Breaking Trail: A Climbing Life [NOOK Book]

Overview

Arlene Blum is a legendary trailblazer by any measure. Defying the climbing establishment of the 1970s, she led the first teams of women on successful ascents of Mt. McKinley and Annapurna, and was the first American woman to attempt Mt. Everest. In her long, adventurous career, she has played a leading role in more than twenty expeditions and forged a place for women in the perilous arena of high-altitude mountaineering.
Breaking Trail is the story of Blum's journey from her ...
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Breaking Trail: A Climbing Life

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Overview

Arlene Blum is a legendary trailblazer by any measure. Defying the climbing establishment of the 1970s, she led the first teams of women on successful ascents of Mt. McKinley and Annapurna, and was the first American woman to attempt Mt. Everest. In her long, adventurous career, she has played a leading role in more than twenty expeditions and forged a place for women in the perilous arena of high-altitude mountaineering.
Breaking Trail is the story of Blum's journey from her overprotected youth in Chicago to the tops of some of the highest peaks on Earth. Chronicling a life of extraordinary personal and professional achievement, Blum's intimate and inspiring memoir explores how her childhood fueled her need to climb -- and how, in turn, her climbing liberated her from her childhood.
Each chapter in Breaking Trail begins with a poignant vignette from Blum's early life. Using these as starting points, she traces her evolution as a climber, from a hilariously incompetent beginner to an aspiring mountaineer to a successful, confident, and world-renowned expedition leader. Along the way, she takes us to some of the most extreme and exquisite places on the planet, sharing the exhilaration, toil, and danger of climbing high. Blum also relates the story of her scientific career, which, like her mountaineering, challenged gender stereotypes and was filled with singular accomplishments, including the banning of two cancer-causing chemicals and the initiation of an important area of biophysical research.
Writing with remarkable candor and introspection, Blum recounts her triumphs and tragedies, and provides a probing look at what drove her to endure extreme physical discomfort -- and even to risk her life -- attempting high, remote summits around the world. In her story, she shares intimate insights into how and why climbers persevere under the harshest circumstances, cope with the deaths of their comrades, and balance their desire for adventure with their personal lives.
Complemented with breathtaking personal photos and detailed maps, Breaking Trail is a deeply moving account of how one woman overcame adversity to become one of the world's most famous climbers, and a testament to the power of taking risks and pursuing dreams.
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Editorial Reviews

Holly Morris
The romantic notion of climbing foremothers with cinched-up petticoats and loads of moxie is not one that applies to Blum. She simply tells her nourishing and deserving story, quietly reminding us that a woman's place is indeed on top.
— The New York Times Book Review
Library Journal
The first woman to attempt an assault on Everest reviews her life to explain why she climbs. With a six-city tour. Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
What was a nice Jewish girl from the Midwest doing atop the mighty mountain Denali?In 1970, Blum (Annapurna, 1980) climbed Denali, formerly known as Mt. McKinley, to show just how high a woman could go. She scrambled her way to the summit, leading a posse similarly bent on high adventure. At a time when women first broke through the glass ceiling at work, Blum penetrated altitude levels while leading assaults on Everest and Annapurna. (Her team's slogan was "A Woman's Place Is On Top...Annapurna.") The names of the places to which she went, from Bhrigupanth to Zanskar, Phalgam to the Vale of Kashmir, Kristwar to Trisul, would thrill Kipling. Danger on the mountains-crevasses, avalanches, snow, fog, ice, wind and cold-killed several of her fellow climbers along the way. For some, Blum's mountaineering jargon may be off putting. Of her first climb on Annapura she writes: "Attaching my jumar ascender to the yellow polypropylene fixed rope left by the others, I took a deep breath." Now sixty, a mom and a motivational speaker, Blum also provides glimpses of her childhood in a less than functional family and her day job in biochemistry, in which she attained a doctorate. The prose is occasionally problematic, but Blum's story could appeal equally to armchair alpinists and to veterans of women's lib campaigns. Blum succeeds passably in this autobiography of life and mountain climbing.
From the Publisher
PRAISE FOR BREAKING TRAIL

"Personal and disarmingly honest . . . [Blum] simply tells her nourishing and deserving story, quietly reminding us that a woman’s place is indeed on top." —THE NEW YORK TIMES BOOK REVIEW

