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an essay on risk assessment


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Whitewater roulette

Assessing danger is an essential skill in chancy sports like whitewater kayaking. The problem, Charles Duhigg reports, is we're lousy at it. Or so say the research guys in the white lab coats.

 

by Charles Duhigg

 

THE paddlers scout the waterfall, their kayaks as bright as bits of candy against the Sierra Nevada's sculpted gray granite. Behind them, water blasts into the mountain air through a misshapen rock spout, then hammers down on the rock ledge below. But Seth Warren's eyes are on Phil Boyer's hands.

 

Boyer, 35, is a two-time whitewater rafting world champion. Warren's home is a van he drives across the nation on behalf of a sports clothing company. They speak in the soft patois of surfers, earn less money than many fast-food workers, can finish a jug of cheap wine in less than 20 minutes and kayak nearly every day. Their lives are the envy of river aficionados worldwide.

 

Today they stand over "the teacups," a largely vertical stretch of the Kern River, because, when it comes to running rapids and assessing risks, they are sure they're among the nation's best. They also know the river could kill them anyway. But that snippet of rational thought may well be lost at the moment, roiling as it does amid so much sensory input, hormone-fired emotion and more immediately significant information.

 

Approach from the left, then charge hard to the right, Boyer says, mapping out the run with hands that have become rock, water and kayak.

 

Warren, 26, watches and listens intently. To a point.

 

"Don't overexplain the rapid to me," he finally cautions. "I won't be able to run it."

 

 

 

Random fatalities

 

Warren and his companions — Boyer, Morten Eilertsen and Mariann Saether — know a kayaker broke both his arms here two years ago. Boaters die in similar waterfalls every year. In 2000, the last year for which complete statistics were collected by American Whitewater, a river-sports advocacy group, at least 47 paddlers drowned nationwide. Some perished because of inexperience or lack of safety equipment, but many of the deaths conform to no pattern.

 

In one case two kayakers successfully cleared a 6-foot waterfall and slid through a rock-infested landing zone, according to incident reports. The third kayaker, however, slightly misguided his boat and ran it into a rock. Water pressure pushed the craft against a boulder, flipping it over and plunging his head underwater. The impact was so great that it collapsed the top of his craft, clamping his leg and preventing escape.

 

For more than an hour the kayaker's friends swam to the pinned boat, attaching a rope and trying to drag it out. The water's pressure would not allow release of the craft. A moment after the survivors decided to give up, the current shifted slightly and the boat popped free, exposing their dead friend. It took four men using tools to remove the body from the kayak.

 

In another instance, a kayaker easily surmounted a waterfall in North Carolina amid rain, sleet and high winds. Fifty yards downstream, a small ledge in the riverbed created a "hole" — a depression in the river's bottom where water dangerously recirculates, as if in a washing machine.

 

The six other kayakers accompanying the paddler approached the hole only seconds behind him and saw his helmet flash in the backwash. He had been pulled from his boat by the river's force. The other boaters threw rescue bags with ropes attached, but the swimmer did not grab for them, apparently already unconscious.

 

He recirculated for four minutes, each cycle holding him under for 20 seconds, allowing him to surface briefly, then pulling him under again. Then he popped out of the hole and floated serenely, already dead. None of the others even brushed danger.

 

Each year almost as many people die on calm, moderately challenging rapids as on large, expert-only waterfalls. The river's ever-changing flow creates and dismisses an infinity of potential hazards every second, professional kayakers say.

 

Warren and his companions believe they know how to identify and avoid risks. And to a degree, they are right — years of experience and physical finesse increase their safety. But much of their confidence is an illusion. While humans are exceptionally good at identifying risks — owing to our unique capacities of pattern recognition — we're notoriously fallible at estimating the likelihood that a risk will materialize.

 

In kayaking, hazards lie beneath the water's surface and risks are unpredictable. If one of these kayakers dies, it will likely have far less to do with his abilities than with the fact that we humans are, at our core, awful risk assessors.

