Things we didn't evolve with

The shower is a great place to get some thinking done. White noise to block everything else out; warm, meditative environment. My shower-thinking sessions are particularly stellar when I've been camping and climbing or skiing a lot, and haven't had a shower in a while...

These days, one of my favorite shower-thinking topics-of-choice is our society's unhealthy relationship with health. After reading an article titled "Dietary lean red meat and human evolution" by Neil Mann some years ago, I started to consider our "diet fads" in light of evolution. That is to say, since evolution occurs over millions of years, how can this brand new product, promising to lower your blood cholesterol! can possibly solve problems we didn't have only a few centuries ago -- problems that, interestingly, have only arisen in the same time period as their supposed solutions. Considering a longer timeline could give us insight into what our bodies are actually evolved to digest, and therefore how to nourish ourselves, not just feed ourselves.

Perhaps the invention of margarine could be considered the spark that ignited decades of research, theories, and myths about the health benefits and detriments of various items in our diet, both natural and otherwise.

Debate has whirred around the various nutrition fads for decades, if not more. As one gains favor, others are forgotten. And as things re-appear on our grocery mart shelves, we forget to ask where they came from in the first place.

I guided Norman up Mt. Whitney this past September, taking the long way around via Cottonwood Pass to the south. We had many very interesting discussions, and I came to see that many nutrition myths can be deciphered using a lot of common sense and a bit of scientific study.

What does it meant to be hydrogenated, for example? In the process of hydrogenation, food chemists add hydrogen atoms to a certain molecule of fat in order to alter its physical state: add more hydrogen atoms to a fat that is normally liquid at room temperature, and it will now be solid at room temperature. This is useful when you want to use cheaper oils to do the job butter is supposed to do.

But the new structure, with carbon molecules now saturated with hydrogen atoms, is devoid of the high-energy double bonds between carbon molecules -- reducing the energetic benefit we incur upon digestion.

And all the current hype (or rather, anti-hype) about trans fats? When a certain fat molecule is heated, it reaches a point at which its structure is strained, and flip-flops into what's called the trans form of the molecule. The consequence: your body's enzymes, specifically designed to attach to the naturally-occurring form of this fat molecule, will no longer be able to attach to the fat molecule, meaning your body cannot break it down.

In much the same way, scientists have been looking at the role of grain in our diet, and are finding that our bodies are rather ill-equipped to digest seeds, which have become a major part of our diet in just a few thousand years -- not enough time for our gut to evolve to digest it.

So what should we eat? Things we can hunt and gather: lean meats, and seasonal fruits, vegetables, some seeds. But of course, we couldn't sustain the whole world with this strategy, and that gets to a whole other issue.

As I was scrubbing away, washing the grime that had built up after days of skiing and camping, I started listing other things we haven't evolved with: cars, television, soap...

Does evolution explain the deer's classic "deer-in-the-headlights" look when facing sure death by car? Freezing in place might fool a mountain lion, but not a car.

Then there are the Dene women of way northern North America who become emotionally tied up in the lives of their favorite soap opera characters -- because the only people they know are real ones, not fake ones who exist solely in a lighted box.

And it hit me. Did prehistoric man use soap? Soap must have come after the domestication of animals, when people combined animal and vegetable fats with other things to cleanse themselves. But certainly they weren't using detergents such as sodium lauryl sulfate?

All I know is that my skin and hair feels best after a week of bathing in mountain streams. And now, post-shower, my skin is dry and scratchy. I think Evolution is telling me to spend more time in the mountains.

Sprinter Killer

It has been suggested that I have a Sprinter curse on me, perhaps more to insist that the deaths were not my fault; but the fact remains that it was I who drove the Sprinters into the delivery van underworld. Two, to be exact, in a six month period.

April, it arrived smoking. Dave and I were renting a Sprinter van, much like his own, but outfitted for passengers. We were taking a group of clients to climb Picacho del Diablo, the highest peak in Baja California, and were going to drive everyone from San Diego. We had them drop the van off at my brother’s house in east county. He lives on a hill. After several other hills. A hill much like several in San Francisco – difficult to walk up (especially in flip flops where you fall out the back), and if you drive a tall vehicle (like my ’85 4Runner) you might wonder if you’re going to tip over backwards. But you just drop into first and eventually you get there.

The mechanics advised us that the smoke was just some excess oil burning off and that the van was serviced and ready to go on our Baja adventure.

With that, we were on our way to pick everyone up, and drive across the border.

Our first stop was at Dave’s dad’s winery and inn, where we would spend a lovely afternoon wine tasting, enjoy a gourmet dinner, get a good night’s rest, and be on our way early the next morning: into the wild mountains and pine forests uphill from San Vicente.

