El Capitan in Yosemite Valley is the spiritual home of big wall climbing. For merely world-class climbers it can take a week to climb from valley to summit. For superhuman climbers such as Dean Potter and Sean Leary, Tommy Caldwell and Alex Honnold, it can take less time than watching a movie. Alex Honnold also climbed it without a rope. Not the photos nor the films, not the words nor the poetry written about Yosemite Valley – about El Capitan, Half Dome and Yosemite Falls – can prepare you

The sun setting over Death Valley is an event. It’s the time of day visitors plan for, and food at the few restaurants is served around those times; no-one misses sunset over Death Valley. It is one of nature’s great spectacles and then, a couple of hours later, nature reveals even more beauty: some of the clearest night skies anywhere on Earth. That’s why in our ‘characterful’ 35-year-old camper van we were eagerly watching the altitude markers along the road climb and climb to get to Death

From the rooftop of our guest house we gaze at the sharp ridgeline that jacks up on the southern horizon. The terrain looks complex and the steep couloirs seem inaccessible. The only feasible access is via the west buttress of the ridge – but this is the Autonomous Region of Kurdistan in the north-east of Iraq, and this mountain ridge is right on the border with Iran. At the height of the Iraq-Iran War in the 1980s Saddam Hussein covered most of the easy terrain that could allow the enemy to

Dan and I took turns leaving the room where we were attempting to sleep, running out into the rain, dashing to the outhouse as a matter of urgency. Between bouts of sickness I lay on my camp mat, listening to the rain falling hard on the roof above – rain that would be gathering in muddied tributaries and swelling the Apurimac river. I lay still, body and mind exhausted from the previous three days of kayaking, while the sickness grew in my stomach once again, like writhing snakes. Those sam

With clear weather in the forecast and momentum building after successful climbs of Huayna Potosi and Pequeño Alpamayo, there seemed no better time to climb Sajama. Yet with any serious climb, even when confident in your preparation and fortunate enough to have good weather, nerves play their hand the night before. I was particularly edgy on Sajama. It is renowned for testing even the most resilient climbers with its slog up to the summit and the brutally unstable terrain on its steep, weste

There’s something calming, soporific almost, about the rhythm of a train clacking along the tracks. Were it not for the view out to sea drawing my attention I could have lost myself in daydreams for hours. I’ve always loved train travel – loved that it seems to make the journey part of the adventure in a way that driving never does. Maybe it’s because my eyes aren’t glued to the road, and I’m free to look around. This is what I am hoping for throughout this journey: simply time to enjoy wher

Marty crouches over, exhausted, his head hanging between his legs. ‘Pete, we’re never going to make it.’ I stay quiet, trying not to get too high or low. I know it’s best to keep it steady and just get it done. But I’m discouraged. Heartbroken. And it’s hard not to be. We have too much gear and the snow is too soft to ski on. It seems impossible. We’re actively racing against the animals we’re seeking, but we’ve only made 3km of progress in 8 hours – at this rate, we’re going to miss the mi

I wake up with my nose pressed against the side of our tent. The movement dislodges ice, which falls to the grass with a shiver; more ice slides down the fabric when I unzip the tent door, and I look out. The sun is shedding the first of its deep orange light across the tops of the Welsh mountains. The cloudless sky is changing from a sea-blue to Arctic blue, and our paddleboards are frosted like ice sculptures. That it is so cold shouldn’t be surprising – we are camped at almost 600m, just

I am ecstatic when Edmund finally shows up. We’ve only been separated for a few hours, but I’m tired and thirsty – and the last time I saw him he was barrelling down the river, next to his upturned raft, towards another section of whitewater. I had imagined him pinned to a rock somewhere downstream, or floating face-down in the water, so it’s no small relief when I see him waving frantically at me from the other side. He’s very much alive. We’re in the Karakoram Mountains of northern Pakista

Wind lashed against our tent, but the early morning light grew brighter and lured me from the comforting burrow of my sleeping bag. I unzipped the door and clambered out to meet Alex, pausing for a moment to take in our camp next to the choppy waters of Styhead Tarn. Dark skies threatened in the distance. Looking down towards the valley, I stood at the headwaters of our journey ahead, which would eventually lead us from this classic Lakeland honeypot to an estuary on Cumbria’s west coast. E

