Jeb Corliss hears it over and over.
It can’t be done. It’s impossible.
“I hear people tell me that and all I say is, ‘Just watch me,”‘ he said of his dream to fly.
The 29-year-old BASE jumper from Malibu, Calif., has designed a webbed and winged bodysuit he hopes will allow wearers to leap from airplanes and land safely on the ground without pulling a parachute rip cord. While still in design phases, the wingsuit is the latest aspiration from the modern- day Icarus who has revolutionized BASE jumping with twisting acrobatics as he plummets earthward off buildings, antennas, spans and earth.
“When you are trying to break boundaries and do things that have never been done before, you have to think an entirely new way,” Corliss said. “It’s all about living your dreams and doing things people believe are impossible. It really is a wonderful undertaking to open eyes and push the human species forward. That’s my freakin’ purpose on this planet.”
In the extraordinary world of Corliss and his intrepid colleagues, being first is rarely the singular goal. World records, while certainly noteworthy, pale in comparison to the ephemeral tremors that come with diving into the unknown.
Adventure, thrill, personal accomplishment and exploring the unknown – the path never traveled, the river never paddled, the mountain never climbed – typically rank higher than being first in the minds of today’s top adventure athletes. Being first can make a few bucks and fuel an athlete’s search for fresh peril, but it can be a dangerous pursuit in and of itself.
World-record athletes say they believe human evolution can be accelerated by their quests into the uncharted. They seek to push the boundaries of what a human can do. Dreaming up feats never before considered. Forcing us to consider the unfathomable. Tearing down fences. Inspiring everyone to overcome obstacles and fear.
They show us that, with a lifetime of work and training, we can paddle a kayak off a 100-foot waterfall and live to do it over and over. We can fly. We can climb the highest mountains in winter, alone and often. We can ski down near-vertical walls of snow on the most remote peaks. We can climb the sheerest rock, clinging to dime-wide slivers. Dream it, and some mega athlete will make it less illusory. Say it’s impossible, and someone will do it just because he can.
“Creative endeavor is a real part of our humanness. We are wired to explore and push boundaries,” said Lou Dawson, a Carbondale adventurer who has logged hundreds of first ski descents on Colorado’s most daunting backcountry peaks. “What’s funny is that the current firsts we are doing we never think of as important as the ones that came before. But we will never know that for sure. The people after us will sort that out.”
Conquering a world of “the unknown”
Chasing the elusive title of “first” is hardly a new enterprise. It started with the earliest explorers. It continues with people such as Corliss. And in between, adventuring souls showed us we can indeed breathe underwater. Men can walk on the moon. Children can climb the world’s highest peaks.
Almost every cranny on the planet has been trodden. “The unknown” is becoming more and more exposed.
“The major part of it for me is simply proving it can be done,” said Tao Berman, a Washington kayaker renowned for paddling over the world’s highest waterfalls.
For Estes Park climber Tommy Caldwell, arguably one of the strongest and most accomplished rock climbers in history, being first is important. With his superstar climbing wife Beth Rodden, Caldwell pursues “free ascents” of routes that force all other climbers to hang and pull on mechanical aids. Caldwell claws his way up 1,400-foot faces clinging only to rock, using a rope only when he falls.
“Free ascent is always the goal,” said Caldwell, whose climbing résumé includes what many consider the most difficult routes in the country despite losing part of his index finger to a table saw in 2001. “It’s pretty easy to go out and find routes to do the first free ascent.”
Caldwell’s purist approach is typical of today’s top-tier athletes as they search for sometimes contrived distinction and the more genuine personal rewards that come with making history. The world is not running low on “firsts.” The modern adventure athlete is out there every day exploring how far, how fast, how long, how much further he can expand reality. The most obvious and high profile may be done, but the creativity behind modern-day exploration still burns bright.
Aron Ralston proved that when he climbed every 14,000-foot peak in Colorado. In the winter. By himself. Doug Walsh is proving that today as he finishes the 3,100-mile Continental Divide Trail having eaten nothing but raw food. Skier Shane McConkey is changing what can be done with skis by combining steep descents with parachuted leaps. The list is long and it grows daily.
“Humans have an innate genetic propensity for curiosity and adventure, inherited from our Stone Age ancestors,” said Jon Turk, who penned “In the Wake of the Jomon” after paddling his kayak 3,000 miles from Japan to Alaska to seek evidence that early Asian mariners could have made the perilous trip some 15,000 years ago. “As an adventurer with a high dose of the romantic and the loco, it is important to follow my inner quest for the unknown, and not be sidetracked by seeking spectacular firsts that sell well to sponsors and book agents. The essence of adventure is wandering into the unknown, where the outcome is uncertain.”
“Firsts” even for also-rans
The world of first feats is not solely occupied by the very best. Yes, many of the “firsts” were logged by the boldest and the best. But sometimes it simply takes an adventurous spirit and a high threshold for risk and suffering.
Will Van De Berg proved that last month when he notched an altruistic first descent of the Panjshir Gorge in Afghanistan in his kayak. It was merely Class IV whitewater, nothing extreme except for its location: an infamous and land mine-laden stretch of river that once hosted intense battles between Soviet and Afghan soldiers.
“The run was done for the purpose of scouting out the potential for whitewater tourism in the future Afghanistan, and it was a major success,” wrote Van De Berg, a project manager with the United Nations working to create community-based natural resource management programs in the war-ravaged country, in a message he posted last month on a kayaking website.
Staff writer Jason Blevins can be reached at 303-820-1374 or jblevins@denverpost.com.
