Back in 2004 or so, I was assigned to teach a weekend course for SOLO (www.soloschools.com) at Harvard, sponsored by the Harvard Mountaineering Club.  For those of you not aware, the HMC has a long and glorious history in the annals of mountaineering and exploration.  This wasn't my first time being there.  During a previous visit, the president was showing me around the office, and I picked up an old ice axe that was sitting in a corner.  It was inscribed, a gift from Ricardo Cassin to Brad Washburn.  This is like finding Pele's cleets sitting around in someone's closet.

So anyway, I was aware of the club's prominence.  Which made it even more startling when I got a call a month or so later from Lucas Laursen, who I think was the president at the time, telling me that they needed a medic for their upcoming expedition to Kyrgyzstan, and would I like to fill the spot?

Holy crap YES me? YES How will I find the money? YES This is like the trip of a lifetime YES the sort of thing I'd been YES hoping for and training for YES and teaching for YES all these years.

Uh, okay, sounds pretty good. YES!!!!!

So then there's an endless series of emails about logistics and whatnot.  My military and teaching schedules kept me from going on any of the group climbs, unfortunately.  I did make it to one meeting to say hello to the other members.  Nice group.  Thank god.  I was going regardless, but it could have been a nightmare, had there been any jerks in the bunch.

I don't actually recall how I came up with the money.  I was pretty poor at the time.  I suspect I probably maxed out my Discover card yet again.  However, it really wasn't that expensive.  I probably spent a total of maybe $3,000, which isn't really that bad for a three week jaunt in an obscure little corner of the world.  Most of the money went to airfare and food.  There was also my portion of the cost for the outfitter who was driving us in and the basecamp cook and their supplies--including a live sheep, about which more later.

I took over my friends' screen room and filled it with (Hah! Predictive touch screen is suggesting "marbles" as the next word.  That certainly would have been amusing.) adventure-y stuff.  Because I suspect most people who read this are unlikely to have been on a mountaineering expedition, I'll try to remember my packing list.  Clothing, obviously, polypropylene undies, fleece layers, a down jacket, shell gear made of Gore-Tex, heavy socks.  Which gloves?  I have a terrible time with gloves.  They're never dexterous enough.  If they're warm, they're so bulky I feel like I've got clubs instead of hands.  If they let me use my hands like a primate, the gloves are too thin and not warm enough.  I hate mittens.  Etc.  I settled on a pair of heavy warm ones that served me well in Alaska and another pair of "trigger finger" shells, gloves that are essentially mittens with a space for the forefinger.  They seem to be a decent compromise.  Another item that I never travel without is my wind shirt, a thin shell of ripstop nylon that balls up the size of a tennis ball.  I covered the Crossland's futon couch with food, mostly dehydrated stuff, coffee and food bars. 

Ironmongery, too.  Ice axe, ice tools, carabiners, crampons, harness, ascenders, rope, a whole selection of cordage, my Leatherman tool, my stove and cooking gear, cup, bowl and spoon, camera and extra batteries, sunglasses.  It seemed to go on forever.  I wound up buying another large duffel bag.

Then there were the drugs.  My father in law wrote me prescriptions for a bunch of stuff, mostly antibiotics of one kind or another, and some kickass painkillers, just in case.  One issue with the drugs was that everything was likely to get frozen at night, so nothing injectable could go.  I did make one exception for epinephrine, since we were all, except for Adilet who was born and raised near the destination, going to be exposed to new stuff.  Over the counter stuff, too, antihistamines, Pepto, pseudoephedrine, aspirin, ibuprofen, acetaminophen, a few tabs of loperamide just in case.  Temporary filling material.  Topical lidocaine.  A scalpel or two, trauma supplies.  It went on and on and on.  We were given several first aid kits by Atwater-Carey.

Boots.  Jesus, as if gloves weren't enough of a pain in the ass.  I finally settled on a pair of high-top approach shoes (think lightweight hiking shoes with climbing shoe sticky rubber soles) and my Koflachs, hard-shelled plastic mountain boots.  We were also given boots by Lowa, generously donating a bunch of used rentals to the cause.  I had no opportunity to try mine on until I got to the airport, so I had to pack my Koflachs just in case.

George and Laura were waiting for me at their place in Cambridge.  They kept calling me, basically saying, "DAVE!  What the hell is keeping you?  Get your ass in gear!"  and they were absolutely right.  The packing process was taking me forever.

In any case, we all made it to the airport and juggled a few things around so none of our seven hundred and fifty three duffel bags was over the limit weight-wise.  Turned out that the boots fit me perfectly, which was a little disappointing to George, who would have wound up with them if they hadn't.

Eventually, we wound up on an airplane.  Now, there's an amusing side anecdote here.  I was kidding with Sallie before I left, saying, "Hon, what if I meet a beautiful Russian woman while I'm over there?"  and her perfect riposte was "Use a condom."  So, of course, I get on the plane, one of these huge things the size of a concert hall, and the seat next to me is empty.  I'm thinking, cool, I have space for my stuff, I can relax, etc.  Then this stunning blonde woman comes down the aisle.  Of course.  Guess where she sits.  So now I have whatever, six or seven hours sitting next to this beautiful woman.

For those of you with more salacious minds, the answer is no.  We just exchanged a few emails.

Enough for now, I think.  More later.