I twisted around, trying to free my arms from inside my jacket and bring them up to my head. The two hats I’d been wearing had fallen off and the cold night air now gnawed painfully at my ears. Fumbling inside my sleeping bag, awkwardly moving countless batteries, bottles, and fur boots from underneath me, I eventually found the hats and pulled them down over my ears. Through the numbness of gloved hands, I tried to locate the toggle at the hem of my bag. Several frustrated attempts later, I

There was nothing in front of them but a horizon, and everything behind them. In small wooden boats, the early explorers pushed off from a shore on the edge of Ireland or Scotland or Scandinavia, propelled to jump off the edge of the earth, into the unknown. What were they looking for? Were they exiled, or in search of a land of their own, earning their freedom or spreading the word? After days at sea, they would have glimpsed something jutting out of the sea, or perhaps they saw a seabird.

As the small twin prop dips below the heavy late-summer clouds, I catch my first glimpse of Austria. Jagged monuments of geology flank the plane and even at this time of year snow dusts these immense Alpine summits. I notice the lush green valley is peppered with houses and wooden outbuildings. Cattle graze in meadows next to milky blue glacial rivers running like arteries through the landscape. As the plane shudders and lowers I push my head closer to the cold window. In the distance, I mak

Each village and valley, city and town have a unique character. Some are high mountain villages located at the crossroads of hiking trails and some are in the pastures abundant with wildlife. Some areas provide incredible, fresh food for the region and others specialise in family adventures. In our guide, we’ll take you across Austria, introduce you to some of the best places to visit whatever your passion. Cyclists should start with Alpine Trails, an article and film by Chris Davies, while

‘Donkeys? What on Earth does that mean?’ Kelvin is looking back down the trail at me, making a face that suggests he thinks I have altitude sickness, but in an amusing way. ‘It means we haven’t had a night this amazing up here in a really long time – donkey’s years.’ We are nearing the Munro summit just as dusk is setting in and the colours in the sky are changing rapidly over the Highlands. A peach-orange ribbon of light slashes through layers of blue over a serene Loch Lochy. Snowy peaks s

The wind has been battering our tents since our arrival on the island a few hours ago. The thought of getting out of my sleeping bag and abandoning our last stronghold against the cold is hardly enchanting, but there’s no other option. Wedged between the ocean and an imposing rock massif, one of the most remote climbing spots of the planet awaits out there. In the very heart of Viking territory, at the north-east tip of Iceland, Vestrahorn is probably the most incredible site we have ever se

‘Mate, nobody goes bikepacking in China.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Because there’s no dirt.’ This was the wisdom I received before I left for the mountains of Yunnan Province and headed into the vast hinterland of the Middle Country. A great empire builds great roads, and by this measure China is great, even in this remote corner, far closer to Burma than Beijing. Pick a road that shows as dirt on satellite imagery from last year and more likely than not it’s now been paved; pick an area with no roads an

For the first time that day, I stood motionless, surveying the endless white expanse in front. It had snowed recently, and the powder, all but crystallised now, had concealed the footprints that I’d hoped would guide us. Shimmering hills of ice undulated like waves, the glare so bright it was almost blinding. It was at once the most beautiful and desolate place I had ever been to – a frozen wilderness of rock and ice. ‘What’s wrong?’ Mim called from behind me. Her voice echoed and then disa

Every river has its twists and turns, and the Ter, which runs through the heart of Catalunya, is no different. Our short journey, in partnership with KEEN Footwear, follows this little-known river upstream from its confluence with the Mediterranean in search of its source high in the Pyrenees. Going against the natural flow of the river is not about racing through the changing landscape to reach the source. It isn’t about the quickest time nor the physical challenge; instead, we want to und

‘The eyes of the entire Navy are on you this month – good luck’ said the new captain of Puerto Natales’ naval armada as he shook my hand with stern approval. Weeks of planning and arrangements for meetings, inspections, and even a formal PowerPoint slideshow describing our plans, were over. At last we had the notoriously difficult-to-obtain red stamp of approval from the Navy. We were finally free to explore the fjords of Patagonia. Three seasons as a kayak guide in Torres del Paine Nationa