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I'm an average middle-aged New Zealand male, more or less indistinguishable from a million others. A major focus of my life has been spending time in special places: in the Alps, on the oceans, and in the sky. There have been a few big ventures and some significant personal achievements along the way, but there have also been many simple, easy journeys and micro-adventures that have been wonderful.

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I like the term 'simple adventures'. In this context, it's intended to imply a few things: achievable by an ordinary person, an appreciation that effort and skill will always trump results achieved by an excess of technology, a desire to engage as directly as possible with the surroundings, and an ethos that moderate undertakings can offer the richest rewards. This isn't about going to the moon or Everest without oxygen. It's about attitude. I'm neither particularly fit nor especially brave; I have modest finances and average responsibilities. I'm about as far from the typical sponsored athletic action hero as you can be and still breathe. It's just been my good fortune to have found environments and activities that I love, and the companionship of others who have been similarly afflicted.

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Outdoor pursuits are increasingly afflicted by both a consumer mentality and a misguided sense of what constitutes safety. More and more, specialised and expensive equipment is becoming regarded as necessary. In particular, the use of EPIRBs (Emergency Position Indicating Radio Beacons) and similar devices are substituting proper preparation and good decision making. The more these items become mandatory, the more necessary they become. The result is that many activities have become rule-bound or bogged down with expensive 'safety equipment' - witness recreational aviation and bluewater sailing - and many intrinsically cheap pastimes have become costly. 

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We also live in an age where incredible feats, sponsorship and media are often married. The plethora of YouTube clips featuring the daring stunts of heavily promoted and highly trained athletes can dull the reality that anyone can have a worthwhile adventure in the outdoors. We can choose our own Everests, if we feel like doing so, and just as importantly we can all spend a starry night under a blanket on the hill behind our homes, naming the constellations, watching the night turn, and greeting a new day. The border of adventure is our ability to open our minds to possibilities. 

 

When asked by a reporter why he wanted to return to Everest in 1924, George Mallory replied “because it’s there”. His – presumably fatuous – answer has become something of a beacon for the misguided, implying as it does some sort of incomprehensible, mystical magnetism drawing those under its spell to the slopes of the world’s highest mountain. The truth shouldn’t be a mystery. Most would find a spectacular beauty in big mountains, in their colour and grandeur and unfamiliarity, and that is part of the equation. Mallory was undoubtedly infatuated with the challenge that climbing Everest presented, and the challenge of big mountains is gilded with consequence. I’ve little doubt that he wanted to face the hazards of Everest and try to sidestep the danger with whatever skills he possessed. The essence of climbing and the forces that drew Mallory to his destiny on Everest were partly to do with the majestic splendour of the mountain and partly what he could find in himself.

 

Outdoor pursuits have at their core a love, and like any love it needs no justification because it is not rational. What follows is my best take on an answer as to ‘why?’. If a life could be painted on a blank canvas, what you see here is much of what has given my life its colours, joy, vivacity and vibrancy. 

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