"A book too engrossing to put down." —THE SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780743281782
  • Publisher: Scribner
  • Publication date: 10/4/2005
  • Sold by: SIMON & SCHUSTER
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 336
  • Sales rank: 928,931
  • File size: 2 MB

Meet the Author

Arlene Blum is a keynote speaker, leadership and intercultural trainer, mountaineer, biochemist, and author of the bestselling book Annapurna: A Woman's Place. Blum has a doctorate in biophysical chemistry and has taught at Stanford University, Wellesley College, and the University of California, Berkeley. She lives with her teenage daughter in Berkeley, California.
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Read an Excerpt


Chapter 1

Under the Porch

Davenport, Iowa, August 1949

The sun is glaring down on me, so I grab my doll and squeeze into a small, dark space under the back porch. I prop Dolly up for a tea party. Between us I spread a lace handkerchief and lay out the blue glass doll dishes Mommy just gave me for my fourth birthday. My Aunts Ruth and Shirley are sitting on the porch above and their muffled words drift down. I pour a cup of imaginary tea and give it to Dolly. I am lulled by my aunts' soothing voices, the cool darkness, and the sweet smell of the rosebushes that surround our house. Unexpectedly, I hear my name. I put down my cup and listen.

"With parents like that."

Tea party forgotten, I strain to hear their words. There's something about Germany. And then:

"Arlene...that child will amount to no good...."

I look up toward my Aunt Shirley's voice and see the dusty underside of the porch. I curl up on the ground, hug my knees, and shake with silent sobs. I hate my aunt's words. I hate my aunt. I hate myself. But she is wrong. I'll show them. I'll show them all.

A Slide down Mt. Adams

1964

Can you keep going?" John handed me his water bottle.

"I'll try," I gasped, taking a sip. We continued upward, my loud breathing synchronized with the rhythmic tap of our ice axes on the rocky ground.

It was September 1964 and we were on our way up Mt. Adams, a stately 12,276-foot volcano in southern Washington near Portland, Oregon, where I was a junior at Reed College. After class the previous day, my handsome chemistry lab partner, John Hall, had asked if I would like to join him and four other guys in an attempt on Adams. The previous spring, John had taken me on my first backpack trip; ever since then I had begged him to teach me to climb. Eager to try a mountain and spend time with charismatic John, I happily accepted his invitation.

We had begun our hike at one in the morning so we could climb the hard snow slopes above timberline before the sun softened their surface. When I first put on my daypack and headed up, I began breathing so loudly that John later confessed he wondered if I would make it out of the parking lot. And now here I was, an out-of-shape nineteen-year-old girl from the flatlands wearing borrowed boots and pack, trudging up a mountain in the middle of the night.

Just before dawn, we stopped to get ready to go up the hard snow. John helped me strap a pair of crampons -- the metal spikes that keep a climber from slipping on ice -- onto my boots. He showed me how to tie myself into the braided nylon climbing rope, explaining that it would catch me if I fell into a crevasse. I didn't know what a crevasse was, but John was so calm and confident I didn't worry. John tied himself to the front of our rope, I attached myself to the center, and Mike took the end. Fred, Ron, and George similarly tied themselves to the other rope. I liked the secure feeling of this umbilical cord connecting me to these strong, attractive guys.

We began moving up again as the first shafts of light hit the glacier and the hard white snow glittered as though sprinkled with tiny mirrors. Ahead of us was an icefield sliced by long, narrow chasms with walls of blue and green ice -- crevasses! Veils of cloud hung suspended above green valleys far below. Carefully placing my boots in John's footprints, I practiced what he called the rest step: Step, breathe, relax. Step, breathe, relax. Slowly and steadily, my body adapted to the unaccustomed exertion and I began to feel peaceful and strong.

Then I felt a tug at my waist, heard the sound of vomiting, and looked behind me to see Mike doubled up over his ice axe.

"Mike usually starts throwing up when he gets this high," John said calmly, walking over to me. "He needs to go down -- want to go with him?"

"Down? Me? Why?" I asked. "I love it up here."

John told me about altitude sickness, explaining that many people have an elevation ceiling above which their bodies don't adapt.

"So what's that got to do with me?" I asked.

"Well, you don't want to push it," said John, beginning to look a little uncomfortable himself. "Your breathing didn't sound so good in the beginning."