 

 

 

Risk aversion

 

"I have a plan for every stroke before I even get wet," Warren says as his bright orange boat glides through the first teacup, paddles flashing like the blades of a windmill.

 

As he and Boyer approach the drop — an 8-foot tube of water that angles at 45 degrees — they are confronted with a choice. To the left of the lip, water falls calmly but a small rock juts out, a slight though obvious hazard. To the right, the water churns viciously. There may be dangers underneath, but they are hidden from sight.

 

As they analyze the options, the human weaknesses that plague decision making emerge.

 

The mistake Warren is about to commit was discovered decades ago in a series of experiments. In one of the first social science laboratories, professors in white coats recruited human lab rats and presented them with two alternatives: a traditional insurance plan, in which the premium is $100 and all stolen belongings are replaced, or a new type of insurance in which subjects pay only a $45 premium, but if their belongings go missing the insurance company will flip a coin. If it comes up heads they'll pay the claim, but tails pays nothing.

 

From a rational perspective, the $45 choice is superior: Subjects received 50% coverage for only 45% of the premium. But subjects overwhelmingly chose the $100 insurance policy. Why? Because most humans instinctively seek to eliminate risk rather than merely reduce it.

 

Warren's natural instinct, like that of people choosing between insurance plans, is to eliminate the river's risk. But this desire is so strong that the slightest of cues can encourage the perception that risk has been removed.

 

As Warren and Boyer paddle forward they begin subconsciously classifying obstacles as either risky or safe. Their natural instinct is to choose the path that seems completely riskless, rather than the avenue that contains small, potentially risky obstacles that can be avoided.

 

The greatest hazards in whitewater kayaking are unseen. A decade ago Boyer surmounted a waterfall when his boat suddenly stopped, the bow pinned beneath an underwater log. His boat slid farther under the log until the wood pushed against his body, forcing him underwater and preventing his escape. All he saw were white bubbles, then green light as his head dropped below the surface.

 

Suddenly a current caught the back of the boat and pulled it free. If not for the chance surge, he would have died. From the surface, the log was invisible.

 

On the teacup, the turbulent water to the right might hide anything. But the instinct to eliminate risk, rather than tolerate a reduced hazard, pushes them toward the frothing portion of the fall.

 

"I couldn't tell what was going on to the right, but I assumed it was safer," Boyer says later.

 

Both kayaks twist slightly as they enter the waterfall, the boats rocking as the underwater hydraulics push and pull. Then they shoot into the air and plop into the next pool. There have been no underwater obstacles. After a brief delay, both men successfully surmount the second waterfall, riding the water as it sprays over a rock protruding like a giant's brow, and pause in the cold water beneath.

 

Overconfidence

 

Warren and Boyer paddle to the lip of the next waterfall and look at each other.

 

"Do you remember looking at this drop?" Boyer asks.

 

"Uhh, no," Warren replies.

 

If they could step onto the rocky bank, they would see an 11-foot fall, the rushing water filtering the light like sea glass and making the rocks underneath pale and wavy. But from their kayaks, all they can see is a thin line where the drop begins, and the horizon. They stood above this fall only 10 minutes ago, trying to memorize all six drops. Now their memories are blank.

 

"Well, I guess that means it's OK," Boyer says hopefully, and he paddles to the edge.

 

Certainty is an integral part of kayaking. "You have to be 100% confident," Boyer explained earlier. Every kayaker feels a little bit of fear on the water — that's part of the excitement. "But if you start thinking about the mistakes you can make, you'll make them."

 

But confidence can be dangerous. After the white-coated experimenters learned about humans' instinct to eliminate risk, they began to ask why. One answer is overconfidence — a compensatory instinct that pops up when humans crave control but are confronted by random chance.

