes later, his face badly lacerated from the impact. That’s when Stacy, the least experienced of the group, began to cry uncontrollably, realizing that there was no way to portage our line around the rapid. There was only one way out: through the guts.“Don’t swim here,” Roland warns as we push off the rock island and head for the left side.We make it to the slot and straighten out for the drop, noticing too late that there’s a doinker rock poking out next to the wall. It grabs the left front tube of the shredder and spins it so that we smash full-on into the jutting left wall with the force of the waterfall folding the boat in half against the rock. As the angled boat floods with water, I spin around and slip two of my fingers through the back D-ring, and my feet flutter outside of the boat in the downstream current. From the corner of my eye, I see Roland flush out, propelling headfirst into the rock sieve below. He disappears underwater, exactly in the spot where the lacerated Colorado boater had been.Hanging from a keychain-sized metal ring by the inside crooks of my knuckles, I tuck my long legs up to my chest against the current and wrap them firmly around the pinned back tube. Legs secured, I use my hands to push the boat away from the rock wall, inching the plastered shredder along the wall slowly until it unwraps and pops free. Somehow, my paddle has survived inside the boat, and I use it to draw-stroke my way across the current until I’m downstream from where Roland has surfaced. I quickly yank him into the shredder, spy an eddy and draw us into it while Roland fishes his floating-away paddle out of the drink. [Scouting Stacy's Lament Rapid. Upper Naranjo River, Costa Rica. Photo by David Findley.]We sit in the eddy, breathing and looking up at Stacy’s Lament; Roland’s rubbing his head with an eerie, frozen grin on his face.“You hit your head?”He nods.“Did you see stars?”“I think so, yeah.”“Do me a favor and bring your helmet next time,” I scold. At least there are no bloody lacerations to deal with; we didn’t bring first aid supplies or even duct tape.With miles left to go, the sun slides below the canyon wall. We push on through the twilight, navigating the maze of downed logs, bus-sized rocks and steep chutes. We do our best to read-and-run from our low vantage point, not wanting to waste any of the dwindling gray light on scouting.            Near the bottom of the run, we come to a severe horizon line; white froth shoots skyward from the force of the drop.“This might be the rapid that has a big strainer blocking the entrance on the right,” Roland yells over the roar. We park on a flat rock at the top and climb around a house-sized boulder to get a full view. Roland’s remembered correctly—there’s an enormous, fallen ceiba tree braced across the only feasible entrance in the rock-riddled rapid. Everything looks distant and two-dimensional in the flat light. We scooch like crabs across a series of mostly submerged boulders over to the downed snag and try to kick it free without success. Standing next to the drop, we study the current, noting that there’s more clearance if we pass under the tree on the right side of the chute. If we hit the left side, we’ll be tangled in the scoured ceiba branches and either get pinned against the knotty obstacles or swept out of the boat. Below the chute, there’s a nearly river-wide death sieve of rocks that’s completely impassable; a swim here would be heinous at best. We simply have to clear under the tree on the right, then haul ass over to the left side of the river to drop down and out of the Labyrinth. I start to feel it then: adrenaline buzzing in tune to the thumping of whitewater, flooding my body until I want to thrash out of my skin, kicking and punching. Looking down at the water rushing under the tree, I realize that more than anything I want to live. My survival switch has been kicked, and I suddenly become the girl who highsides huge oar boats on strainer islands, who hand-walks shredders off rock walls to rescue friends. I am the creation of all the rivers I have known and the knowledge they’ve instilled: I am constant, adaptable, and strong-willed.I lean out and put my hand in the water as I always have, and ask the Naranjo River for safe passage. “My hands are your hands,” I say. “Use them.”Read more, and if you're in the area, don't miss Bridget's reading Sunday, December 4th at 3 p.m. 
 