"But now I feel great," I said. "This is the most beautiful place I've ever been."

"Well, actually, when I asked you to come with us, I thought that by ten thousand feet you'd have had enough and be ready to go down, too," said John. "That way, Mike would have company."

"You invited me to come thinking I couldn't make it to the top?" I tried to stamp my cramponed foot in outrage, but the points stuck in the ice.

"Ten thousand feet's good for a first climb," John said. "I'm willing to go down, but the others haven't been here before. Do you want to keep going with three guys who don't know the route?"

"If it's either that or turn back, I'll go with them," I said. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving this gorgeous place I'd just discovered.

"Okay, okay, I'll go down with Mike. I've climbed Adams lots of times," said John. "I hate to leave all of you up here, but I guess the route's easy enough."

I untied from John and Mike and attached myself to the other rope.

John gave us the chocolate bar he'd brought for the summit. Then he led Mike slowly back down the glacier. As he turned and waved, I felt a pang of regret to be climbing without him.

While John had traversed the steep slopes slowly and rhythmically, my new ropemates headed straight up. Before long I was desperate for air, but forced myself to keep going. Several hours later we reached a rocky point that looked like the top, and I flopped down to rest.

"This is a false summit. The real one's just ahead," said Ron, who had become our de facto leader. "Let's keep moving."

I looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a higher peak far -- very far -- in the distance. "This is it for me," I said. "I'll wait here." With shaking hands, I untied myself from the rope and the others continued up. As soon as they were out of sight I unzipped my wool dress slacks -- the only pants I owned, since, like most women in the 1960s, I usually wore skirts or dresses. I squatted and relieved myself with great satisfaction. I had been holding it for hours, too embarrassed to tell the guys I needed to stop.

Then I sank onto a comfortable rock and looked around. The other Cascade volcanoes rose above the valleys like towers above a medieval city. Turning on my side, I watched, fascinated, as an intrepid ladybug crawled toward me, its red and black wings dazzling against the dark basalt rock. It seemed extraordinary to find a small insect high on this icy ridge, and I realized it was equally astonishing that I was up here. Dozing in the warm sun, I was content, and not in the least sorry that I'd stopped short of the top. Right here were the space and peace I'd always craved.

An hour later, Ron, Fred, and George returned, jubilant, from the summit. Standing up stiffly to congratulate them, I noticed the long shadows.

"There's not much daylight left," Ron said. "We've got to glissade."

"Glissade?" I asked.

"Just take off your crampons, sit on the snow, and slide," Ron said matter-of-factly. "Use your ice axe to steer, and if you start going too fast, roll over and push the pick of your axe into the snow." Ron sat down and gave a quick demonstration of how to arrest a fall. Then he, Fred, and George slid out of sight.

My heart pounding, I had no choice but to follow. I stuffed my crampons into my daypack, sat down with my legs pointed down the slope, and jammed my ice axe into the snow next to me. As I eased it out, I began to slide. Within moments, I was careening downhill, out of control. Terrified, I rolled over on my stomach and thrust the pick of my axe into the slope. I slowed, but continued sliding. I heaved my whole body up over the top of the axe and pushed it down with all my weight. I stopped.

I grinned into the snow and waited to catch my breath before sitting up and continuing my glissade. Soon I discovered how to use the axe at my side as a brake and a rudder. Glissading was fun! Down, down, down I flew for thousands of feet. At first the rough, frozen snow felt cold and uncomfortable beneath me, but soon I didn't notice it.

The light was fading when I reached the lower slopes. The snow was now encrusted with scree -- small pieces of volcanic rock -- and freezing hard. When I reached the end of the snow, the guys were nowhere in sight. I saw footsteps heading down the scree slope and, willing myself to stay calm, followed them to reach the trees just at dark.

"Over here," someone yelled from the forest. Relieved, I followed the voice to where the others were waiting in the pitch black -- all the flashlight batteries were dead. I sat down on a big rock, more exhausted than I'd ever been in my life. After a short rest, I put my hand on the rock to push myself up. My hand felt wet.

Strange, I thought. A wet rock.

I rubbed my fingers together. They were coated with a thick, sticky liquid. I put my hand back on the rock. It was covered with the same substance. Then I put my hand on my behind -- and felt raw, abraded flesh.

