Elia Saikaly

How to Become an Adventure Filmmaker

2013-03-07T07:11:31-05:00

Imagine being dressed in a down parka, ski goggles, down mitts, plastic boots, crampons and barely being able to stand on your own two feet because 90km/hr winds are attempting to blow you off the side of a 17,000 ft ridge. In that moment, you feel as though life is unfolding at 120 frames per second. Your teammates, who are unrecognizable other than by the colour of their jackets, are simply trying to survive and make it to the summit. As a filmmaker, you have half the level of oxygen that you would at sea level which hinders your ability to think and move.

In the midst of the chaos of trying to determine whether to carry on or turn back, all of a sudden your Canon 24-70mm lens hood goes flying off the side of the mountain and disappears somewhere beneath the clouds. You freeze and think, "this is insane!" Then you quickly make a decision and point your camera in the direction of the next dramatic moment. "Think 'story' Saikaly, and make sure you get all the pieces you need for the final edit. And don't die in the process!" That is the dialogue I often have with myself at high altitude. This is the nature of my job as a high altitude filmmaker.

BLOG CONTINUES AFTER SLIDESHOW

So how did I do it? And how can you become an adventure filmmaker? I've taken what I've learned over the past eight years and outlined a series of steps for you to take to land your dream job of becoming a globe-trotting adventure filmmaker.

1) Create a demo reel. Prospective clients NEED to see how good you are. It's the number one thing that matters in the industry. Your CV means nothing if you don't have a good demo reel. It's also important to know that having a killer wedding videos demo reel isn't going to help you. If you don't have any footage, then create opportunities. Get out in a storm and shoot, volunteer to shoot an adventure race, team up with an athlete and create a profile video. Do whatever it takes to showcase your skills.

2) Brand yourself. It's amazing how many people are incredibly skilled that do not have a website, twitter account or online presence. YOU are the brand and your skill-set is what prospective clients are seeking. Build it and they will come.

3) Volunteer with a travel organization. The Internet is an amazing way to reach out to people whether by email, twitter or other social media platforms. Ultimately, you need quality imagery from diverse locations to build your portfolio. Work with an NGO, partner on a charity climb while offering up your services for free to build your CV and portfolio.

4) Invest in yourself. What served my career at the highest level was taking the financial risk of traveling extensively on my own dollar and shooting as much as I could every step of the way. It's amazing how much money we waste. Simplify your life and you'll be amazed at how much extra travel money you discover in your back pocket.

5) Mirror the success of others. What's consistent amongst all the adventure filmmakers out there is that they've done the work and paid their dues. It takes time. Draw from the lessons of those you aspire to emulate, learn from their mistakes.

6) Invest in quality gear. The DSLR revolution has changed the industry. We all have access to equipment that has the potential to create world-class images on a very modest budget. Good glass and a full frame body, combined with a few key accessories like an intervalometer and Glidetrack goes a long way.

7) Learn to tell a story. Filmmaking is about telling great stories. Beautiful images alone do not make a story great. Young filmmakers forget that nothing beats a great story with strong characters complimented by beautiful images. Balance out your time between the technical/creative aspects of filmmaking and great storytelling.

8) Be creative. There are numerous ways to sustain yourself during this process of building your adventure filmmaker brand and portfolio. Create a stock video library, shoot stock photos, activate tip jars on online websites like Vimeo, set up a donation page and have friends and family invest in you. Possibilities are endless.

9) Check your ego at the door. Be wise and don't turn down other work. I spent years shooting corporate and wedding videos to finance and fuel my dream of becoming an adventure filmmaker. Check your ego at the door and never convince yourself that you're above all else. It's a tough industry and it's a privilege to be paid to work. A means to a dream is how I choose to see this complimentary work.

10) Be patient. It is a very competitive industry out there. Understand that it takes time, commitment, dedication and determination to succeed. You need talent, but you also need to get your name and work out there. If you can persevere through the initial stages of setting yourself up and acquiring the experience, network and portfolio required to become successful you'll eventually find yourself living a dream and a life you never imagined was possible.

Elia Saikaly is an adventure filmmaker based in Ottawa, Canada. He is the founder of FindingLife.ca -- an organization that inspires, empowers and educates youth through the platform of adventure. Learn more about his work at www.eliasaikaly.com

How I Designed My Dream Life (and How You Can Too)

2012-11-06T17:53:36-05:00

This morning I rode shotgun in a helicopter and flew though the Himalayas. I trekked through the trails in the Solo-Khumbu, encountered yaks, donkeys, suspension bridges, porters, stunning mountains and beautiful children. I smiled at every man, woman and child I came across, captured the day's events with an arsenal of cameras, a steadicam, a track and a trip-pod.

I'm currently time-lapsing three cameras under the stars while typing away in a tea house in the warmth of my sleeping bag. For me, this is heaven. For me, this is my ultimate dream. It isn't luck, it isn't a gift, it's something called life-design. Please allow me explain.

I remember the defining moment like it was yesterday. Eight years ago I trekked to Everest basecamp with a team of Canadians and my goal was to shoot a documentary about my friend Dr. Sean Egan. During one of his training exercises, it dawned on me that what I was observing and capturing though my lens was exactly what I wanted to do with my life. It wasn't necessarily that I wanted to be a climber, (although somehow that happened along the way) rather I wanted to travel the world and become an adventure filmmaker. I knew nothing of anything related to adventure at the time, but it appears as though I've done something right because that is my life. How did all of that happen you ask?

I began by asking myself three simple questions:

1) Am I happy in my life?

2) Considering the answer was no, I then asked myself: Am I prepared to do anything it will take to make my dream my reality?

3) Will I educate myself, associate myself with others in this realm and do absolutely anything I need to do, regardless of how difficult or how long it will take?

Fortunately the answer was YES to all of the questions above. I knew what I wanted and I was committed to doing anything I needed to do to arrive at my end goal. Sounds too easy, right? It was... and it wasn't. It was, because I knew the meaning of patience. I understood the concept of hard work. I had learned what it was like to fall on my face and hit rock bottom and most importantly I had the ability to visualize myself living this goal. Was I prepared for how hard it actually was? Absolutely not! But I was resilient and relentless. Today, I'm living the rewards of eight years or hard work.

If I had one piece of advice for most of the population in the west, it would be this: don't ever settle for anything less that what your authentic you needs to be happy and fulfilled. Whatever makes the most sense to you, do it. Find a way. Whatever means the most to you. Aim for it and never stop. Whatever will lead you to the moment when you're happiest, do it. Falling down will make you stronger. Conquering any fear you may have will only empower you.

I meet so many people that fear the loss of control, that fear the unknown, or can't part with their existing salary in the job they hate. Others use their family as a reason or convince themselves that "perhaps someday it will happen." Well let me tell you this "someday is a disease that will take your dreams to the grave with you."

I'm not saying jeopardize your security, I'm saying take a leap of faith and invest in your life and your happiness. Your friends and family will thank you because you will be a much happier human being. You could be living everything you've ever dreamed and it all begins with life-design, knowing what you want and being willing to do anything it takes to make it happen.

Dream it. Believe it. Achieve it.

Battling Buffeting Winds To Reach Europe's Highest Peak

2012-09-06T07:00:00-04:00

Imagine being dressed in a down parka, ski goggles, thick gloves, plastic boots, crampons (spikes under your boots) and barely being able to stand on your own two feet because 90 kph winds are attempting to blow you off the side of a 17, 000-foot ridge. In that moment, you feel as though life is unfolding at 120 frames per second.

Your teammates, who are unrecognizable other than by the color of their jackets, are simply trying to survive and make it to the summit. As a filmmaker, you have half the level of oxygen that you would at sea level which hinders your ability to think and move. Snow is blowing in all directions and your job is to operate a Canon 5D and capture every exciting moment.

In the midst of the chaos of trying to determine whether to carry on or turn back, all of a sudden your Canon 24-70 mm lens hood goes flying off the side of the mountain and disappears somewhere beneath the clouds. You freeze and think, "This is insane!"

Then you quickly make a decision and point your camera in the direction of the next dramatic moment.

"Think 'story' Saikaly, and make sure you get all the pieces you need for the final edit. And don't die in the process!"

That is the dialogue I often have with myself at high altitude. This is the nature of my job as a high altitude filmmaker.

The greatest challenges I face in the mountains are altitude, exposure and extreme cold. Combine survival with proper focus, exposure and framing (in addition to ensuring your camera that doesn't flake out on you) is extremely difficult on the easiest of days.

The best example I can illustrate in terms of how you feel at extreme altitude is this: MOST seasoned climbers can barely pull out a tiny consumer point and shoot camera to snap a photo during the moments that matter. This is consistent amongst most who dare to set foot above the clouds. So imagine working with a finicky DSLR with all of the add ons. It isn't easy!

I was amazed that the Canon 5D survived the conditions we faced. I was convinced that the winds, coupled with the sub-zero temperatures, would have surely shut the camera down. And if not, I was certain that my "live-view" mode would cease to function. To my surprise, it functioned flawlessly throughout the entire climb. Way to go Canon! The following was my summit day set up.

