Taking The High Road

National Geographic Adventure magazine tells true stories of the fight to save Bengali tigers from extinction; climbers who scale Nepali mud cliffs to retrieve 15th century Buddhist scrolls from crevasses ,untouched since they were left there; an ophthalmologist who had peaked all Seven Summits and recently performed 82 cataract surgeries in one day in Ethiopia and vows to save the third world from blindness; adventurers who lost their lives saving the souls of others, and more.

But abruptly informing me that the December 2009/January 2010 issue was the last I would ever receive, because Adventure had ceased publication (ad pages had fallen 59.1 percent, one of the biggest declines in the industry), was a flimsy, almost imperceptible postcard. It was thinner than some of the ice explorers have trodden under the auspices of the National Geographic Society, and not at all a fitting tribute to one of the best outdoors magazines in the market. The issue before this one celebrated the magazine's 10th anniversary in a bumper "best of" issue, full of aspiration and blazing passion. Now, there will be less inspiration and more couch potatoes.

Adventure was for those of us who made honest and decent livings behind desks, at laptops, at the forefront of industry or laid-back where we were most comfortable, but we all had one thing in common - expedition packs with dirt from the Himalayas, tags from Park City, Utah and leftover beef jerky from the Grand Canyon. Our shared badges of honor were trail shoes, trekking poles, bandanas and water-purifying tablets. The writing was solid - you didn't have to a professional mountaineer to understand "abseiling", "SAR mission", "figure-of-eight knot" and "garlic soup helps with altitude sickness but causes smelly farts", but you sure felt like you were on to something those dandies who preferred spa vacations and fancy hotels would never know. With emotion, love and compelling urgency, Adventure wrote of excursions big and small, major and minor, whether it was a five-month Appalachian odyssey or a weekend jaunt across your local slopes. It swashbuckled and led the way to an eco-consciousness about how loving natural landscapes was also to save it from peril, and how to love the earth beyond signing up for your city's recycling program. You felt involved, part of the scene, invested in community comradeship, the way you held an ad hoc 15-minute ranting conversation with a fellow Cubs fan on the incline of Chhomrong in the Annapurnas. Simply put, journalism the way it was invented to be. Sincere, true, and courageous.

The very last issue contained a list of what the editors and writers perceived to be the most heroic adventurers from 2009 - including archaelogists searching for Genghis Khan, soldiers saving lives on Denali, larger-than-stratosphere wave riding - but there was a large, glaring blemish in reporting. For Adventure failed to include itself on the list, but that's not surprising - true explorers don't brag. They remain humble about their achievements, for those who have conquered physical, emotional, mental and spiritual feats in nature know that we remain nothing next to mountains, oceans, weather elements and deserts.

Closing the last page of the last issue of Adventure reminded me of the moment we crammed into our minivan in Pokhara, Nepal, a little over a year ago, waving goodbye to our sherpas and porters because we were too sad to say it out loud. But in closing the magazine and not achieving real closure, there was hope. Like we told our Nepali friends then, we'd be back. So no real goodbyes from Adventure meant there would be no end to the spirit of adventure. It's there, and it's for us to carry on climbing. And in my expedition pack, there will be a spot I'll save for when Adventure comes back. I'll be waiting, as long as Everest remains the highest summit in the world.

Oh, and the image on the last page of the issue? A fire juggler in Sihanoukville, Cambodia. Blaze on.