One of the unique perks of working for Patagonia is the chance to leave, to participate in an environmental internship on work time. I chose to go to Guatemala to see how coffee is grown before it is exported for roasting.  I divided my time with two organizations involved with coffee farming in Latin America, Coffee Kids and the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center. I documented their work through photography.My hope is that my work will serve as a tool to reinforce and foster positive change in the coffee industry.Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center (SMBC) To increase coffee production, coffee farms use synthetic fertilizers and convert from “shade grown” plantations, where shrubs are planted in the shade of trees, to “sun grown,” where coffee plants grow quickly, fully exposed to heat in fields.  [My work lead me to Finca Nueva Armenia, nestled in the Sierra Madre valley of Huehuetenango, one of only eight farms designated as bird friendly by the SMBC in Guatemala. All photos: Mark Shimahara]


To prime a sun grown farm, trees and natural forests are destroyed. Scientists believe that these practices lead to the sharp decline of bird migration in Latin America and a loss of habitat of other animals, insects and plants of the tropical forest. To preserve biodiversity in coffee farms and to encourage sustainable farming practices, the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center established a Bird Friendly certification. To be certified as “Bird Friendly,” a farm must practice organic farming in a diverse and native forest—in other words, provide a bird friendly habitat.  After a dusty five hour drive from Guatemala City we arrived at their farm, which is a forest.  Birds tweeted, insects buzzed, and pollen floated in the air. [A flycatcher perched on a high shade tree, one of many birds found on the farm.]But the tranquility was broken by the violent buzzing of chainsaws from neighboring farms that were tearing down trees to make way for sun grown coffee.  The Recinos bothers, who own Finca Nueva Armenia, grow bird friendly coffee because they know they are investing in a habitat that will sustain itself in the long term. Their farm will be spared the long term consequences of monoculture which can lead to disease, land/soil overuse, and the destruction of animals and beneficial insect habitats. [One of the Recinos brothers hike up the plantation with coffee buyer Kim Bullock and roaster Jeff McArthur.]The US-based coffee buyers I met, from Counter Culture Coffee, buy from this farm because it's committed to sourcing from organic, sustainable land. This farm is also willing to take on special requests such as harvesting and drying their crops in micro-lots, or selective picking by micro climate or varietal.Coffee KidsCoffee Kids develops programs in education, health awareness, micro-credit loans and food security for coffee-farming communities.  I visited the hosts of two projects with Jose Louis Zarate, the program director at Coffee Kids. The first was Finca Santa Felica, in Acatenengo which is managed by the farm's owner Anabella Meneses, whose goal is to empower workers to become advocates of their own professional development. Coffee Kids’ sponsored ADESPA (Association for Sustainable Development of Paraxaj) achieves this though education and training in practical business skills. Two of her projects (textile and shoe workshops) focus on literacy in economic diversification. ADESPA also provides childcare so that parents do not have to arrange for it themselves. [I accompanied the kids from the ADESPA child care program on a parade to celebrate environmental awareness.]My trip made me keenly aware of the harsh socio-economic conditions that coffee farmers in this region face. Worker’s wages are used up in providing basic necessities—food, clothing, shelter for their families. As a result, there are few resources left to invest in projects that might eventually yield greater financially stability or environmental sustainability, in the long run.The second project I visited was in Chajul, a remote place seven hours north of Guatemala City—including two hours driving on unpaved roads—where Ixil, an indigenous Mayan language is spoken. The women uniformly dress in traditional cranberry-colored skirts signifying the Chajul region. [This community too is heavily reliant on coffee as an income. ] [After the last coffee crisis, women workers were the first to be dismissed.] To address gender inequities, the Coffee Kids program here offers microcredits to women and their families to start businesses. This provides them with alternative means to earn their living, besides coffee. [Loans are used to start local shops and textile manufacturing.]I was flattered my blog entry about milk in coffee got the attention of Coffee Common, a collaborative experiment at the TED conference to serve and educate the audience about this wonderful drink. Similarly, it's my hope this work will encourage more businesses in the industry to examine and improve the land and communities where coffee comes from.  If you are interested in trying Counter Culture's selection of fresh, seasonal coffees, Counter Culture is graciously offering free shipping in the continental US to Cleanest Line readers through May 27.  The new crop of Finca Nueva Armenia is scheduled to be released later this month (use Promo Code: THECLEANEST).

If you travel, your Gmail messages can have the wrong time stamp, even after you change your computers time, leading to out-of-order emails when sorted by date/time. Here's how to fix it: More »

In this episode of Random — lucky #10 — Kevin and I hit the streets of San Francisco to discuss food, recent learnings, and a few feature: favorite books, people, and websites since the last episode.

Show notes and links are included below, but one new order of business: we are thinking of having sponsors for the Random show!

