Like Surfers Gone Alpine

“What is alpinism, anyway?” Terry Kearney was starting to rave as we burned through the last of our fuel. It was the morning after our second bivy. The sun played coy with our perch on the north face of Birch Mountain, in the outer orbit of the Palisades. “Is it all speed-aided 72-hour push up some heinous M8 wall? Is it just Steve House and the latest mad Hungarian? I love reading about that stuff, but I’ll never touch it. Maybe it’s more like two old men sharing one Ramen and no coffee for breakfast.”

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