MAIN CAMERA SET UP
-Canon 5D with a Canon 24-70 mm lens
-Cowboy studio rig
-Zacuto Z-Finder w/anti fog (Zacuto Z-Finder w/anti fog is brilliant, btw!)
-Sennheiser MKE-400 (with a wind sock)
-Vari-ND Filter
-Kata bag
-10 batteries in a small pelican case (hand warmers kept them warm)
-ME-66 shotgun mic (with a lithium battery)
-Zoom H4N and headphones (with two lithium batteries)
-GoPro Hero 2
ADDITIONAL EQUIPMENT
-Canon T3i
-Canon 70-200 mm lens
-Tokina 11-16 mm
-Five extra batteries
-Small Manfrotto tripod

*I also had the sense to hire a local guide named Igor who helped me carry some of this gear.

It's extremely difficult under these uncontrollable circumstances because as a one man show you need to: A) Look out for your own health and safety which includes being able to navigate on steep slopes with crampons while ensuring you are strong enough mentally and physically to not succumb to altitude sickness, and B) ensure you shoot as much of the action as possible without falling off the side of the mountain and dying!

I chose the cowboy studio rig because I knew I could leverage and lean on the the icy slopes for added camera stability without worrying too much about wrecking the stabilizing rig. I also knew that the cowboy studio rig could rest on my shoulder which would permit me to remain hands-free to use my ice axe while climbing. The downside to the rig is that because it rests on your chest, and because it's very hard to breathe due to the minimal amount of oxygen, your heavy breathing sometimes translates into unnecessary camera movement. Hence why I leveraged the icy slopes for added stability. Needless to say, I shoot a ton of low angle shots as a result.

The biggest challenge I faced on summit day was the uncontrollable spindrift (blowing snow) and keeping up with the team's pace. You have to remember that no one is willing to stop at any time (as climbing is a race against the weather) so I had to be stronger and faster than everyone else. This is a pure mental game because your body is literally shutting down the higher you climb. Every shot I take, I recalculate the time it will take me to catch up and the amount of energy required to do so. It's a bit crazy and totally run and gun style, but it works if you're fit and healthy, which I usually am. I have 15 years of bodybuilding and fitness training under my belt which gives me a huge advantage.

In terms of focus and exposure, that's a whole other challenge in these extreme environments. Climbing above 17,000 feet is definitely one of the instances where "there is more to life than shallow depth of field." I used a vari-ND filter and shot between f/11-f/22, often at higher shutter speeds for effect. When I was getting reactions or ISOs on climbers I would open up to f/4-f/5.6 if it made sense. We're in the mountains, so the background is important. Being closed down also makes focusing easier. Remember, the snow is blowing in all directions and I'm wearing thick gloves. The Kata bag doesn't help much in terms of being able to reach the focus assist or live-mode button, but it does keep the camera intact. Somehow, I manage. Oh ya: The light meter was completely untrustworthy because everything is white, so I had to eye-ball it. Zebras would have been nice here.

As the drama escalates and the weather transitions from bad to worse, I was constantly asking myself: Will we make it? Will we turn back? Can I feel my toes? How are my fingers? Selfishly, I wanted to stand on the summit, but I constantly reminded myself that I was there to follow the team, not to summit the mountain. There was a moment where I asked the team leader whether he thought we were going to make it. He replied "Inshallah." I found that amusing considering Vern is originally from Alaska. It was truly a life or death scenario. Any mistakes by any of the fatigued climbers and they could have easily fallen into the abyss, just like my Canon lens hood! In our guide's 25 ascents of this mountain, this was by far the worst conditions he had ever seen.

150 meters below the summit we decided to take one final rest stop just below an exposed ridge. Rather than shooting, I decided to look after myself. I devoured three Kit-Kat bars, two packs of GU energy gels and consumed a half litre of Gatorade under 90 seconds.Yummy! I was ready for the summit.

The last 150 meters were tough as we climbed directly into the wind towards the top of Mt. Elbrus. I pulled out my GoPro Hero 2 and captured some extreme close ups of the climbers' feet as they marched towards the peak. I then continued to literally run ahead with barely enough time to shoot the first climbers standing on top of Europe.

Most of the team members were huddled on the ground using their ice axes as leverage to avoid getting blown off the mountain. It was slightly chaotic as I tried to orchestrate (while yelling over the raging winds) isolated photographs of each climber and all of their respective summit flags. They lasted minutes on the summit. I had hoped to use my H4N and ME-66 mic to get some quality clips, but no one had the stamina or patience to remain exposed except me.

It was exceptionally emotional on the highest peak in Europe, as many of these team members had never walked in crampons. It was an incredible achievement for them.The highlight was capturing a fiercely determined Saudi Arabian woman's final steps towards the top. What she accomplished that day is unheard of in her society, and it was a privilege to have been able to capture it forever on digital media.

The crazy part of all of this is that once everyone left and I took a few moments for myself on summit, I realized that I was only half way there. I still had to get down.

So here I sit in a small hotel in Russia waiting for my flight, using Plural Eyes to sync my interviews waiting for my flight home. A grand adventure, a meaningful story and an epic tale of survival of a team from the Middle East who went against the greatest of odds and triumphed in the end. Am I tired? Exhausted! I'm also extremely grateful. Time for a shot a vodka and Shashlik platter -- Russian style!

The take away message for all of you is that life should be exciting, adventure should exists in all that do, challenge should be embraced, your work should be your passion and it is possible if you believe it.

I'd like to thank Moe Althani and Reach Out to Asia for making me a part of this adventure! We've got a great little film on our hands.

Over and out.

www.eliasaikaly.com
www.findinglife.ca

So You Want to Climb Mount Elbrus

2012-08-21T07:10:18-04:00

I'll never forget the day I was sitting in the airport lounge in Atlanta in 2008, on my way to Russia to climb the highest mountain in Europe, when I looked up at the monitor and read the headline "War erupts between Russia and Georgia".

My flight was set to depart to Russia in less than 45 mins and I could hardly believe what I was seeing on television. In that moment, I was 'pinged' by my climbing partner Omar, an Egyptian friend, who wrote, "A bit of alarming news. War erupted and we're unsure if we'll be able to climb. See you in Moscow". "See you in Moscow? That's it? We were about to be climbing in an area next to the war zone and all I get is "See you in Moscow?"

I was new to climbing and I had never been to Russia before. I had yet to meet my team and I was there not only to climb, but to shoot the entire experience in HD video. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time since I had no idea what was going to happen. Would we be permitted to climb? Would the country be off limits? Would we be sent home upon arrival? We had a lot at stake, including our lives. Here is a glimpse of what happened on Day One:

http://youtu.be/6CbeKBXEm90

So let's talk a bit about Mount Elbrus. Famed and sought after by climbers all across the globe for being credited as the highest mountain in Europe, the mountain has two summits, the west (and higher summit) towers 5642m and the east summit (just slightly lower) stands 5621m. In mountaineering circles, it's often climbed by those seeking to complete the challenge of the seven summits -- to climb the highest mountain on every continent.

I sometimes refer to Elbrus as the Kilimanjaro of Europe. Like Kilimanjaro, it's the highest mountain on the continent, it's accessible, quite affordable when you compare it to other notorious peaks such as Everest and it's easy enough that just about anyone who is fit and who has basic mountaineering skills can reach the summit. What makes Elbrus dangerous is that some amateur adventure seeking enthusiasts make the mistake of underestimating the mountains and die on her flanks. In 2003, various unofficial sources claim that there were 48 deaths in the surrounding area. However, the biggest threat to any climber is the weather which I ultimately experienced first hand by the end of my first expedition in 2008.

So why did I climb Elbrus? It's simple: I was hired to document an all-Arabic expedition whose climb was in support of a Middle Eastern charity. I was brought along as the sole filmmaker, my classic 'one- man show', whose responsibility was to capture and document the climb, using a wide array of Canon DSLR's and accessories, from the base to the summit of the mountain.

Given my mountaineering history (a few Everest expeditions, 5 of the seven summits, Cho Oyu etc.) Elbrus should have been a piece of cake right? It's lower than Kilimanjaro and there's a chairlift that takes you up to 3000m point. In fact, you can even buy shish kabobs at the top of the chairlift if you're hungry. Did I mention Elbrus was a ski resort? Yup, that's right. You, your friends, and even grandma can ride the chairlift and get within striking distance of the summit without even exerting yourself provided that you're familiar with getting off chairlifts. Joking aside, 3000m and above is where the climbing begins. In my case, climbing was the easy part. Dealing with all of my technology, at a high altitude and uncontrolled environment, with a group of people that weren't willing to wait for me to 'get the shot' was what made my task of reaching the top three times harder than my colleagues.

Note the shish kabobs station in the image above.

Imagine this: every time you decide to roll camera, you're expending energy that you need for your summit climb. When you do decide to roll, you need to be conscious of how much time/energy it will require to catch up to the group -- an exhausting endeavour at high altitudes. If you manage to catch up to the group, you're likely out of breath and unable to stabilize the camera due to your panting. If you're ambitious and want to get ahead of the group to create a shot of the entire group coming towards you, then you'll need to factor in how much energy that requires as well.

You're carrying your camera gear in addition to all of the gear that everyone else is carrying like water, warm clothes, extra gloves, food etc. You're wearing crampons (spikes on the bottom of your boots) and risk tripping and falling down the mountain while destroying your equipment. In addition, you worry about storytelling, audio, interviews and the grandest of challenges, backing up all of your footage and recharging all of your batteries in the cold while everyone is sleeping peacefully after their arduous day.

The lack of rest and exhaustion you experience hinders your body's ability to properly acclimatize and lessens your chances of remaining healthy and strong and summiting the mountain. Add to this the beauty of this is that the more you worry about all the things that can go wrong, the greater the toll the altitude takes on you and minimizes your chances of succeeding.