The small pebbles and scree in the frozen snow had acted like sandpaper and worn away my thin wool trousers, my underpants, and finally, my skin. I hadn't felt a thing; evidently, the ice had anesthetized my bottom. I now understood why the others had leather patches sewn on the seats of their climbing pants.

I hardly knew these guys. Telling them I had shredded my pants, not to mention my rear end, was unthinkable. I grabbed my black pettipants from my pack (for some unknown reason, I'd brought these slip-like shorts along) and pulled them over my tattered slacks. In the dark, no one noticed anything amiss.

"Let's go. We've got to keep moving," Ron yelled, heading off into the dark forest. I lurched along behind him, too worn out to protest. Before long it was clear we were lost. I was so exhausted that all I wanted was to lie down on the ground and go to sleep. After hours of staggering through the nightmare forest, we heard a faint whistle. We all shouted in response and soon John Hall made his way toward us, waving his flashlight.

It was three in the morning, more than twenty-four hours since we'd started. As we drove out the long, rough dirt road, I sat on the edge of the seat and moaned whenever the car went over a bump. I stumbled back to my dorm room and tried to sleep, but the intense pain in my thawing rear end kept me awake. I woke my roommate, Nancy, and asked for help. A true friend, she started picking out the countless small rocks.

"Your bottom looks like a gravel pile," she finally said. "You need to go to the infirmary."

While the doctor pulled the pebbles from my flesh with tweezers, I told him about our adventure and how much I loved mountain climbing.

"It's going to be a while before you do that again," he said. "You won't even be able to sit down for a few weeks."

As I lay on my stomach in the infirmary, I dreamed of glaciers and rocky peaks. I wrote my family a letter: "I just climbed almost to the top of Mt. Adams. It was the most beautiful place I've ever been and the best day of my life. The mountains are where I belong."

Copyright © 2005 by Arlene Blum

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Table of Contents


Foreword     ix
Introduction     xi
A Slide down Mt. Adams     1
A Man and a Mountain     7
Higher and Higher     15
"A Woman? Never!"     27
Peru Adventure     34
Berkeley in the 1960s     47
Real Women Climbers     58
The Damsels on Denali     68
To the Summit of Denali     85
Out in the Cold     96
Avalanches     111
The Endless Winter in Africa     123
The Queen of Tenacity     141
The Endless Winter in Afghanistan and Nepal     162
Peak Lenin Bares Its Fangs     178
The Maelstrom     194
Tragedy on Trisul     210
Seduced by Mt. Everest     230
Annapurna: Women in High Places     253
First Up Bhrigupanth     279
The Great Himalayan Traverse, Part I     297
The Great Himalayan Traverse, Part II     313
Coming Home     331
Across the Alps with Baby     344
Peace and Love at Last     355
Epilogue: Mountains, Molecules, and Motherhood     360
Afterword     366
Acknowledgments     373
Index     377
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Sort by: Showing all of 7 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted November 12, 2008

    Awesome Book

    This book took a while to get through, but it really picked up three-quarters of the way through. The childhood memories and the general story seem a little disjointed too, but they finally strike a harmonious note near the end. The story is absolutely incredible and has inspired me on many levels. A must-read for any man or woman.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 10, 2007

    Inspirational adventures / part detective story

    I'm not a huge memoir fan, it takes an outstsanding story to get to me, but I can place Arlene Blum's book Breaking Trail firmly in that catagory. Part narrative and part detective mystery, Arlene's story recaps the inspirational climbs up the world's high peaks and across the world's largest mountain ranges. Woven in between these amazing adventures is the mystery of her family life and it literally unfolds as you read the book. A must read for anyone interested in the natural world, the challenge of high mountain climbing, a women's desire to suceed, all wrapped around a family mystery.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 4, 2005

    A MUST READ BOOK

    Breaking Trail: A Climber's Life by Arlene Blum is a mountaineering adventure and a biography of growing up in the turbulent second half of the twentieth century. Blum takes us to new highs as a most accomplished women mountaineer. Blum brings us back to earth as a women striving in a male dominated society. Breaking Trail: A Climber's Life is the honest and insightful story of uncompromising brilliance and determination overcoming challenge. It is the story of a generation pushing the limits. It is A MUST READ BOOK!

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