It is 1 a.m., and for the first time in my life I have crossed the Atlantic. I am traveling at 625mph, fast approaching the island that my wife is named for. Somewhere below, Ireland like my wife and son, is sleeping. I’ve not slept a wink, which is no strange thing, my son has been the best training I could have asked for. Now, 5 hours from my final destination, my mind is finally turning to the two weeks ahead in Copenhagen, and the work that is coming. It occurs to me that the only two times I have left my country have been in the spirit of, and in search of, the very thing I seek on this trip - collaboration and creation.
My first trip outside of the US was with a team of climber friends. We were recruited by a friend who, as a caver, was a bit of an oddity for us. Our inclination to verticality and exposure to the sun on our backs and faces was surpassed only by our love of the equipment associated with the sport. In those tools we found common ground, and conceded to joining her in a road trip into the mountains of Mexico, and into a cave system rumored to be the longest in North America. We went for the adventure, and to take measurements and make maps together, with hopes of uncovering the connections necessary to secure the title.
The trips to Mexico that followed kept us above ground, climbing the lechuguilla covered limestone monoliths of Potrero Chico. Our songs echoing in the little valley, we climbers spent the day on routes built by our more skilled and daring friends. On the days when it was too hot to sing and we were too hung over to brave the 3,000 foot heights, we languished near the base in the shade, the Mexicans with their tiny cars and loud radios drinking and shouting encouragement and taunts from below. Their revelry was an invaluable contribution to the effort.
My most recent venture out of the US took me to an island in British Columbia, northwest of Vancouver, called Cortes. My pack was lighter for this trip, but included my trusty sleeping bag, and my lightweight tarp. Even in a setting that had nothing to do with sport it was important to me to ground myself on, well, the ground. I went to Cortes alone, but knew that again this adventure was about working with others, learning from those more skilled and daring, this time bringing a little of my own skill and bravery to the table. I soon found comfort in those kindred spirits who work the social web every day to make this a better world. That week was as powerful and stimulating as hanging from a belay 500 feet above the valley floor in Mexico, or crawling through the phosphorescent glow of Moon Milk Pass somewhere hundreds of feet below an ejido in central Mexico.
The creative genius that came from these trips endures and is apparent to me in my life every day. None of these adventures could have sustained the energy to give birth to the ideas and friendships without the fuel collaboration, and selflessness. So, as I travel to Copenhagen it does not escape me that I am headed to the largest most collaborative event of my lifetime. The leaders of the world are gathering to collaborate, to create common ground in the face of the greatest challenge facing humanity. While I will not be at the table negotiating the details (those are depths and summits for more skilled than myself), I’ll be collaborating and creating with a community of people who work hard to find and to tell the story of those most impacted by climate change, and with those who have spent decades urging our leaders to do something brave.
I am beyond tired, and beyond excited. The work begins soon, and I am roped up and ready get started. Climb on!