Uphill.

Driving in Baja has always rated an adventure, even after all the years I have been driving through. The random unmarked topes (speed bumps) on the highway threaten to flatten your shocks in one distracted moment; the absent shoulder on the narrow, windy roads, compounded with a steep drop off the pavement, could make one tiny swerve disastrous. It’s not a casual driving experience. One could even call it a sport.

The roads up to Parque Nacional San Pedro Martir are no exception: narrow, windy, and now with steep dropoffs on a grade that would again be difficult to walk up in flip flops.

And we were in the largest Sprinter van made.

The van stalled. But it’s an automatic transmission. I started it up again, and dropped it into second gear to try to keep more power on the uphills. It stalled again. Then white smoke started leaking out of the dashboard. Then pouring.

A pull out. The first one I’ve seen in miles. We duck into it, turn off the engine, pop the hood. White smoke is pouring out of the engine block. Bad news.

We manage to turn the van around and coast downhill to a ranch we new about. A ranch that would become home for a couple of days as we finagle a van swap to try for the parque nacional again.

Fortunately for us, the new van was a Ford. Sprinter curse: irrelevant. Now it was in the hands of a poor, misinformed Argentinian exchange student working for the rental company with instructions to drive it back to San Diego (he had no idea the cab was filling with fumes). And our second attempt at the parque nacional (and summit!) proved a resounding success with minimal time lost.

***

Four months later…

Dave was guiding in Europe, and I was van-sitting. Our friend and fellow guide, Lynette, would be piling in for the drive from Shasta (where we were working) to Bridgeport, where we had a week long backpacking trip to guide. All was normal, and the Sprinter was running great. I remembered noticing a slight loss of power, but we had an unusual amount of gear and all of Lynette’s home in the van (she was to be moving to Truckee after the trip), so I assumed it was just straining a bit to haul it all around.

And the check engine light was on – but it had been for two years, so that was nothing new. Carson Dodge said it was nothing to be concerned about.

Then the oil light came on. I picked up some Delo, stopped for a milkshake, and checked the oil. It was indeed a little low. I topped it off, stashed the remaining oil, and we were off.

I came out for a resupply during the trip, and repeated the milkshake and oil routine, now becoming a little concerned. I checked for a leak, but could find nothing. I text Dave in Europe to ask him where I can take it, but there’s no one for miles. I drive back to the trailhead to restock the group and finish the trip, and decide to drive it south after the trip, keeping an eye on the oil level, knowing that I would be getting closer to some diesel specialists in Bishop.

And then power started to decline rapidly, the oil light flashed on, and a glance in the side mirror revealed black smoke billowing out from underneath the van.

I pulled over and shut off the engine. Seriously bad news. Thankfully I have AAA – so we had the Sprinter loaded onto a mondo tow truck and carried to Bishop. I spent some time with friends troubleshooting (because of course this all went down on a Friday evening, and no mechanics there work weekends). We thought of several possibilities, perhaps it was a leak somewhere and the smoke was just the leaked oil burning off. Nothing added up except the worst possible scenario: that whatever it was, it was bad, because we couldn’t figure it out.

The next week we got it in to the Sierra German Auto shop. The owner hooked it up to a diagnostic machine and told us a piston was burned. What did that mean? How expensive is it to fix?

You need a new engine.

Read: expensive. And time-consuming. Not to mention it’s really hard to find an engine for these things, given how new they are.

So it took several months to even find an engine, another month to work out the payments and shipping, and now we are back at Dave’s dad’s Inn in Baja while the mechanic puts it all together, escaping the cold until we have the van back and can get back to our lives of climbing and skiing in the eastern Sierra Nevada.

Two people trying to live out of an old 4Runner, complete with climbing, skiing, and guiding gear, just was not going to work. Especially in the winter. Forget peeing in the middle of the night with the frost fusing the automatic window shut (that’s the easiest exit in these vehicles, especially with the front stuffed with all our gear).

We have started the final countdown, and expect to have the van back by the end of next week.

But I don’t think I’ll be allowed behind the wheel for a while.

If Pico de Orizaba were to erupt

If you have seen the 2008 version of 2012: Doomsday (not the same as the 2012 that just hit theaters, featuring John Cusack), you might have seen the most spectacular display of embarrassing special effects ever to exist in the movie industry.

The movie largely takes place in central Mexico, and shows scientists studying the volcanic activity in the region, with Pico de Orizaba erupting in the background. (It then goes on to muddle the regional history, showing Mayan artifacts they somehow found in the Aztec's central Mexico.)