 

Boyer's confidence in his abilities may be so high because he has so little control over the river's dangers. In a series of experiments, professors tested how people respond to random events: Subjects were shown reports on 12 stocks and asked to predict the stock market's future, and to rate their confidence in their predictions. Researchers found that if the average stock buyer is asked to predict, say, the price of Wal-Mart's stock over one year, most will admit ignorance. But when confronted with a new high-flying Internet offering and lots of meaningless tables and charts, many will make predictions with unwarranted confidence.

 

For his part, Boyer seems as confident as the granite as he teeters atop the fall and smoothly drops over.

 

"No problem!" he shouts up to Warren, who follows him over the edge.

 

 

 

The big fall

 

As they approach the big waterfall, Warren doesn't think about the warnings Boyer mentioned earlier. Instead he focuses on not focusing and dips his paddle deep into the rushing water.

 

Psychology supports Warren's instinct. Eventually researchers began wondering: If everyone is prone to overconfidence, why do some people consistently make the right call?

 

The answer, they discovered, may have to do with which part of Warren's brain is doing the heavy lifting. The prime goal of decision making is to move thought from the prefrontal lobes of the cerebral cortex, where deliberate, conscious decisions are made, to the posterior neocortex and amygdala, where thought processes are more automatic. Athletes refer to it as being "in the zone"; psychologists call it "flow."

 

As he approaches the big fall, Warren scans the water almost lazily, paddling into the waterfall's spray and twisting his body as the kayak goes over the drop. He lands softly. "I tried not to think too much," he shouts up as explanation.

 

Warren and Boyer know they paddle better when they are in "the zone." But as their thinking becomes less deliberate, it falls prey to a psychological weakness: the subconscious perception of patterns where none exist. They believe that previous successful runs prove they are ready for these dangerous rapids. But the truth is that their previous successes may inspire them to believe in patterns that blind them to dangers that can quickly emerge.

 

The teacup falls are similar to rows of horizontal and vertical lights laboratory geeks used in the 1950s to discover what happens when different parts of the brain try to predict the future. Subjects were shown the lights and asked to predict which row would light up. They were told the lightings would be random.

 

In spite of this knowledge, subjects of the study were incapable of choosing randomly. Rather, they were influenced by whether their previous prediction had been correct. If so, there was up to a 72% chance that they would make the same guess. Even when subjects were offered financial rewards if they chose randomly, they were unable to do it. Subconsciously, subjects saw patterns where none existed and were influenced by a cause-and-effect relationship that wasn't real. The same instinct enriches casinos every day.

 

As they think about kayaking, Warren and Boyer perceive patterns. "I've run a thousand falls," Warren says, "and they've gotten me ready for these ones."

 

Warren is right. Years of practice have prepared him to confront bigger and more deadly risks — as long as those risks increase incrementally. But if the risks suddenly become exponentially more deadly, his instinct to rely on patterns may expose him to danger, says Baruch Fischoff, a professor of social and decision sciences at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh.

 

As a river rises from 1,500 cubic feet per second (cfs) to 2,000 cfs, it may become marginally more risky. But the same river may be significantly more deadly as soon as it hits 2,500 cfs. To someone seeking out patterns, it appears the flow has only increased incrementally. Skeptics know that the risk has surmounted a tipping point and is now exponentially more dangerous.

 

Boyer and Warren both have an instinct to base future predictions on patterns, and they are both experienced kayakers. But they have never run these waterfalls before.

 

"People typically imagine they are more in control then they really are," says Fischoff.

 

Boyer concentrates as he approaches the big fall. Others have warned him to push his boat high onto the rock wall and use it to slide over the turbulent flow. He focuses on the granite walls, hardly looking at the water around him, and paddles toward the incline.

 

His boat tips over the fall, rides up the rock and stalls, the bow almost out of the water. The river whips the stern around. Boyer twists hard to compensate, but by then the kayak is jutting over the drop, teetering. It pushes over the edge and falls, rotating clockwise through the air as it builds speed, then smacks into a ledge, bouncing and beginning to flip. Boyer loses control. The kayak corkscrews. His head barely missing the rock, he plummets over the falls upside down and lands that way in the water.