Here’s the idea: we have room for just three (3) sponsors at $1,000 an episode each, and you get both screenshots during the episode with your website/logo, and we also give you a shout out at the beginning of the episode. The sponsorship will allow us to treat Glenn to some fancy new shoes and support his video habit, as well as open up uber-cool options for topics and experiments.

Interested? First come, first served, so let us know at earliest via email: amyatfourhourworkweekdotcom with “RANDOM SPONSOR” in the subject line.

That all said, here are the show notes and a bonus safari video…

Books:
Delivering Happiness by Tony Hsieh
Rework by 37Signals
Neverwhere: A NovelNeverwhere by Neil Gaiman

Websites:
we-make-money-not-art.com
tripit.com

People:
Reid Hoffman – twitter.com/quixotic
Marc Andreessen – blog.pmarca.com
“Angels vs. Venture Capitalists” article by Ben Horowitz

Travel:

New Zealand
- Webstock
- Picton
- Nevis – bungee jumping
- Queenstown
- Christchurch
- Canyon Swing

South Africa
- Capetown
- Lions Head
- Shark Diving Unlimited in Gansbaai
- Sanbona Safari (Recommended Ranger: Salomon Munnik)

Bonus video – 3-minute tour of the Dwyka lodge safari tents:

Shoot Location and Misc.:
- San Francisco Ferry Building
- SF Farmer’s Market (1 of the top 10 in the US)
- summertomato.com
- Salt slab for cooking (delish)

Related and Recommended:
All past Random Show episodes

Team Rios Libres is back with an update from the Neff Glacier, at the headwaters of the Río Baker. The team's first two reports can be found here (1, 2). With the Neff at their backs, the team followed the river to the sea, doing their best to document the diversity, beauty, and wildness of the region. Before completing their journey, the team will be checking in on a region of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field last believed to be last visited and documented by explorer Eric Shipton during 1960-61 expedition.

Reports from the Rios Libres team are that their travels are proceeding smoothly, but the impacts of the quakes continue to be felt and much support is still needed (information about how to help is here).

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The Voice of Ice (a report from Craig Childs)

At night I lay in my tent listening to the thunder of collapsing seracs, multi-ton columns of ice breaking free and falling a thousand feet. Smack, crack, rumble, groan. In these deeply-cut canyons, echoes build and fade. The ice-bound head of the Rio Baker is not a stable or quiet place.

[Top, Timmy O'Neill walks the line on the Neff Glacier. Above, left - Craig Childs watches as a huge chunk of ice falls 20 stories down the
Neff Glacier. Photos: James Q Martin]

In the morning we walk along an exposed wall of the Neff Glacier. A thirteen-story slab breaks away, tilts in slow motion, bursts into powder and bergs. How do you not feel fragile in this landscape?

On the ice, crampons crunch across a surface darkened by wind blown dust. The sound of meltwater emerges from deep below us, mumblings in the belly of the glacier. I peer down a hole where shadows within shadows lead into a blue Jules Verne landscape, journeying into the source of the Baker. Oxygen-rich ice near the surface is white. Below it, baby blue falls into a saturated indigo so deep and rich it seems perilous. Becoming aware of the depths, I feel dizzy.

Every hole and crack emits a sound. Some places are whispers, and some rumble like a ship engine below deck. Unseen rivers roar and hiss as one of the largest ice caps in the world melts under our feet.

Jonathan Leidich, a local glacier expert whose knowledge comes from 15 years on the ice, takes us to a measurement station that he maintains in conjunction with CECS, Centro de Estudios Cientificos de Valdivia here in Chile. A PVC pipe sticks up from a hole. Leidich runs a tape measure, says that a month ago the surface of the glacier was six feet over our heads. That much has melted in 30 days across this entire expanse.

Hearing this, I take in the scope around us, daggers and ridges of ice, holes shaped like giant's navels. Ice stretches as far as I can see, rising up through the teeth of mountains where the Patagonia Ice Cap spills through from the other side. I can feel it all melting. This is how the river starts.

[Above, right - Craig Childs gets an up-close view of the Neff Glacier. Above, left - Taking a handful of perfect glacier water - some of the cleanest in the world. Photos: James Q Martin]

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Check out the video below for a better view of how much ice has been lost from the Neff Glacier in the past year. Facebook readers can find this video here.