Really, the eruption was just a cheesy cardboard cutout with a candle burning behind it -- fumes billowing out at a rate of speed that would implicate the presence of a super-vacuum sucking them up into the sky.

Having climbed next to an erupting volcano, I must call their bluff.

***

Dave and I flew down to Mexico City on November 7th, with two back-to-back volcano trips lined up and some serious fine dining to do.

Our first trip was with Andrey and Victoria from Vancouver, B.C. and Emilia and Gary from L.A. Sort of. Except that Andrey was really from Bulgaria (and has great stories from his days working in a tomato processing plant when Bulgaria was part of the communist Eastern Bloc); and Emilia and Gary were both Armenians who spent much of their lives in Russia and met in Los Angeles.

I love my job. Guiding turns up people from the most fascinating walks of life.

As the trip got started, conversation wandered from the healthcare debate (Victoria is a pediatrician in Canada, and has found many advantages in her country's public healthcare system, where everyone gets the same coverage), to communism, to mountaineering.

Gary and Emilia had just gotten married the day before they flew to Mexico City. This trip was their honeymoon -- and, I do believe, the first newlyweds I have ever guided! Emilia had only started hiking this year, and generally prefers to wear high heels, so this would be a very new experience for her. From hiking Mt. Whitney only a month prior to climbing an 18,500ft snowy volcano with us would be quite a jump. And Emilia climbed as if it was her second nature, a smile quick to emerge at any point. Finally, at 18,000ft, we got a complaint out of her: "Well, I'm a little tired." No surprise at 9am when we've been up for 8 hours already. Phew, she's human.

The climb went smoothly for the most part; unfortunately, Victoria was hit hard by the altitude just above 15,000ft. We found out a day later that her acclimation had been largely curbed, and her altitude symptoms exacerbated, by a cold. But she toughed it out as long as she could, and the moment she recognized that the pace she needed in order to feel halfway decent as we climbed, would not be a pace that would get her or anyone else to the summit that day. A very hard but admirable decision on her part. I scrambled back down the scree with her to get her back to the hut, and decided to try to catch up to the rest of our party in order to assist Dave who now had a larger rope team.

I managed to catch the team at the crater rim, allowing us all to summit together. The weather was impeccable, and we enjoyed several minutes relaxation on the summit.

***

Our second trip was with three friends from Nevada City, California (northwest of Lake Tahoe). Tom and Rob work together in geotechnical engineering, and Peggy, Tom's wife, is a nurse. This trip would also include Iztaccihuatl at 17,000ft as an acclimating peak.

La Malinche was again first on tap for our acclimation regimen, and we were again accompanied by five or so dogs to the summit.

We then drove up to the hut on Izta, which lies at approximately 13,000ft. Here we spent a day acclimating (read: reading, watching movies, sleeping, eating, wandering around aimlessly, and just generally trying not to do anything too active) before heading off at 2am for the summit.

Izta is more of a very long hike than a climb, per se. As such, it is not the most technically interesting volcano to climb, but with Popo erupting in the background (and closed to climbing for the time being), it is by far the most scenic and geologically fascinating, complete with dulled thud sounds in the distance.

I learned much about the anatomy of a volcano on this climb. Rob and Tom were able to point out old flows and plugs, eying ribs of basalt that reveal where the lava flowed into the volcano -- now uncovered by centuries of erosion.



Despite the threatening clouds we saw move through on our rest day, we had impeccable weather for our summit day, and spectacular views from Mexico City to Pico de Oriazaba, our next (and final) goal.

With the successful ascent of Pico de Orizaba, Tom and Peggy would complete their goal of reaching 18,000ft or above on every continent (excluding those without peaks so high). So, with mountains such as Russia's Elbrus, another high peak in the Andes, and Kilimanjaro already under their belt, they were well prepared for Pico de Orizaba.

Orizaba was yet another smooth summit day with this team. Rob excelled on his first high altitude climb, smiling the whole way. And the consensus on the difficulty of the climb: more difficult than Elbrus, and generally a physically demanding climb due to the variation -- from scree hiking to rock scrambling (where there used to be glacier coverage only 20 years ago!) to steep snow climbing.

But perhaps the best part of the 9-day course is our stay in Puebla. Between Izta and Orizaba, we have a full rest day in Cholula and Puebla, and a very healthy appetite. Puebla is at the heart of mole poblano country, and a very cosmopolitan city rich with complex and fascinating histories. The ideal contrast to the demanding nature of the climbs, and an adventure in exploration in its own right.

***

Our next trip will be another 9-day Mexico Volcanoes climb beginning January 2nd. Until then, we'll be taking advantage of the slowest month of the year, out on the rocks and the slopes -- on a "professional development retreat," if you will.