So how did I deal with all of this? I followed some simple rules that can be applied to any climb. Whether you're climbing Kilimanjaro, Elbrus or Mt. Everest. Here is what I did to stay healthy; ensure I stayed with the team and delivered outstanding footage to my client.

#1) Manage your stress:

No matter what happens, take the climb is one step and one day at a time. I will not worry about anything. EVER. That's the code. I'll be conscious of all things occuring around me and within my own body but I will not allow my mind to create unnecessary stress. If you remain stress free, then you're halfway there. I've seen too many people psych themselves out and as a result the body shuts down.

#2) Manage the basics:

Sleep. Food. Water. This is the simple science of mountaineering. It sounds like first-grade advice but you'd be amazed to know how many people mess this up. Altitude can suppress your appetite. Even if you're not hungry, eat anyway! You are in control. Your body is burring calories at an exhorborent rate. Feed it and you're chances of success will be maximized. Drink four to five litres of water a day and try to sleep eight hours. In my case, this was a challenge, but it will be the key to staying healthy so I can shoot the entire climb, from base to summit.

#3) Check your ego at the door:

That means having the humility to know when your body is sending you warning signs. Acute Mountain Sickness -- otherwise known as AMS -- can affect anyone at anytime. If left untreated, AMS can lead to very serious cases of pulmonary and cerebral edema, an abnormal buildup of fluid in the lungs and the brain. The side effects could be as severe as death. The Canadian climber who died this past spring on Mount Everest suffered from edema. If you have a headache, it's the first sign. Nausia, insomnia, irritability, lack of appetite etc. are all warning signs that you're pushing your body too hard or that you're not acclimating optimally. In my case, if I needed to rest and slow down, I would.

#4) Monitor your oxygen saturation:

This is the amount of oxygen saturation in the blood. I'll be carrying a pulse/oxymetre with me for my next climb. This will contribute (as I don't rely on these devices as the sole indicator of low saturation) to the overall picture of my health.

#5) Smile. Laugh. Breathe.

Live the experience in the moment. Nothing is quite like being above the clouds, close to the heavens, ever-present and living an adventure.

So how do you know if climbing Elbrus is for you? Well, if you've done Mount Kilmanjaro and you're looking for the next mountain challenge, Elbrus could be for you. You'll need some basic mountaineering skills to pull it off, a strong team, a logistics or expeditions company like my friends at Adventure Alternative. It's slightly lower in altitude compared to Kilimanjaro, but you're climbing on snow and mixed terrain which is a different ballgame entirely. Your fitness level should be high in order to maximize your experience. The last thing you ever want to do is climb above the clouds and be staring at your feet the entire time!

Seven years ago, I took a huge risk to pursue a career as an adventure filmmaker. I shut down my small, corporate video-production business and gave it all up to chase my dream of becoming an adventure filmmaker. and it's moments like these remind me that those risks were all worth taking. You can never go wrong by doing what you love and following your passion.

I ended up reaching the summit on one of the most miserable days in August-Elbrus history. I stood on the summit with my close friend Omar Samra, against all odds, with zero visibility as we shared an unforgettable adventure together that remains to this day, one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. I can only hope to be so fortunate this time round. If I'm truly fortunate, I may even be gifted with a clear and unobstructed view from the rooftop of Europe.

Reach for the skies in all that you do everyone!

Finding Community in Peru

2012-07-25T16:32:17-04:00

Since my departure from Canada five days ago, I've flown from Lima to Cusco, met up and spent time with my friend's in Cusco, rented a 4x4, explored various remote regions in the Sacred Valley, developed the FindingLife 2014 student initiative, paragliding, mountain biking and canyoning were all part of the agenda including the most important part of my trip, discovering and developing a special project in a remote community. For me, this was the most important part of my trip thus far.

Imagine this: 15, 000ft above sea level lying under a bed of stars. There is no internet, no mobile service, no paved roads and no electricity. There is only mother nature's beauty and the deafening sound of the silence and serenity of the Andes.

This is where I ended up on day two of my itinerary.

Thanks to my friends Olivier and Alexandra, I was able to meet and connect with a community that could potentially teach us about their ways of life and that we would have the privilege of getting to know through a shared experience in the near future. I had my heart set on a discovering a community that was in need of support and that had a vision for their future. We may very well have found all of that and more. This is how it all begins. It's how it began in Nepal, it's how it began in Kenya and I have a feeling it's the beginning of something very special here in Peru.

Part of what I do as an adventure filmmaker on these scouting expeditions is record images, both video and photographs, to share people's stories with the world back home.

I've learned over the years that this is both complicated and physically demanding as I am often a one man show in the early stages of development. Physically demanding because I have so much equipment to lug around and complicated because it's a very sensitive endeavor. You can't just walk into a remote community, whip out your arsenal of cameras and start shooting video and taking photographs of people. It takes time, trust and patience.

In this specific scenario, without getting into too many details, myself, Ivan (a local Peruvian entrepreneur and developer) along with my two friends sat with the president of the community and his team in a meeting hall and discussed the possibilities of working together on a FindingLife Expedition. It's slightly complex because we're speaking in Spanish, English, French and bits of Quechua. Of course, I speak neither Quechua or Spanish! But that will change soon enough.

The meeting is centered around the idea of a very special project. We listen intently as they describe their needs to us which range from fresh water to classrooms for their children. We attempt to decipher their reactions to our proposal to unite and work together. It's truly an exchange of pure intentions with no expectations. I skillfully explain in French to my partners who then explain in Spanish that what we do at FindingLife is technologically advanced and it permits us to share our experiences with students and people back home. It's rather comical to be showing a group of Peruvians a FindingLife promotional video on an iPad when there isn't even electricity in the village! But it works and they quickly understand that we are for real and that our agenda is to simply make a difference and work together.

Once the discussions concluded, the minutes were recorded into a small white notepad, all parties signed off on the content and we would look to the future to determine whether this will materialize. In my heart, I feel that it is. Ultimately, my heart is what I trust implicitly. I spent the rest of the time working with the local people creating images and content that I could bring home to all of you.

Often people will say to me: "You're so lucky to be able to do what you do." I usually graciously smile and reply, "luck has nothing to do with it, but you're right, I certainly am privileged." What some people forget is that conscious decisions and definitive action lead us to reaching our goals. In instances like the one above, intentions are everything and ours are certainly in the right place.

What happens from here? For now, mission accomplished. The real work on the FindingLife expedition to Peru begins once I return home. For now, it's goodbye to my friends in Cusco and hello to the jungle city of Iquitos.

In the Travelling Life, Indecision Is Your Friend

2012-06-22T08:30:47-04:00

This is part one in a series of three about my trip to Peru.

Years ago, I felt a calling. It was more powerful than anything I had ever experienced in my life. In the eyes of those who could not understand, it was crazy, bold, borderline suicide, risky, financial insanity and an impossible feat. In my eyes and in my heart, I believed with certainty that it was my destiny. I knew I had to climb Everest to honor the life of my mentor, Dr. Sean Egan, who died attempting to become the oldest Canadian to summit the world's tallest mountain.

I had no money, no experience, no clue and no means of making this happen. Five years later, two failed expeditions on Everest and years of sacrifice and relentless commitment to a dream led me to living the most rewarding adventure of my life. I reached the top of the world, founded a non-profit organization called FindingLife, created an award-winning film and led a first-of-its-kind interactive educational campaign on Everest that resulted in a school and well being built in Nepal for orphaned children.

Through the climb, FindingLife, with the help of educators and our partners, enabled 20,000 students to travel virtually to the top of the world from their classrooms and together, we fulfilled a promise made to a man who reshaped my entire life. The nay-sayers suddenly understood. I believe we all have a story like this one waiting to be written. And it all begins with your calling.

We live in a world of certainty-dependency. We are dependent on knowing all of the answers, the outcome, the timelines and the return on our investments. Now, don't get me wrong, certainty is a great thing, especially when it comes to family, children, money, investments, our health and so on. However, not everything in life needs to revolve around certainty. Not everything in life should be measured by what we can see and what we can scientifically or mathematically predict.

What I've learned is that if you feel the need to control everything in your life and you choose to play it safe at all times, you are missing out on one of life's greatest teachers: Uncertainty. Because therein lies the field of all possibility. It's where the magic happens and where your ultimate potential exists. What scares you the most is what will ultimately become your greatest teacher.

Last summer, I felt another calling. I felt an innate feeling of: This is something I am supposed to do. Four letters came to me: P-E-R-U. I didn't know why and I didn't know how -- I just knew. I also trusted that the answers would reveal themselves when I arrived. And that was enough for me.

I fired off an email to my travel agent, booked a flight that very same day and a few short weeks later found myself in Peru living one of the greatest experiences of my life.

I hired a local French-speaking Peruvian guide and visited temples and lost cities, walked and climbed amidst buried Inca civilizations, shot time lapse photography under an ocean of stars, spent evening after evening sipping wine and feasting on Lomo Saltado (a local delicacy), capturing life through my lens, wildlife extraordinaire, local community projects, historical ruins, visiting spiritual hotspots, developing friendships with local people, trekking in the Sacred Valley and of course, I visited the ruins of Machu Picchu.

I could write for days about the energy I felt and the richness of every moment spent in the Sacred Valley. Imagining life before the Spanish conquest of the Inca Empire is inevitable with such vibrant and genius architecture surrounding you at every turn. I can articulate every vibration of my soul as I walked upon the sacred sites of the Land of the Incas and experienced the splendor and stupor of Machu Picchu.