 

A vicious twist propels his body upright.

 

"I missed it!" he screams.

 

He runs his hand up his neck, making sure he is uninjured.

 

Moments later, the men pause in the chain's final pool.

 

"Should we do it again?" Boyer asks as they pull their kayaks onto stone.

 

"Sure," Warren says. He looks up, scanning the immutable rock and ever-changing water. "These falls are a no-brainer," he says. The men start climbing.

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It was a thought provoking article. I know nothing about kayaking, but it would seem that in white water kayaking it is more difficult to assess risks than climbing (cragging at least) because you can't always see underwater hazards. Even if you knew what was below the surface, the currents can behave very unpredictably depending on flow rates. In rock climbing of established routes, the risks are known, but making first ascents or alpine ascents in variable snow and ice, it's got to be a lot like kayaking with regard to unknown hazards. In rock climbing, unlike kayaking, if you encounter an unexpected danger you can sometimes reverse the moves, that is, back off. Many cases this isn't possible, hence the "failing upwards" scenario.

 

Let's talk about the insurance experiment. I think their conclusions are bogus. In the first case you pay a $100 premium for 100% coverage. In the second case you pay a $45 premium for what amounts to 50% coverage. They claim that the latter is the more logical choice, but is it? The logic of the decision depends on more factors than they are weighing in their analysis. You don't know what that risk is. If it is very high, the first makes a lot of sense. Conversely, if it is low, the second would be favored. If the value of your belongings is not very high, it would favor the second choice and so on. We also figure in our ability to replace our belongings and the necessity of doing it immediately.

 

The formula they are using is as follows:

 

Value of policy = Replacement Cost x chance of loss x Percent Replacement

 

Suppose your belongings were worth $1000, and the chance of loss in over the term of the policy was 10%. The value of the policy in the first case would be $100. In the second case, it would be $50. The second policy is the better deal. But what if you added another term to the equation. This term would be the inconvenience which results from not being able to immediately replace your lost belongings. The formula becomes:

 

Value of policy = Replacement Cost x chance of loss x Percent Replacement x inconvenience factor

 

How do you put a value to this inconvenience factor?

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In rock climbing of established routes, the risks are known

uh. not exactly. the highest thought provocation shizzle of the article for me was that presumed familiarity breeds false security. more people solo routes they have already climbed. does that make it safer? fuk no. just ask derek hershey. or troy johnson. or doug heinrich. yeah.

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A prime example of "known" risk aidding in a fatality was that of Walt Shipley, who died on a river(Cherry creek) he had boated a hundred times or more. Whereas he had/has set some of the standard for bold routes on less then perfect rock/protection.

 

"Live life the way you like it and call it good", That is my mantra. Tho the wife prefers a few more calculated risks in her assesment.

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The assessment of the risks inherent to kayaking are genuine. The article did a fine job (quite surprising really). When it comes to kayaking we often do make choices as the kayaker would. Looking at Klende's Big 4 story ( web page ) you see several examples that correlate with the kayaker analogy. We use our experience to justify our choices as wise decision making thus limiting risk. What we instead do is ignore the "log underneath the water" or in Klende's story "The chance that an avalanche would miss them". Risk assessment and chance? In life you balance the two and hope that fate doesn't bear down on you. Does familiarity limit risk? Not always. In kayaking familiarity can be your worst enemy. This familiarity allows you to justify not assessing your risk (not scouting the rapid or in climbing, not watching a weather report because you can find your way to muir in any storm and decide to leave your jacket behind). What does all this boil down to? Ha, I wish I knew. I guess, be consistent and don’t let familiarity justify faulty decision making.

