180° South
It all started in my old forge
in Ventura, California
in the early 1960s.
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,
"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.
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.
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"
Translation
Translate and read this script in other languages:
Select another language:
- - Select -
- 简体中文 (Chinese - Simplified)
- 繁體中文 (Chinese - Traditional)
- Español (Spanish)
- Esperanto (Esperanto)
- 日本語 (Japanese)
- Português (Portuguese)
- Deutsch (German)
- العربية (Arabic)
- Français (French)
- Русский (Russian)
- ಕನ್ನಡ (Kannada)
- 한국어 (Korean)
- עברית (Hebrew)
- Gaeilge (Irish)
- Українська (Ukrainian)
- اردو (Urdu)
- Magyar (Hungarian)
- मानक हिन्दी (Hindi)
- Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Italiano (Italian)
- தமிழ் (Tamil)
- Türkçe (Turkish)
- తెలుగు (Telugu)
- ภาษาไทย (Thai)
- Tiếng Việt (Vietnamese)
- Čeština (Czech)
- Polski (Polish)
- Bahasa Indonesia (Indonesian)
- Românește (Romanian)
- Nederlands (Dutch)
- Ελληνικά (Greek)
- Latinum (Latin)
- Svenska (Swedish)
- Dansk (Danish)
- Suomi (Finnish)
- فارسی (Persian)
- ייִדיש (Yiddish)
- հայերեն (Armenian)
- Norsk (Norwegian)
- English (English)
Citation
Use the citation below to add this screenplay to your bibliography:
Style:MLAChicagoAPA
"180° South" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 5 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/180°_south_1577>.
Discuss this script with the community:
Report Comment
We're doing our best to make sure our content is useful, accurate and safe.
If by any chance you spot an inappropriate comment while navigating through our website please use this form to let us know, and we'll take care of it shortly.
Attachment
You need to be logged in to favorite.
Log In