The inability to comprehend how or why this ancient city existed, while imagining what it must have been like for them to hide it during the Spanish invasion, leaves your imagination stimulated for a lifetime. I could attempt to spell out the beauty of this country, describe through words the emotions I experienced and the revelations I concluded, particularly as I climbed to the summit of an ancient Inca watch point before sunrise in the darkness of the night... but I won't. I'll leave it for you to experience for yourself so you too can feel the awesome power and energy that Peru has to offer.

Amidst the serenity and sad history comes great understanding of man, his ego and the innate nature of oneself. All of this, despite its incredible and indelible soul transforming properties... was not my calling. It wasn't the reason why I traveled to Peru. I knew this, because I tuned in and realized that somehow, my journey had only just begun. I knew there had to be more. And I knew that the answers would somehow reveal themselves somewhere else. Somewhere beyond where I had traveled and somewhere deep outside of my comfort zone. Somewhere my soul yearned to travel, but that my body and mind were deeply afraid of. This is where you make a decision: Certainty or uncertainty? The unknown was my compass and I decided to follow in the footsteps of uncertainty.

How did I know this for sure? I just did. Intuitively, I knew. I used the same intuitive powers that we are all gifted with. The answer, I felt, was to be found deep in the Amazon forest. So I spontaneously booked a domestic flight from Cusco to the city of Iquitos located on the shores of the Amazon River in the Northern Jungle of Peru. I had no idea what I was in for.

Why People Die on Everest (And How I Didn't)

2012-05-28T12:13:11-04:00

When it comes to Everest, It is easy for all of us to judge and make conclusions at sea level, but without substantial evidence and a true understanding of the environment above the death zone, it's extremely difficult to make a fair analysis of the situation. The story of the Canadian climber who died -- Shriya Shah-Klorfine -- has evolved. It now appears as though she was advised to turn around several times by the local sherpas and that she went against their advice and carried on going beyond her limit.

My perspective is that this type of decision making is no different than getting behind the wheel of a car, severely intoxicated and driving down a narrow road in a highly populated area. You are putting your life and everyone else's life in serious danger. This is a situation that could have been avoided. Before continuing, I would like to offer my sincerest condolences to her loved ones for their loss. I in no way mean any disrespect to her family or loved ones and can attest to the heartbreaking feeling of losing someone you care about to the mountain.

The warning signs were there this year. On May 7, I re-posted a blog on my Facebook wall explaining that the most highly regarded expedition leader (Featured in Discovery Channel's hit series Everest: Beyond the Limit) Russel Brice boldly cancelled his entire operation due to the hazards and dangers on the mountain. He said:

I had long and serious talks with the sherpas, the Icefall doctors and my guides and we have made the decision to cancel the expedition. We can no longer take the responsibility of sending you, the guides and the sherpas through the dangerous icefall and up the rock fall-ridden Lhotse Face.

The most experienced and qualified expedition leader on the mountain had spoken. He sent dozens of climbers and sherpas home. In the end, his climbers, who invested more than $60,000 trusted his judgment and ultimately left with their lives.

I am alive today because I had the humility to accept defeat on Everest, not once, but twice. The first time, I was 26 years old, driven, focused, determined and in the best shape of my life. Not only was I climbing, I was documenting and shooting a film which multiplies the effort required by threefold. By 8:30 a.m., after 10 hours of climbing, I reached a point beneath the south summit where my climbing leader and trusted friend presented me with an option, one that no one prepared me for. He said, "We will summit if we carry on, but we will die upon descent because of the changing weather."

I didn't want to die on Everest.

After all, my organization is called FindingLife. Devastated and destroyed beyond comprehension, I accepted that Everest had made her decision. As painful as it was, with sponsors on the line and my own financial investment of more than $40,000, I accepted defeat and emerged with my life. In time I understood that failure on Everest was the greatest gift I had ever received.

In 2009, the second time I tried to climb Everest, I experienced the dark and vicious side of the mountain. People died during that climb. Vicious weather forced all teams to abandon their climbs. By the final week of May, our small three-man team was the last on Everest. We attempted the peak without Sherpa support. By 1 a.m. on June 2, 2009, I was the last man standing on Everest.

I opened up a trail using only my ice axe and crampons, searching desperately for the safety lines, attempting to create a path for my team to follow in a foot and a half of fresh snow. My sixth sense was guiding me and intuitively, I was able to carve a safe path up the unbroken trail at 8400M. Never, did I feel fatigued, tired or anything but powerful, willing and able. If there had been one single doubt in my health or abilities I would have turned back. By 2 a.m., I decided that once again, Everest had won. It was too dangerous to carry on. We emerged with our lives.

So why are people dying?

When I climb, I have two simple rules. Do not endanger yourself and do not endanger the lives of others, EVER. The rest is strategy, luck and science. I often say that what I fear the most while climbing are the objective dangers that we cannot control such as avalanches, rock fall, the weather and other climbers. All too often, I've seen climbers climbing when they really should have been turning around. I understand that some people are climbing Everest to push themselves beyond the limit, but in doing so, those climbers are putting everyone's lives at risk including themselves.

I recently read an article in the Ottawa Citizen about a local Ottawa woman climbing Everest, she tweeted the following:

In the middle of the ice fall, my body suddenly crashed. Blood pressure plummeted. Started shaking all over and lost my eyesight. Thought I was done ... Put my head between my legs, ate sugar, and resumed going up at the slowest pace on the mountain.

Seriously? That's like saying: "I was vomiting while driving because I was intoxicated, but I kept driving, slowly of course, to make it to the next off ramp."

Climbers who are getting themselves into trouble are simply not listening to the signs. Sorry, but what the heck are you doing climbing when you're experiencing those symptoms?

Altitude sickness isn't just something that happens in an instant. The body sends us signals on the mountain, just as it does at sea level when we are not well. Headaches, nausea, irritation and insomnia are some of the early warning signs. Acute mountain sickness escalates if left untreated (descending to a lower altitude is the only solution) and can evolve into cerebral and pulmonary edema. From there, you enter into a coma and die shortly afterwards. With proper guidance, monitoring and/or experience, one can identify the onset of these symptoms and make responsible decisions about how to strategize and proceed.

According to a recent Globe and Mail article, the Canadian climber who died was advised numerous times to turn around. Just as I was advised my very first time climbing Everest. The trouble is, it sounds logical and easy to understand sitting here at sea level, but in a hypoxic environment when your brain is lacking oxygen and you're unable to do simple math (try subtracting 20-10 + 3 x 2 at altitude) it's nearly impossible to make logical and responsible decisions on your own.

What we see often on Everest are people who are masking or hiding their symptoms or worse, denying that they are not well. You've invested $60,000, trained for two years, sacrificed your personal life and put your pride and ego on the line... how could you possibly let a headache or a bit of insomnia stop you?

When I climbed in 2010, I was responsible for 20,000 Canadian students that were following my expedition via my website. Not only was I climbing, I was leading the expedition, shooting in HD, editing broadcast quality webisodes, video conferencing with students from as high as 22,000 feet, and carrying the ultimate responsibility of ensuring nothing went wrong.

The first thing I did was plan to fail. After all, I had plenty of experience in that department! I implemented every safety strategy possible. I climbed with a doctor, I hired four incredibly strong Sherpas, and I had a support system including veteran summiteers helping with strategy. I even had a friend who mapped the weather and provided daily updates.

I also ensured I was fitter than anyone else on that mountain. On my summit night, I climbed faster than anyone else and reached the summit in less than six hours. If I had had a single symptom or health issue, I would have abandoned my climb.

My heart sunk this morning as I read the following news in the Globe and Mail:

They tried to get her to go back but [she] did not listen. She wanted to go to the summit anyhow. It took a very long time. It was 22 hours to go on top of Everest for her. On the way back down, she lost her energy.

Sadly, she ignored the advice of the people surrounding her who advised her to turn around. When climbing Everest, we are all aware of the rules, the turn-around times, the history of the unforgivable nature of Mt. Everest and the countless stories of climbers who have died on her flanks.

So who is responsible here? The Nepalese government? Her teammates? The logistics company? In my opinion, Shriya Shah-Klorfine was responsible for her own life. Had she turned around and listened to the signs, listened to other climbers including her teammates (who had her sign a contract ahead of time) monitored her body's signals and accepted that she should have turned around, perhaps she would be alive today.

I am deeply saddened by her death and my heart does go out to her family. I can only hope that other novice climbers who are chasing their wildest dream to tempt the summit of Mt. Everest in the coming future learn to manage and minimize the risks, learn from history and approach the mountain with the utmost respect as the sherpa people of Nepal do and the way many professional and responsible climbers do year after year.

May 22, 2012, was the second anniversary of my successful and safe summit of Everest. The celebration was not that of a successful summit, but rather a successful return to my family and loved ones.

Climb safe everyone.

Are You Living Your Most Adventurous Life?

2012-01-10T01:51:04-05:00

At a time filled with New Year's resolutions, the pressure is on to be the best we can be. To achieve all that we dream. Whether losing a few pounds, getting that new job, training for that marathon or even climbing that mountain. Here are a few questions to ask yourself that may help you reach your New Year's goals.

1) Do I know what I am most afraid of?

2) Do I dare to dream of facing it?

3) Am I living my most adventurous life?