Edited by AllYouCanEat
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I used to love running waterfalls and free soloing. They are very similar to me. Now that I have kids, I have focused on climbing because I get more diversity out of it and mainly, because it is a better workout. But the risk factors for both are in two categories; known, managable hazards, and Objective dangers. Both categories can be worked with to minimize the overall risk. Being able to assess either requires experience. Experience only comes from getting out there and taking the risks. I guess you have to make an honest attempt to learn from every experience and progress slower than you think you are capable of. Or just go for it and hope the objective dangers don't pop up and that your execution of your method for managing the known hazards is spot on.

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What about false positive reinforment? any thoughts? You do something that has moderate risk over and over and since nothing bad happens, you push that risk higher and higher... eventually it catches you.

 

We all know this, but the old timers all seem to be pretty bold on avi slopes... "I've been on stuff like this 100 times, never had an avi yet!"

 

 

 

 

 

The insurance example is totally bogus. Insurance companies make money because they pay out less than they recieve, based on their thinking, you should never get insurance because the odds are, you're losing money when you pay them money.

 

But really almost all of us get insurance because we're not willing to be on the losing side of that gamble (2 broken legs and no insurance ---> total bancrupt)

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What about false positive reinforment? any thoughts? You do something that has moderate risk over and over and since nothing bad happens, you push that risk higher and higher... eventually it catches you.

 

We all know this, but the old timers all seem to be pretty bold on avi slopes... "I've been on stuff like this 100 times, never had an avi yet!"

At 45 I may not be an old timer but I find myself less and less willing to go out on slopes I would have gone out on before.

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by me (just in case someone thinks otherwise due to the length)

 

The dynamic and unrelenting nature of whitewater sets it apart from the relatively static environment one encounters while climbing or mountaineering, and because of this, the psychology of paddling is necessarily different.

 

The rock, snow, and ice generally stay put and let you do your bidding. At just about any moment you can pause to think things through one more time, run through risk assesment, examine your gear, your position, your next course of action. You can take a breather, shake out your arms. You can stop and talk things over with your partner. You can look at the guidebook again. You can just call it quits and turn around.

 

At the most desireable levels of whitewater these opportunities are few and far between. You are dealing with an immense and constant energy that is massive and unstoppable, yet usually forgiving enough to let you borrow some and dance along with it. And you know that no matter what you do, the water will never stop.

 

Standing above a rapid, you realize this. You realize that you have only a finite amount of time to do what you need to do to get yourself down to the next safe zone. You realize that the more time you spend in this particular wild and powerful stretch of mayhem, the more chance that you will get yourself in trouble, or tire out, or lose all of your momentum and control, becoming a brightly-colored plastic bath-tub toy completely resigned to the will of the water.

 

The kind of things that we kayak these days, you spend more time looking at the rapid than actually kayaking through it. And the amount of time we would spend looking at a rapid was about 30 seconds. I look down into the maw of a class V rapid, graded so because it threatens the ultimate consequence should I lose control, and try to fit all of my thoughts, strategies, back-up plans, and fears into about 5-10 seconds worth of actual paddling. But it doesn't all fit. For those 5-10 seconds there are really only a few things I need to know. There's not going to be time for anything else. Those few things are 1) where am I going, 2) where do I REALLY NOT want to go, and 3) where is my next safe spot?

 

Back in the boat, slide into the water... 2 seconds... take a breath and clear my mind... 3 seconds... paddle up to the rapid, go where I have to go, do my best to stay on line, for god's sake don't flip over, remember to breathe, paddle HARD, keep the boat straight, avoid the killer spots, maybe let out a primal scream, and finally guide my boat into the next safe spot... 10 seconds. I made it. I faced off with chaos and oblivion and it only took 10 seconds. I danced with enough energy to destroy me 1,000,000 times over and it turned out okay. And it was fun.

