This is way off-topic, but poses some interesting questions.
“Because it’s there!”
Recently, I’ve been watching YouTube documentaries about mountaineering in the Himalayas, most notably the 1996 disastrous Everest expedition and the controversial 2008 K2 team climb, which also ended with fatalities. What struck me about both of these expeditions was that nature has a habit of showing us who’s in charge, wherever we are.
Frankly, the thought of sleeping in a tent perched at a jaunty angle on the side of a windy mountain at 27,000ft gives me the shivers, not least the chances of being blown away by the ferocious winds and the afflictions of altitude sickness, which can affect even the most seasoned mountaineers.
Also, particularly in Everest (29,029ft) expeditions, there are so many teams climbing that traffic jams are frequent on the way to the summit.
This short video shows us how dangerous it is to climb Everest and points out that it’s more difficult coming down than going up.
“With enough determination, any bloody idiot can get up this hill. The trick is to get back down alive.” Rob Hall.
My problem is that I don’t like heights, especially vertical drops over precipices. It was bad enough watching Alex Hannold free-solo up Taipei 101 because I needed a stiff drink halfway through. Don’t get me wrong, I do like an adventure and have climbed mountains and hills in my earlier years. One of my favourites was always Scafell Pike, Cumbria, in the UK Lake District. It’s not very high at only 978m/3209ft. I first climbed it with my brother back in the 80s and later with my then-wife, who turned out to have the climbing skills of a mountain goat, which perfectly illustrates how people can surprise you. On the way up, we didn’t see a soul, but when we reached the summit, we were greeted by a crowd of around twenty cheerful climbers enjoying their ham and cheese sandwiches and admiring the view.
I can handle that kind of gentle climbing, but given the choice, I would probably choose the sea.
By Land Or Sea?
I’ve been sailing since I was a nipper and in later years press-ganged by my dad, a Royal Navy officer, to crew for him on numerous sailing trips in Scotland and across the English Channel to France and the Channel Islands in sailing boats he scrounged from the Navy. Over many years, we had some delightful adventures to Cherbourg, Le Havre, Concarneau, St. Malo, and many other wonderful French ports further south. We also experienced some hair-raising moments, such as when approaching the island of Alderney at nightfall, in a force 8 gale, with no engine, requiring us to struggle against the tide, with nothing but a reefed foresail and my dad’s legendary dead reckoning, because we didn’t have GPS back then, just a compass and charts. We managed to struggle through the rain and high winds and somehow found our way into the shelter of Braye harbour, where I was tasked to grab a mooring buoy with a boathook by hanging off the bow of the boat. I managed to hook it on the third attempt with my dad and two other crew sailing the boat in circles and coming up into the wind at just the right moment. With all secure, we broke out the rubber dinghy, rowed ashore in the pouring rain, strolled into the pub like a bunch of shipwrecked sailors, and enjoyed the most wonderful pints of beer I have ever tasted.
We had many more adventures over the years, far too many to go into here, but in 2002, I sailed my very own yacht from Milford Haven, Wales, across the Bay of Biscay to Barcelona via Gibraltar, a trip that I shall never forget.
During all these sailing trips, I can’t remember once feeling frightened. A little nervous, maybe, but never worried for my life. So, to answer my own question, I would much rather sail around the world than face the many hazards of climbing 29,000 ft up a killer mountain. Sure, the sea has its dangers and risks, but for me, the risks are probably far less when all precautions are taken.
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