One of the greatest risks you can take, in my opinion, is to publicly declare the undertaking of a challenge where the outcome is uncertain. On a recent ascent of an 8000M Himalayan peak in the fall of 2011, the odds of successfully reaching the top were rather slim considering the previous season there were very few summits.

I evacuated my climbing partner, sent down my two climbing Sherpas and my basecamp support team, which further decreased my odds of succeeding. How did I respond to this? With fear? Did I retreat? Did I quit or give up? No. I made a choice to embrace the unknown. I embraced the uncertainty. I embraced the negative odds, rose to the challenge and attempted to overcome these impossible odds. The question is: Why don't we all do this in our everyday lives when faced with challenging obstacles and uncertainty?

In general, we make as many excuses as possible. We consider and focus on of all of the possible negative outcomes. The percentages of failure, the ridicule we may face if we do not succeed while choosing not to believe in ourselves, our potential and our ability to prevail in anything that we attempt. Why?

There is this myth that we've created in our minds that only extraordinary people can achieve great things. I challenge you to take a moment to rethink what is possible. Whether you're climbing an 8000M peak, running an ultramarathon, applying for the best university, training to become a doctor or lawyer, starting a new business, helping your family, raising money for a charity or helping another fellow human being. It is ALL possible.

The rewards of taking the first steps are immense. Knowing you're working towards making your dream a reality is one of the greatest feelings we can ever experience. The greatest tragedy in life is never having tried and never having lived. Life is about experience and if you're not growing, learning, loving, contributing, experiencing, succeeding and evolving, then what are you doing in your life? Forget what the person next to you thinks; listen to what you want, what you dream of, what you fear the most and face it head on. Do it with the utmost passion and the greatest amount of love and I guarantee that whether you find success or "failure" that the journey will be immensely rewarding in ways you cannot even imagine.

Ever since I was a teenager, I've been taking what I call "calculated risks." I was never afraid to fail in anything that I tried. One of the greatest 'failures' in my life was publicly declaring that I was going to summit the world's tallest mountain. I was young, determined, filled with passion and was relentless in my pursuit of reaching the top. Not only was I climbing Everest, I was climbing with my mentor's spirit who tragically died on the mountain a few years before. Did I make it? Almost. I turned back 500ft from the top (never have climbed a mountain before) to save my life due to the uncontrollable and unforgivable weather at 28,000ft above sea level. I returned with a shattered ego, I was windburned, my feet were temporarily torn apart and I needed to be evacuated to safety.

Was this a failure? Absolutely not! Failing to reach the summit of Everest in 2007 was the greatest experience of my life. It grounded me. It humbled me. It also taught me that there are forces that I absolutely cannot control in my life. A though lesson to learn for a driven 26-year-old. What mattered to me was the journey, not the destination. I fell many times, often flat on my face, often beaten up by the experience of life, but each time I came back stronger, more determined, more experienced and more fulfilled. A few years later, I finally did reach the top.

Listen to your inner voice, seek out your greatest challenge that lies dormant in your heart and embrace the idea of facing it head on. Let the undetermined outcome become your source of strength. Find pleasure in overcoming your fear of failure and rise above your clouds, your own Mount Everest and your own greatest challenge.

Are you living your most adventurous life?

Elia Saikaly

Want to Travel the World? Here's How.

2011-12-27T07:06:56-05:00

"Don't you hate seeing posts on Facebook of that guy posting all of his vacation pictures online? Like, how annoying? Is it because secretly you're wishing that it was you?"

Those were the words that came through my car's FM radio last week. It was an ad for a travel company selling all-inclusive packages to Mexico. They're hitting us exactly where it hurts -- on Facebook.

Yup, it certainly got my attention. Not because I wanted to go to Mexico for a week, but rather because I hoped that I wasn't that guy! This blog is written for you. The wannabe traveler, the adventurer, the mom, the dad, the sister, the crazy young kid, student or soul searcher. Here are a few thoughts and ideas for you to keep in mind the next time you try to convince yourself that you can't travel the world and live the greatest adventures of your life.

I'll start with my experience. And please, keep in mind that six years ago I had never traveled or slept in a tent! In the past 48 months I've traveled to Kenya three times, Tanzania, Peru, Tibet, India, and all across the U.S. I've explored every UNESCO world heritage site in Canada including the incredibly remote Nahanni National Park by canoe, I've slept in a hammock under the stars on the Island of Zanzibar and climbed to the top of the world.

On each journey I was doing something that was extremely fulfilling. How, you ask? Not because of money. I make a very modest income and by no stretch am I independently wealthy. In fact, because I've chosen to donate 80 per cent of my time to running my charity (without pay) I likely make much less money than most people out there. The fact is it's all about choices.

Ask yourself the following questions: What kind of car do you drive? What kind of clothes do you wear? Where do you live? How many lattes do you drink a week? How do you socialize? What decisions have you made in your life when it comes to commitments? If you have children or are married how conventional is your way of life?

If you're a student or young adult, are you setting yourself up and making decisions so that you have the freedom to live the life of your dreams? In the answer to some of these questions may lie the reasons you are not traveling.

For me, it started when I was 14. Yes, that's me! I was introduced to punk rock music. On the surface it was a bunch of guys with mohawks. Loud music, screaming guitars, and raunchy vocals with a message of anarchy and rebellion. That's what my parents heard anyway. Here is what I heard: Learn to think for yourself. Learn to form your own opinions. Learn to be your own individual. See the system of our Western society for what it is. Don't become a victim of mass marketing and trends. Don't allow anyone to tell you how to live your life or who to become.

This changed everything for me.

Then in 2005, it all changed again.

I traveled to Nepal and it was as though I was reborn. I learned from some of the "poorest" people in the world that richness is not about what we have, it's about who we are. I learned the beauty of simplicity. I learned the value of inner peace. I understood that life was impermanent and could be gone in an instant. I learned to treasure the present, our greatest gift.

And, to live it.

So how does all of this apply to traveling the world? Look at what may be holding you back.

Ask yourself :

1) How simple is my life?

2) Have I forgotten how to dream?

3) How much emphasis am I putting on what I wear, where I live, what I drive and how I'm perceived by others? Does this define who I am? Is it how I'll be remembered?

4) How much of how I live my life is based on other people's beliefs and expectations? How I raise my family? Where I go to school? How I choose to spend my time? And if none of the above resonates, what is holding me back other than myself?

I'm not suggesting any of the above is unimportant. Clearly in Western society things such as family life, school, work, careers, and fashion are important, but so are growth, personal exploration and happiness.

I'm suggesting that the answer to how to travel the world, live the life of your dreams and serve others at the highest level is hidden within yourself. The answer lies in your choices and what you choose to believe or not believe.

We are taught at a young age to have dreams, yet as we age and "grow up" we forget those dreams and we certainly forget to forge new ones. We become very busy and lose sight of what truly makes us happy. Many of us could be traveling the world and living the life of our dreams with a few simple adjustments.

Once you've asked yourself the above questions, ask yourself where you'd really like to be. Then ask, "Why am I not there now?"

I've seen families traveling in the Himalayas with their young children giving their kids the greatest learning experience. I recently met a couple in Peru -- two school teachers who make a very modest income -- traveling with their teenagers. Young adults in their 20s traveling eight countries on a few dollars a day learning more about themselves and the world than they ever could on Google or Facebook. I've even seen 60-year-old's partying in Peru, exploring the world with a new-found partner rediscovering what it is to be alive. How? They've made choices. Never too young, never too old, and certainly, never too late.

At the end of the day unless you're independently wealthy you'll likely never be able to frequently travel the world unless you make lifestyle decisions that enable you to have more freedom. The sunrise over Machu Picchu, swimming with dolphins in the ocean, doing Yoga in Zanzibar, summiting Kilimanjaro, falling in love, connecting with other people, building a school in Africa, and learning about the person you really are. It all awaits you.

Ad Astra everyone.

The Summit of Cho Oyu, Part 2: Between Life and Death

2011-10-19T09:56:36-04:00

It's 1:00 a.m. and we still haven't left camp for the summit. The wind is violently shaking our little North Face tent at 7,100 metres above sea level. What happened to our perfect weather forecast? I'm currently breathing supplementary oxygen and I'm finding it challenging to see through the mask. I'm also slightly paranoid about my toes. I ALWAYS have issues with my toes above 8,000 metres and the wind sounds unforgivably cold. I force myself to consume dehydrated vegetables and pasta in a pack and I ceremonially prepare for the final ascent.

We step outside the tent and it's bitterly cold. There are no other climbers in sight. Strange, I think to myself, "perhaps we are late?" Just prior to leaving, Dawa gives me his oxygen cylinder and says to me, "Here, this one is full." I give him my tank and I take his. I remove my goose down mitts for a brief moment to strap my crampons onto my feet in the dead of the night and nearly lose all sensation in my fingers. "This is going to be a cold one," I said to Dawa. He nods and sets off. It's pitch dark. I look up at the 1,100 metres ahead of us, the galaxy in plain sight and recite a little Tibetan prayer before setting off.

Within seconds, I'm exhausted. I'm overheating. I have no energy. What's wrong with me? I shout to Dawa "Please turn my oxygen tank up." He cranks it up to three litres per minute, which is quite high. I climb another 10 metres and I can barely carry on. "Dawa, please crank it up all the way." He turns the dial all the way to maximum, four litres per minute. I have NEVER climbed at four litres per minute with oxygen.

