Captain Adventure is hanging by his left arm from a mountainside of rock and ice. He is early into his climb, about 30 metres up. Sometimes, it takes more than 200 metres to reach the summit. To get there, the Captain, otherwise known as Will Gadd, is looking for that solid section of ice where he can use his hand picks and spiked boots to ease his ascent.
For most of us, being in such a vulnerable state is too big a risk to take. With good reason: On Monday, three unidentified ice climbers were found dead near Joffre Peak, north of Pemberton, B.C.
For Gadd, though, scaling a mountain is an exercise in single-mindedness and safety, one he shares through videos and photos of him high on a mountain, dangling like a participle. He is, after all, a lecturer, writer, certified mountain guide and, at 47, a man of extremes.
Consider that National Geographic recently named Gadd and teammate Gavin McClurg among its adventurers of the year. The two were chosen in their category for setting a paragliding record last summer. They flew 800 kilometres down the spine of the Canadian Rockies from McBride, B.C., to the U.S. border in a span of 35 days.
When that was done, Gadd went to Mount Kilimanjaro to climb what is left of the ice leading to the Tanzanian summit.
It was a trip planned and produced by Gadd and his sponsor, Red Bull, and will be unveiled Tuesday on various television channels and websites.
Before that, Gadd conquered the intimidating Helmcken Falls in British Columbia's Wells Gray Provincial Park. The spray from the 141-metre waterfall produces a slew of icicles that can snap and come down like a guillotine's blade. Gadd worked his way up underneath a daunting overhang to get to the top without being chopped. In all, it took him eight hours.
"All of these extreme sports are like jazz," Gadd cheerfully explained from his home in Canmore, Alta. "It's incomprehensible to people who are not into it."
Dubbed Captain Adventure by his friends, Gadd is into a lot of things that test his will. He has paraglided over the Grand Canyon for Discovery Channel's Fearless Planet, a six-part series he hosted. He has ice-climbed into underground mines in Sweden. Twice he has scaled icebergs in the Labrador Sea. Three times he has won a gold medal in sport climbing at the Winter X Games. The medals go nicely with the World Cup ice climbing title he also won, not to mention a first-place finish in last weekend's elite climbing competition at the Ouray Ice Festival in Colorado.
Gadd is so good at putting himself in dangerous situations that people want to know if he's impervious to fear – or simply off his nut. His standard response is, "You have to be a little goofy to climb up a sheet of ice."
Gadd was hooked on ice-climbing as a 12-year-old boy when his family spent a winter at the Hilda Creek hostel, between Jasper and Banff. When his father, Ben, tried ice climbing, Will tried, too. He built a wall of snow a metre high and wide, then borrowed his dad's crampons and ice picks to practise for hours.
His parents worried about their son's need to stretch his limits.
"I remember the time when my wife, Cia, and I took our two boys to Carbondale River," Ben recalled. "Will hadn't learned how to swim, but at one point he gets out of the water and walks to a place where he jumps into the deepest, swiftest part of the creek. When we got him out, his first words were, 'Did you see me swimming?' He didn't say, 'Did you see me drowning?'"
Ice climbing is not a forgiving pursuit. Many experienced climbers have taken that one little slip and fallen to their deaths or been buried under an avalanche. At the website Climbing.com, there is an In Memoriam section filled with the names of men and women who have died climbing. One of them is Guy Lacelle, a former Canmore mountain guide and renowned ice climber. He died in 2009 when an avalanche in Montana's Hyalite Canyon swept him away.
Ten years earlier, American Alex Lowe was considered the finest mountaineer in the world by Outside Magazine. He was killed by an avalanche in Shishapangma, Tibet. His body has never been found.
Both Lacelle and Lowe are on the List, as Gadd calls it, a collection of 27 adventurers who have died dating back to 1982 and Winnipeg's John Lauchlan, who was killed by a slope collapse on Cirrus Mountain in Banff National Park.
"When I teach courses, I usually start the lecture saying 'These sports are dangerous,'" Gadd said. "[On my list] are people I've known and climbed with … This is the downside [to climbing]. It's very real. I need to carry those people with me in my head."
Carrying 27 ghosts into the wilderness, away from any trail, 100 metres up an icy wall, may not sound like the best way to proceed. Yet it works for Gadd, largely because he appreciates how perilous climbing is and how quickly he could become a statistic.
Sarah Hueniken, a friend of Gadd's as well as a fellow climber, says the memories of those who have gone before him are powerful enough to keep Gadd from taking unnecessary chances.
"At Helmcken Falls, the huge spray icicles can be really volatile. You don't want to spend a lot of time standing under them," Hueniken said. "To mitigate that risk, we knock them down, creating a safe zone to stand under. [Gadd] is not a risk-taker. He's one of the safest climbers I've ever seen."
Not one to rest on his successes, Gadd is making plans for his next big climbing extravaganza, one he won't talk about until the details are finalized.
"It's killing me not to talk about it," he said.
He would feel better if he was clinging to a mountainside, ice staring him in the face, the wind howling like a pack of wolves and him hanging there by one arm.
How else could he be Captain Adventure, the supreme extremist?