180° South

It all started in my old forge

in Ventura, California

in the early 1960s.

It was a crude little shop

but we were making

the world's best climbing equipment.

Your know, we were making stuff

for ourselves, number one

and we happened to be on kind of

the cutting edge of climbing at the time.

None of us wanted to be businessman,

that's for sure,

but we had to do something

just to support our climbing habits,

and surfing habits.

I hired, kind of dirt bag friends,

poor climbers and surfers and stuff,

and every time the surf come up,

we'd all abandon the shop and go surfing.

One day in 1968,

my friend Doug Tompkins said:

"Hey, let's go down to Patagonia, and go climb Mt. Fitz Roy"

We picked up a 16 mm Bolex camera

to record the trip.

We loaded the car up with surfboards and climbing gear,

and took off for a 10,000 miles trip down south.

I think from the time that we decided to go,

there was like 2 weeks before we went.

We bought this old van

and took off from Ventura.

1968, you got to remember that

the Pan-American Highway was pretty wild.

It was dirt road from Mexico city all the way south.

It was like being in Montana, Wyoming a 100 years ago.

Here we're in an area that is the size

of the all American West,

with no people.

For those of us that grew up,

going out into the wilds of the world,

where nature was basically untouched,

we got into our souls a sense of beauty.

That trip had a big influence

on both Doug and I,

it kind of set the course for what

we were going to do later in life.

For me, it was the best trip of my life.

10 years ago, I found that old footage of

Doug and Yvon's trip to Patagonia, back in 1968.

It was like seeing everything

I'd ever want to do in my life.

From that point on, I promised myself that someday,

I'd find a way to do a trip like theirs.

Years went by before I finally got my chance.

I heard about a boat docked down in Mexico

that was heading for Patagonia.

They needed a crew,

and I needed a ride South.

My name is Jeff Johnson,

look in any phone book and you'll find ten of me.

I grew up in Danville, California.

You've probably never heard of it,

but it's a long way from

the ocean and the mountains.

When I was 8 years old, 2 things set me

on the path that I'm still on:

the first one was when my parents took me

on a camping trip to Yosemite Valley.

I remember looking through a telescope

up at this huge granite wall,

and guys climbing thousands of feet up.

I couldn't believe my eyes.

It was like watching men

walking on the moon.

That same year, I saw surfing for the first time,

on TV:
"Wide World of Sports".

I saw these guys riding massive walls of water.

There were people out there putting themselves in places

they weren't supposed to be,

and I knew right then,

that I want to be there too.

Most of my life, I figured out ways to pick-up and leave

as the seasons change.

I've been a dishwasher, a lifeguard, a flight attendant,

whatever it took to pay for the next trip.

In the last couple years though,

I found a real job,

I've started planting some roots,

I've spent a lot less time on the road,

but I never forgot about my dream

of seeing Patagonia with my own eyes.

Sure, I can take my 2 weeks' vacation time

and just fly down to Patagonia,

but I'll never get a chance like this one again.

If I don't get on that boat,

I know exactly what I'm going home to.

If I do, my future is unwritten.

I'm drawn to open country,

that's where everything becomes clear,

where the world makes the most sense.

When I put myself out there,

I always return with something new.

A friend once told me:

"The best journeys answer questions that in the beginning,

you didn't even think to ask."

I met Yvon for the first time

in the South Pacific a few years ago.

I told him about finding that old footage of his

and wanting to get to Patagonia myself.

Jeff is a real thing,

he's just a total dirt bag.

He can live out of his car climbing in the valley,

he's become a really good climber,

rides any kind of waves.

He's just kind of hustling his way along

so he could stay on the road.

He reminded me a lot about how I use to be.

I met a lot of young people who ask me

what books to read or films to watch.

I think it's a good way to start,

but there's no substitute for just going there.

Yvon gave me a photo Doug had taken,

a snapshot of a really remote coast land in Patagonia

with a mountain called Corcovado.

I've been carrying the photo around ever since,

imagining myself on top of the ice-covered peak.

For Yvon and Doug,

the best way to get down there was an old van,

for me, this turned out to be this 54 foot cutter

called "The Sea Bear".

Alan, the captain, grew up in Patagonia,

and is taking his boat home,

and me, I'm just lucky enough to hitch a ride.

But I've never been on a boat for months at a time

and my sea legs aren't solid as I thought.

This stuff is moving a lot,

lots of movement.

I'm on kind of like the verge of nausea at all times.

I met a major low point of my entire life.

I haven't slept much.

I'm trying to sleep right now.

I'm doing great !

I could vomit at any second.

Taking a trip for 6 months,

you get into the rhythm of it.

It feels like you could just go on forever doing that.

Climbing Everest is the ultimate and the opposite of that,

because you get all these high-powered

plastic surgeons and CEOs,

and, you know, they pay $80,000,

and they have Sherpas who put all the ladders in place,

and 8,000 feet of fixed rope.

You get to a camp

and you don't even have to lay out your sleeping bag,

it's already laid out,

with a little chocolate milk on the top.

And the all purpose of climbing something like Everest

is to affect some sort of spiritual and physical gain,

but if you compromise the process,

you're an a**hole when you start out,

and you're an a**hole when you get back.

Yvon and Doug should be

in Patagonia when I get there.

They said I'd be welcome to a warm blanket

and a hot meal on my way to Corcovado.

Doug lives here full time with his wife Kris,

and Yvon will be down there helping them with a big project

they've been working on for almost 2 decades.

Yvon also told me that the ice on Corcovado could be

completely melted if I get down there any later than December,

and that can make it really difficult to make the summit,

which brings up one minor detail:

I've never climbed on ice before.

Even if I had, I still need a crew

for something like this,

and I couldn't think of anyone better than my 2 friends:

Timmy O'Neill and Keith Malloy.

And you could check it by going like this,

it's going to be a little brusque, but watch.

- You see ? It works like that.

- Yeah, yeah !

So, if the jugs were mysteriously disintegrated,

you would drop on the gri-gri

and it would stop you instantly.

Yeah.

Timmy has climbed all over the world

and put up record breaking ascents in Yosemite valley.

He has climbed "El Capitan"

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