"Something is terribly wrong," I think to myself, and I carried on.

In the darkness we climbed. Slow and steady is the key in high-altitude mountaineering. Imagine being so out of breath that you need to stop to catch it every four steps. We had over 20,000 to make that night. I looked up at Dawa and he seemed to be fine, I on the other hand felt like an 90-year-old trying to climb a flight of stairs. To make matters worse, my toes were beginning to freeze and we'd only been gone 20 minutes. There was no sign of other climbers anywhere on the mountain which was concerning. Did we miss the memo? Did all of the other climbers receive news that we didn't? With the speed of the wind that was blasting us from what seemed to be all directions, I soon realized that we were the only ones climbing that night.

I was suffering immensely. "I can't do this," I thought to myself. What's going on? I only slept an hour and yes it's my first time this season at 7,100 metres, but it shouldn't be this challenging. There were no safety lines for much of the route and climbing in the dark is terrifying because one false step and you can slide right off the side of the mountain. I envied Dawa and his strength. He kept looking back at me and in his eyes, illuminated by my headlamp, I knew what he was thinking: "What's wrong with you Elia? You're usually super human up here. That's when I began to lose my confidence. As mentally strong as I am, if my body is shutting down for physiological reasons, there isn't much I can do except turn around.

First I lost feeling in my left foot, then in my right. Every step was a herculean effort. The wind was piercing, but it would have been manageable if I had been healthy. Step. Catch my breath. Step. Step. Step. Catch my breath. "You can do this Saikaly," I kept saying to myself. I dug deep and looked for strength. I thought of all the students back home who I'd preached endlessly to "aim high" and "never give up" and I clung to those words and those students. The suffering continued for another two hours and we finally reached camp three. Seriously? I though to myself. I feel like I'm going to die and we've only hit camp three? Failure was a real possibility here. I could have kept going regardless of any pain, but my toes and the lack of circulation is something I could not risk. I refuse to lose a toe, or worse, my foot!

I was relentless. Kicking my feet together, trying every trick in the book, including Chi Kung. This helped, but required such an incredible amount of energy that it left me drained each time I warmed my left foot up. You have nothing but time in the darkness on an 8,000-metre mountain. You think about very little, as any lack of focus on your next step, especially without safety lines, can lead you to your demise. You hear nothing but your crampons biting into the snow and the sound of the oxygen flowing through your mask.

By 4:30 a.m. we made it to the Yellow Band, a yellow portion of rock that was once deep beneath the ocean. A sheer vertical cliff. I clipped into the safety line and hauled myself up. Imagine being in total darkness, knowing if you fall you die, and being so completely out of breath and energy that you can only move forward an inch at a time. The cracks are thin and placing my crampons into them for leverage is nearly impossible. My toes are still freezing, but the pain of losing a digit is overtaken with the idea of losing my life. FOCUS SAIKALY! I carefully make my way up, ignoring the pain, ignoring the wind and thinking of nothing by getting to the top of the Yellow Band.

I'm wasted. Finished. Out of energy. I stop for a moment and hide under a pice of rock and place feet warmers into my boots. Sadly, this doesn't help much. I then proceed to to swallow four GU energy gels, a Mars bar, half a bar of Cadbury chocolate and a mouthful of Gatorade. My only savior at this point is the sun. "Please rise," I kept thinking to myself. To the east I saw the horizon turn a bright orange. The orange that would be my savior. Perhaps the sun would give me energy? "Please hurry," I kept saying to myself. I carried on. Dawa would look back every few steps to ensure I was alright.

By 6 a.m., first light was setting and I had just about had enough. I shouted "Dawa! Wait..." I inched my way towards him and said, "Let me see your bottle." None of this made sense to me. I am not this weak, this should not be this difficult.

"Your bottle is at four litres per minute." He replied dramatically shouting over the wind.

"I know, but something is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong."

"Dawa, look at me. Something is very wrong!" I yelled.

"Dawa, let me try your bottle."

As I switched my hose and plugged it into his tank I immediately felt a world of difference. My body felt warm.

"It's the bottle!" I shouted angrily.

"Please give me another one."

I had given Dawa my emergency oxygen bottle and I switched mine with his. That second oxygen bottle was faulty and I had just climbed most of the mountain with a malfunctioning cylinder. I couldn't believe it. I remember thinking "weird." I should have trusted my instincts. A simple gesture from the heart to ensure Dawa had enough oxygen resulted in five of the most difficult hours of my life. I turned around for the first time and watched the sunrise light up the Himalayas. Majestic! I looked at Dawa and said "Let's do this!"

From that moment on, it was night and day. Within three minutes, both feet were warm. I was right behind Dawa and actually had to wait for him to recover. I had pretty much climbed all night without oxygen and now with a functioning bottle I was flying up the final steep section of the climb. Dare I say, I was easy. It was the Elia Saikaly I knew from previous Everest climbs. I was strong, I was fast and I was warm.

We ascended the final steep ridge without safety lines and found ourselves on the summit plateau. It looked like the South Pole. The wind was blowing incredible amounts of snow and there was a never-ending gradual incline leading us to the true summit. Occasionally Dawa needed to rest and I happily waited for him. I felt powerful, healthy and strong and I knew we going to make it. They say you know you're on the summit when you can see Mt. Everest. I filmed as much as I could and at 9:15 a.m. the most dramatic reveal of Mt. Everest occurred and the next thing I knew we were on the summit of Mt. Cho Oyu. Elated, overjoyed and eternally grateful, WE MADE IT!

Dawa and I were the only ones on the summit. There were prayer flags on the ground marking this famous location. I snapped a few pictures of Everest, a few of Dawa, a few with my iPhone and proceeded to send a GPS update from 8,201 metres above sea level in sub-zero temperatures.

My tears instantly froze as I thought of Kheiry. This was his climb. This was his moment. Eighteen months of preparation and a dedicated six weeks of my life to helping him reach this point and sadly he was not here in the flesh, but he certainly was in spirit. I asked Dawa to snap a few pictures of me with my DSLR and unfortunately they were all out of focus... Except one. Me, with Everest in the background, holding my hand up with a sign of love. It was ironic, because the students at Hopewell in Ottawa loved that pose so much from my Everest shot. This time it's Cho Oyu with Everest in the background.

I hugged Dawa and wouldn't let him go. I joked, "You sabotaged the oxygen didn't you? So you could slow me down?"

He laughed. I love that man. He's an honorable Sherpa, he's tough as nails, he has a heart of gold and I'm proud to call him my friend.

Once I had everything I needed, I decided to send one more GPS point just incase the other one didn't work. Out of respect for Cho Oyu, I typed into my iPhone via SPOT Connect under violent winds "I just bowed down to the Turquoise Goddess -- Summit!"

An extraordinary and epic ascent of the sixth highest mountain on Earth. Now all I had to do was get down. Compared to what I just endured, piece of cake!

Summiting Tibet's Mount Cho Oyu (Part I)

2011-10-17T14:32:45-04:00

The truth is that I've been sick ever since Kheiry left. After evacuating him from ABC (5,700 meters) I had to climb back through a storm, got lost in the middle of the night in snow up to my waist, nearly lost all sensation in my left foot and never fully recovered. For those that are unaware, up here cuts don't heal, colds don't just go away and any form of sickness evolves into a much more serious condition. Perfect. All I had to was get up an 8,201 meter giant and in four days.

I received a weather forecast stating that on the night of Oct. 1, I'd have a shot at the top.

The reality here is this: People die on 8,000-meter mountains and it is irresponsible not to have a plan in place in the event that something goes wrong. I found myself packing all of my gear as though I was never going to return. Duffle bags were sealed, the pelican case with all my TV gear was put away, my passport, emergency contacts and wallet were given to Pasang, our Sherpa cook, with specific instructions of what to do in the event of my failing to return. This wasn't the first time I've had to do this. With so much to lose back home and so many loved ones, it's never an easy task preparing for your possible demise.

Four days to go from advanced base camp (5,700 meters) to the summit and I'm not acclimatized. Can I do this? Safely? With a minor cold? I know my body very well, I know my limits, I know the limits of where my limits begin, I know my strengths and I certainly know my weaknesses. You see, I get along quite well up here in the throne room of the Gods for two reasons: consistency and genetics. Genetics permit me to acclimatize. You have it or you don't, plain and simple. What most people forget is that I have trained consistently for 17 years. My foundation is as a powerlifter. I've broken a world record, I used to swim in the river in the dead of winter and use the art of Chi Kung to maintain a balance between mind, body and spirit, and I was taught how to use this art to remain warm in sub-zero temperatures.

For a decade I've molded and transformed my body into whatever I needed it to look like or, more importantly these days, perform like. I treat nutrition like a scientist: I am aware of every calorie that goes into my body, how it makes me feel, how that calorie and quality of that calorie contributes to my recovery and performance. My body is my temple and I look after it. Every athlete has their formula and philosophies up here, these are some of mine that help me remain healthy and strong above 8, 000 meters.

While climbing to camp one, I bumped into a trusted and well-know guide named Victor Saunders who I climbed within Russia in 2008. He explained to me that his team tried to summit, but that there were no safety lines above camp three. On his own, he could have easily climbed to the summit, but as a responsible guide with a team with limited experience, he opted to turn back. This news was not promising as I preferred not to climb without safety lines. Less risk and quite frankly, less work! As I made my way up to camp one, I remember filming myself and saying, "We're probably not going to have a chance at the summit, but that's okay. That's the challenge of an 8,000 meter peak, you never know what's going to happen."

