Vern Tejas - Seventy Summits: A Life on the Mountain

Seventy Summits

Life in the Mountains

Copyright 2017 by Vern Tejas and Lew Freedman

All rights reserved under International and

Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

Published by Blue River Press

Indianapolis, Indiana

www.brpressbooks.com

Distributed by Cardinal Publishers Group

317-352-8200 phone

317-352-8202 fax

www.cardinalpub.com

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a database or other retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-68157-047-1

eISBN: 978-1-68157-048-8

Cover Design: David Miles

Book Design: Dave Reed

Cover Photo: Shutterstock / Daniel Prudek

Editor: Dani McCormick

Printed in the United States of America

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I dedicate this book to all who have inspired

me along the way, especially Col. Norman

Vaughan and Lowell Thomas, Jr.

Vern Tejas

Vernon Tejas is a world-famous mountain climber and guide who has climbed the Seven Summits, the tallest peaks on each of the seven continents, at least ten times each. Tejas broke the records for the most times ascending Denali, the highest peak in North America, and for making the swiftest ascents of the Seven Summits. He has been associated with Alpine Ascents International of Seattle, Washington for many years.

A member of the Alaska Sports Hall of Fame, Tejas gained renown in 1988 by becoming the first person to successfully climb 20,310-foot Denali alone in winter. He and co-author Lew Freedman collaborated on a book called Dangerous Steps about that achievement.

Lew Freedman is the author of dozens of books on sports and Alaska and spent seventeen years in Alaska working for the Anchorage Daily News. Freedman first wrote about Tejass adventures in 1988, and they have been friends since. Deb Freedman, Lews wife, transcribed all of the interview materials for this volume.

I wrote a sports column about Vern Tejas before I ever met him.

At the time, I was working for the Anchorage Daily News in Alaska, and Vern was high on the slopes of Denali, the mountain previously known as Mount McKinley, which is the tallest mountain in North America at 20,310 feet.

Vern was in the midst of attempting to become the first person to solo climb Denali in winter and live to tell about it. He had been flown to base camp, the Kahiltna Glacier, by famed bush pilot Lowell Thomas Jr. It was February of 1988, and the climb stretched into March.

Tejas was following in the footsteps of Naomi Uemura, a world-renowned Japanese adventurer. Uemura had attempted this challenging journey in February of 1984. He disappeared on the mountain, and his body remains there.

Thomas flew sorties periodically to keep an airborne eye on Tejas, but one day as he traveled above the mountain, whiteout conditions obscured his view and he did not spot the climber. This went on for a few days, and word leaked out that for all intents, Tejas was missing. The outside world did not know if he had perished as the result of a storm, a mishap, tumbling into a crevasse, or become trapped because of injury.

My column stressed the drama of the unknown and that those of us at sea level should offer prayers for Tejass survival and triumphant emergence. As fortune had it, unlike Uemura, Tejas did break into the fresh airhe had been hunkered down in a snow cave for protection and preservation.

When Tejas returned to his Anchorage home, he stopped by the newspaper office, seeking photographs taken when he had landed back in town. We met. Vern thanked me for the story, and I completely spontaneously blurted, You should write a book about it. He quickly replied, No, you should. Up until that point, I had never entertained the idea of writing non-fiction books. Nearly thirty years later, I have written about 100 of them. Vern has made more than 100 additional major ascents of peaks around the world. It was probably a decade ago, sitting in an ice cream shop in Anchorage, that I said he should do a book about his whole life and all of these adventures. He told me that he would let me know when he was ready.

Hes ready.

I dabbled in the mountains, climbing the Chugach Mountains that overlook Anchorage. I also climbed about a dozen 14,000-foot peaks in Colorado, and ultimately on Mount Kilimanjaro, the 19,341-foot Roof of Africa in Tanzania, but most of my adventures have revolved around creative writing.

Vern has always reached higher. He has chosen a riskier path. His passion for the peaks has defined his adult life. He probably has more frequent flyer miles than Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart combined. He has probably traveled as much as Marco Polo, Christopher Columbus, and Neil Armstrong. Certainly, his passport is more frayed than the average international business traveler.

Of course, that is what Tejas is. As a professional mountain guide, his work year is laid out for him in a sequence of seasons and climbing openings around the world in the various countries where the best-known geological mountainous features are situated. Yet, unlike the clients who dream of once-in-a-lifetime ascents of special mountains, these places seem almost backyard-familiar to Tejas.

There is great commonality in each trip, but the cast of characters is different; the experience is different; the challenges, due to weather changes or some other intervention, are different. What that means is each trip to Denali, Everest, Vinson, Elbrus, Kilimanjaro, Kosciusko, Carstensz or Aconcagua is its own adventure.

When Vern completed his harrowing winter solo of Denali and I wrote the story, we lived only a few miles apart on the south side of Anchorage. Much has happened in both of our lives since then. Neither of us are in Alaska much these days, although we do both have relatives locked in on The Last Frontier. But for all of these life and location changes, we do stay in touch, and we do overlap.

During the summer of 2016, we were both in Anchorage at the same time attending the same two-day event. Once, a few years ago, we were both in New York City at the same time and lunched in mid-town Manhattan. I was amused to note Tejas arrived at the restaurant by bicycle, not taxi cab, and he had to chain it to a pole outside. Amazingly, it was still there when we finished.

In the interim, we communicated by email. Typically, such contact would be initiated by me with a Dear Vern, Wherever You Are salutation. Time would pass with Vern atop a mountain in a remote corner of the world (one of few such places not wireless connected), and when he returned to Wi-Fi civilization, he would write back. I distinctly recall hearing from Vern from Tokyo and Chile. Not from Antarctica or Everest. However, many years ago (in the late 1980s, perhaps), Tejas brought me a gift from the rock band just below the summit of Everest: a chunk small enough to retain in a letter envelope, where it has remained ever since.

I once imagined I would climb Denali with Vern as my guide. I set out on a vigorous training program one winter with plans to first join a guided ascent of the largest Mexican volcanoes. Pico de Orizaba (18,491 feet), Popocatepetl (17,802), and Iztaccihuatl (17,159), are the third, fifth, and eighth highest mountains in North America. I filled out my application, enclosed a check, and left the envelope containing the paperwork on the bureau. That night, playing in a city league basketball game, I tore a calf muscle. I went home and tore up the forms and check and never again came closer to the necessary form or shape to sign up for a Denali climb with Vern, or anyone else.