I slept at camp one with Dawa and dined on rice and goulash in a dehydrated meal pack at 6,400 meters. It was cold. Very cold. Dawa and I were now partners on this climb. He had a lot on his plate as the only Sherpa, so I decided in my mind, at that time, that until the end of the expedition I was going to carry as much weight as him. I also decided I was going to give him a bottle of oxygen to use. His original plan was to climb without.

The climb from camp one to camp two was difficult, but far from impossible. The crux of the climb was a giant ice wall beneath 7,000 meters. We're talking sheer vertical ice. Dark blue, often impenetrable ice that you need to ascend wearing crampons (spikes) on your boots. To be honest, I found it rather easy and a bit overrated. I suppose if it is your first time climbing, it could present itself as a real challenge, but after several Everest climbs, the Lhotse face makes this ice wall feel like a walk in the park. Nonetheless, I'm careful and precise and even manage to shoot with my GoPro camera most of the way. I chose to take my time so as to ensure proper acclimatization. I promised myself that if there were ANY SIGNS of poor acclimatization, I'd turn around.

By 6 p.m. at camp two, Dawa and I settled into our cozy little North Face tent and watched one of the most incredible sunsets on planet Earth. The view was simply outstanding through the vestibule. I wolfed down some noodle soup and waited patiently. Will I get pulmonary edema? Will I end up like Kheiry? Am I crazy for attempting the summit without having been up this high before? I did not dwell on these potential outcomes as I believe we manifest our thoughts. I was simply aware and that was enough.

I waited for five hours. I sat up staring at the oxygen. I knew that if by 8:30 p.m. there was no headache, I'd begin my plan of breathing from one of the bright orange tanks. And so I drank. And waited. Then drank. And waited some more. At high altitude, before food there is water. If you can drink six litres a day up here, you're minimizing your risk of mountain sickness and edema. And so I drank... and continued to drink. Gatorade and melted snow.

At 8:30 p.m., I strapped that mask onto my face and plugged it into the Poisk oxygen bottle. From that moment on it was Darth Vader all the way. I immediately felt better. Stronger. I felt my body warm up instantly. I remember looking over at Dawa and feeling as though something wasn't right. Here we were at 7,100 meters above sea level and his plan was to climb from camp three on oxygen to the summit as I climbed from camp two to the summit. He would breathe at a lower rate than me, making his bottle last longer. Somehow it didn't feel fair, so I did what felt right. Of my three bottles, I decided to give him yet another -- my only emergency oxygen cylinder. He was grateful and thanked me. He twisted the regulator onto his new full tank and as he was doing so struggled slightly. It took him an extra amount of force to get the system set-up. I remember thinking to myself "weird." That's not normal.

We cocooned ourselves into our bags and attempted to catch a few hours of sleep before the final summit push which was to begin at 1 a.m. We had our forecast, other climbers were also preparing to set off around the same time as us and I was feeling great on oxygen. This was it. Based on how I was feeling, mountain sickness wasn't going to stop me, the only thing in our way was the weather.

And so began what would become one of the hardest trips of my because of a simple mistake that was also a pure act from the heart.

Not Without My Baby: Crossing the Tibetan Border

2011-10-14T10:03:37-04:00

Today I bore witness to a truly incredible sight: love in its most formidable and unconditional state. A fundamental response to survival that left me astounded and quite honestly purely dumbfounded. On one level, I felt extremely guilty for having captured this on video, yet in the same breath I felt a responsibility to share what I saw with all of you.

As I was crossing the Tibetan (Chinese) border, preparing to enter Nepal after an extremely arduous climb, I noticed a dozen Nepali women swarm our transport truck, each determined to carry two to three pieces of our equipment and supplies across the famous Friendship Bridge. These women were temporarily permitted to cross the border from Nepal into Tibet (China) for the purpose of carrying our expedition's gear across the border. Now, if you're unfamiliar with this process as most are, please allow me to explain.

When undertaking an expedition up an 8,000 metre mountain, one hires an expedition company that arranges all of the logistics, food, supplies, tents, tables, chairs, generators, solar panels, cooking staff, Sherpas, porters, etc... This generally costs tens of thousands of dollars. When climbing in Tibet (China), as opposed to Nepal, the vehicle transporting all of the equipment drives from Kathmandu to the border, at which point all of the gear is deposited on the side of road just shy of the border. It's a rather shocking experience to then watch dozens of women line up and nearly battle for the opportunity to transport our equipment.

Imagine strapping a propane tank and a 40 pound duffle bag to your head by way of a burlap strap and hauling the weight on your back up a hill at 8,000 feet above sea level, across a bridge, through a customs line-up, across an international border and up another hill for the equivalent of $6.00 CAD. Would you do it? Now ask yourself... Could you do it?

Now... Imagine this. Imagine you have an infant strapped to the front of your chest. Specifically, your son or daughter that you have recently given birth to. In order to feed your newly born child, you must strap a duffle bag and over 30 pounds of equipment to your head and carry it across an international border for the equivalent of $6.00. Would you do it?

When I saw this woman, my heart sunk into my toes. Was I the only one who noticed this woman wearing little more than flip flops on her feet while travelling with her child and moving our gear across the border? I felt the need to put a stop to it, but soon realized the whole system was on auto-pilot and this woman needed the work to feed her family. I followed her and photographed her with my iPhone all the way to the drop off point.

Not without my baby - Crossing the Tibetan Border from Findinglifefilms on Vimeo.

As all of this was occurring, I couldn't help but think of women back home. I wondered what you might think if you saw this sight with your own eyes? I wondered whether you would stop to help or whether you'd be so in shock that you wouldn't know what to do? I know I was.

Seeing the world and witnessing these kinds of challenges that people are faced with everyday change us on a very fundamental level. At first we feel sorry for these women. We assume instantly that they are suffering. Shortly thereafter, the compassion and empathy that we all have in our hearts is unleashed and all we want to do is help. The truth is that for these women, it is their everyday reality and they feel blessed to have an opportunity to work and earn money to feed the mouths of their children and families.

This woman today will forever remain a hero in my mind and in my heart for a very long time. I sought her out and handed her 1,000 Nepalese Rupees for having taken her picture in order to share it with all of you. When I handed her the money, all I asked for in return was for her name. "Susmita," she replied. And she timidly bowed her head and walked away.

What I ask is not that you feel sorry for Susmita, but rather than you are inspired by her strength, humbled by her reality and that you take a moment to appreciate all that you have.

Just imagine how different life could be?

Please pass this blog on to any women you feel may be uplifted by Susmita's story.

Tragedy High Above the Clouds

2011-10-08T08:20:36-04:00

It's been nearly 30 days since I left the comfort of my home in Ottawa. The plan was to trek through the Himalayas, climb a 6000M mountain in Nepal called Mt. Lobuche all in preparation for the ascent of the sixth highest mountain on Earth, Mt Cho Oyu in Tibet.

I embarked on this journey to support my friend's Kheiry's dream and now, sadly he is gone and I am alone, left to attempt the summit. Less than a week ago, I was forced to evacuate Kheiry due to a suspected (and now confirmed) case of pulmonary and cerebral edema. Yesterday, I received confirmation that had Kheiry remained at the altitude in which I am writing this blog (5700M) he would have fallen unconscious and died shortly thereafter.

The following is the behind the scenes scenario of how we evacuated Kheiry. First of all: We are NOWHERE! The closest road is a half-day's walk away. Because we are in China/Tibet, helicopter rescues are forbidden so I knew we needed to walk him out. Without a doctor on our team, all I could do was assess the situation based on my own mountaineering experience. Apnea, headaches, nausea, loss of balance, possible water in the lungs... sounds like edema to me.

As a filmmaker-turned-climber, I ALWAYS ensure we have ample communication possibilities with the outside world. Although it is an expensive set-up at 6000M, it can be (as proven here) life-saving. We ran the generator, which powered my laptop, which powered my satellite BGAN (Internet in a box) and began sending emails to trusted friends, physicians and high altitude specialists in Canada and Europe. The consensus was that my partner did in fact have edema and needed a rescue. We mobilized, Kheiry had the humility to accept defeat (which believe it or not is often not the case) and through a storm and white out, we descended to 5400M to a small Tibetan camp where thankfully a jeep awaited us. Within four hours, he had descended with half the team and was safe at sea level where he now sips Irish Coffee in Kathmandu. Saved. Safe. Thank the universe.

So now what?

I am currently living in a tent at 5700M at Advanced Base Camp where a few hundred other climbers are awaiting the perfect weather window to summit. You see, in order to reach the top of an 8000M peak, there are numerous factors which enable or prohibit you from reaching the top. At this point in time, the weather is the number one obstacle, not to mention the extreme low levels of oxygen, sub-zero temperatures and believe it or not, the other climbers on the mountain. It is a science up here and at 8000M, if anything goes wrong, no one can save you.

I wasn't always a climber, in fact I prefer not to even label myself one. Professional mountaineers and expert guides are a far cry from what I am at best: A strong climber (who always carries a camera) with 15 years of physical fitness under his belt. I have never pushed myself beyond my physical limit above the clouds, as I am well aware that it is a recipe for disaster. The minute you become a liability, you place everyone else's life in danger. We all know this; it is the code of mountaineering. So if we know all of this, then why do we repeatedly see people putting their lives at risk on the mountain?

As I made my way to camp one yesterday, my first time touching 6400M, I noticed a Japanese woman making her way up the final stretch of the climb. What I saw was a woman exhausted who was unable to ascend safely. A woman who's face resembled a weathered beach ball and who could barely put one foot in front of the other. I asked her, "Shouldn't you be going down?" One of her two Sherpas replied "No, we're going to the summit." Oh boy... Well, at least she had the sense to hire two Sherpas, a luxury for most, as there are costs associated with hiring good Sherpas. These are the men who assist, guide and carry climbers' belongings to the top. They set up tents, boil water and cook the food. They do this, because most from the West simply CANNOT. Without them, it is extremely difficult to succeed.

I reached my goal, tuned into my body, realized I felt amazing for 6400M above sea level and decided it was smarter to descend, rest, then return another day, stronger, with more capacity to transport oxygen (acclimatize) and be safe.

As I was making my way down, I stopped to speak with a couple who were climbing together and hoping to reach the summit. I noticed a caved-in tent with crushed poles and torn material. I asked them, "What happened there?" They replied that sadly a European climber died there yesterday. Twenty feet from where I was standing, a man lay dead. He decided to climb without the help of a Sherpa. It was also revealed to me that he was quite inexperienced and had taken a nasty fall days earlier. An avalanche then crushed him. He died alone in his tent.

To make matters worse, a friend of mine from Europe, a young female climber, was in her tent right next to him and was struck by very the same avalanche. She had the instincts to stand up immediately, block the snow and thankfully escaped with her life.

I stood dumbfounded, unsure what to think or what to feel. I couldn't believe that 20 feet away was the body of a dead climber. How will his family react? Does he have a wife? Kids? All this for what?

Sadly, as much beauty as there is high above the clouds, there is equally as much horror and tragedy. Men and women thrive and rise above their own peak potential, they rival the conventions of what is possible and yet others perish and become another permanent addition to the highest mountain range on Earth.

I have a feeling this may be one of my last 8000M expeditions. I miss my family, my girlfriend and all of my close friends back home. Is it really worth it?

Mt Cho Oyu Night Timelapse Sequence- The Summit Push is On from Findinglifefilms on Vimeo.

Elia Saikaly
Adventure Filmmaker

Hardship Never-Ending

2011-10-07T11:43:13-04:00

As I watched the jeep drive away with my climbing partner Kheiry, Jeremie, Pema and Namgyal, it suddenly hit me: I was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. The truth is this: While Kheiry was sick, I put myself second and failed to share the fact that I wasn't well and that my own pulse/ox (the amount of oxygen saturation in the blood) measured 68/100. At sea level, this measurement would grant you a one-way ticket to the emergency room, at near 6000M it is not uncommon, however it is a warning sign to slow down and recover. Sadly, I did not have that luxury.

It was 2:45 p.m., Kheiry was on his way down to safety and I had to get back to Advanced Base Camp with Dawa before the nightfall. We had no idea that the storm was as bad as it was. In fact, so much snow had fallen that all climbers high up on Cho Oyu had abandoned their summit attempts and we were descending back to Advanced Base Camp.

I looked at Dawa and asked, "Do you think we can make it?"

"I think so, I know a short cut" he replied. Oh boy... Last time we took a short cut I ended up scaling a 45M rock wall in 8000M boots! We had to move and we had to move fast.

The hardship was never ending. My hands were freezing, my toes were cold and the wind combined with the elements made for increasingly uncomfortable climbing conditions. Within an hour we were in a white out, in snow up to our knees and without a path in sight.

For two hours we broke trail in snow up to our waists. Getting Kheiry down the mountain consumed all of my energy and now I was fighting to get myself back to safety. I knew we had a short amount of time before we lost all ambient light and we were nowhere near camp.

By 6:45 p.m. it was almost pitch dark. Dawa forgot his headlamp so I gave him mine and used my iPhone to illuminate my path.

The wind was howling and I was losing sensation in my toes. Imagine being in the dark, freezing, seemingly lost and feeling as though reaching your destination is hopeless. It was being caught in a bad dream that you simply wanted to end. If I have one fear up here, it's losing a finger or a toe. With nothing but time on your hands, it's easy to allow the mind to work against you. I refused to lose hope and I refused to allow negative thoughts enter my mind.

For another 90 minutes Dawa and I attempted to find our way to Advanced Base Camp. The path was non-existent and there no tents in sight. I was so completely burnt out and robbed of energy that I needed to stop and rest every minute or so, suck back as much oxygen as possible and carry on. This strategy was worrisome as I was well aware that the constant movement was all that was keeping my toes from freezing.

Sink. Step. Sink. Remove leg from deep snow. Step. Sink. Breathe. Rest. Step.

Finally, after five hours of suffering a light from heavens seemed to be upon us. It was Tashi our Tibetan cook-boy who came to find us. He guided us back to camp.

Gratitude came upon me as I entered the warm tent. I tore off my hiking boots and socks and warmed my toes by the heater our expedition company graciously provided. I sat shivering trying to build up the courage to remove all of my clothes and replace them with warm fleece outfitting. I was safe and finally this epic day had come to end.

As I crawl into my -40c sleeping bag, I can't help but wonder what the future holds. Is it all over? Has Mother Nature already made the decision for us? With all the climbers having recently descended, does that mean the mountain is shutting down? How are Kheiry and Jeremie? Will I be okay up here by myself?

For now, it's time to attempt to rest in the sub-zero Himalayan temperature and to allow life to unfold, to embrace whatever comes as I believe this was exactly the way it was meant to be.

Thank you to Gabriel, Allain, Ramsey, Garry, Amanda and everyone else who made this evacuation possible.

The unknown awaits...

Elia Saikaly

Giving Up on a Dream to Save a Life

2011-10-01T07:00:14-04:00

"It's over," I though to myself, and it hasn't even begun. The dream: The ascent of Mount Cho Oyu, the sixth highest mountain in the world is crushed. I have watched my friend and climbing partner Kheiry suffer for far too long and today we made the decision to call it quits. You know it's time to retreat when your closest friend is breathing supplementary oxygen from a cylinder and you're administering powerful drugs to ensure his safety and survival.

The last 72 hours have been filled with multiple emails to friends and doctors back home in Canada and in London. It was unanimously agreed upon that Kheiry had developed signs of pulmonary edema. Loss of balance when on flat ground, inability to sleep, headaches, sleep apnea and the final deciding factor, fluid in the lungs. For those that are uneducated in the field of high altitude mountaineering and medicine, there is a condition called AMS, acute mountain sickness, that wreaks havoc on most climbers. This is a normal physiological response at high altitudes. It begins as a mild headache, followed but a variety of symptoms such as nausea, vomiting etc... If left untreated (often descent to a lower altitude is the only remedy) it can evolve into cerebral or pulmonary edema -- two of the greatest killers in the high mountains. When Kheiry began showing signs of potential edema, (backed up by three doctors' opinions) we immediately decided to quit. No mountain is worth anyone's life. Period.

I can't begin to tell you how difficult this moment was. This was K's dream. I came here to support him. I committed and invested my time to help see my friend's dream come true. For 18 months we planned this expedition, from logistics, to technology, to sponsors and beyond. Kheiry trained hard for this, he prepared mentally and emotionally for this, he put his entire life on hold in order to succeed at the highest level. He shared the dream publicly with his peers and work-mates and yet there we were staring face to face, eye to eye, man to man and I couldn't help but feel the tears swell up in my eyes. I thought to myself, "What did we do wrong? What did I do wrong?" I put the best team in place, the strongest sherpas, the best food, a scientific acclimatization schedule and yet still here we were, descending to save his life.

I listened to him pant and groan with each step he took. I feared for his life. Think about how you'd feel in this moment? I feared he would not be able to carry on. Dawa Tenzing, our head sherpa and I would not be able to carry him if he were to fall. I remained behind him the entire way, giving him water when he needed it, talking him though it when his spirits sunk to a low. The snow was never-ending. I was freezing, my hands were wet and all I prayed for was for the Jeep to arrive and for Kheiry to continue placing one foot in front of the other.

"Are we there yet?"

"Two more hours K..."

The Chinese Liaison officer in charge of our expedition was to meet us at intermediate camp at 5400M with our assistant Jeremie who remained behind to recover from his own acclimatization issues. I wondered whether the officer would show up given the current weather conditions? If not, I knew we were in serious trouble.

Finally after five hours of trekking we reached the camp and in front of the Tibetan tent was a black Jeep, K's ride to safety.

It was extremely dramatic watching my close friend fall to his knees in the snow as though to thank God for having arrived safely and with an exit strategy. I raised him up and brought him inside where we drank some warm tea, warmed him up and prepared him for the descent to Nyalam, a Chinese/Tibetan village near the Nepalese border. The driver would descend nearly 3500M in a matter of a few hours at which point K, Jeremie and two of our climbing sherpas would cross the border and return to Kathmandu.

What happened next is a moment I will never forget. K and I held each other, hugged tightly then rubbed heads together. All was understood in that moment. It was accepted. It was understood. Our Cho Oyu challenge had taken on a whole new meaning and at this point it was all about safety. I'll never forget the image of him in the jeep with the mask on his face, defeated, but safe. We did the right thing and we made all of the right decisions.

I watched the Jeep drive away with half the team and my climbing partner and for the first time in days felt the exhaustion in my own body. All this time I had neglected to look after myself because in mind all that mattered was K. I had no idea that the hardship I felt that day had only just begun...