 

So yes, paddling this kind of whitewater does require an altered psychological state. On the drive up to the put-in you are full of adrenaline because you know that once you are on this river, you will be faced with danger, with very few, if any, oppurtunities to walk away. You know that you will not have time to make sure you are 100% safe, and you will not have time to think about all of the possibilities. If you weren't willing to accept this then wouldn't be driving up to the river right now. You wouldn't get into your kayak in the first place. But you know what you are getting yourself into, and what you will have to do mentally to make it through. It is an ordeal that is exquisitely enjoyable when you are willing to commit yourself to this very necessary reductive mindstate.

 

It has been a long time since I have tossed myself down a river. But now I often find myself moving into the same mindset while climbing or snowboarding. It is good to realize that there are many things that we cannot control, and it is good to appreciate the value of moving quickly and fluidly. The same psychology applies to running out trad climbs at instead of trying to put in extra gear, where you know that if you keep moving steadily you will be at a strong stance and a bomber placement, while if you stop to force a crappy piece into a bad placement you will be no better off, just more pumped and in more danger as a result.

 

Anyway, it's funny that journalists and guys in lab coats think they can understand the pyschology of a whitewater kayaker without ever experiencing the actual feelings themselves. Of course that would "bias their research." But I don't consider cognitive psychology to be real science anyway.

 

edited to change "direable" to "desireable" cantfocus.gifcantfocus.gif

Edited by ashw_justin
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Actually the funniest thing about that LA Times story is that they failed to mention that particular stretch of whitewater, the "Teacups," ends in two deadly class VI/unrunnable waterfalls that follow in quick succession after the runnable ones. That guy that broke his arms actually did so by forgetting how many of the "Teacups" he had run and going over the first of those two class VI waterfalls. The tragedy is cry.gif but the irony is yelrotflmao.gif

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Anyway, it's funny that journalists and guys in lab coats think they can understand the pyschology of a whitewater kayaker without ever experiencing the actual feelings themselves. Of course that would "bias their research." But I don't consider cognitive psychology to be real science anyway.

yelrotflmao.gif Spray on Boyo! yelrotflmao.gif

 

You'd be surprise how accurate the psychological models that the military/intelligence community has come up with - and how useful they find them.

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Yes, predictions can be made in regard to human behavior based upon data analysis. To call this science is however quite hopeful and arrogant, as you can never develop adequate controls for experiments involving the enigmatic and often irrational and unpredictable human mind. Not to mention that most "theories" involving human behavior can neither be proven nor disproven due to lack of a concrete basis, outside of conjecture and (hopefully) some experimental data. Which one you believe depends upon your particular interests. Don't get me wrong, I have faith in the value of data analysis and prediction, by I would be embarassed to go as far as calling it "science." But hey, it sure makes a lot more logical sense than religion, which was all we had before that for explaining our behavior...

 

It would be ridiculous to doubt the functionality of economics--that I am not arguing. Hey, you know you're making me want to go watch "Pi" again...

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It's funny that my wife (in her white lab coat) would worry herself sick when I went climbing but didn't think twice about me going kayaking. The latter was clearly more dangerous for me and that was part of why I gave it up for climbing when kid-time restraints took hold. Part of me, and I suspect part of most of you, has to keep pushing further. For example, class VI is now runnable (tho not for me). Pushing harder in climbing means climbing more technically challenging routes but keeping the protection within reasonable tollerances. I can fall all day and not get hurt. That next waterfall that I might have run (they are an undescribable rush) could have been a very different story.

bigdrink.gif

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Anyway, it's funny that journalists and guys in lab coats think they can understand the pyschology of a whitewater kayaker without ever experiencing the actual feelings themselves. Of course that would "bias their research." But I don't consider cognitive psychology to be real science anyway.

yelrotflmao.gif Spray on Boyo! yelrotflmao.gif

 

You'd be surprise how accurate the psychological models that the military/intelligence community has come up with - and how useful they find them.

 

yeah the intelligence community has a stellar reputation for accuracy these days.

 

we're all gonna die. assess that.

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Speaking of which, and interview w/ Maria Coffey in the P-I today - she's yakkin' at Mounty Hall.

interview

 

aieet. i read the article you linked to. seemed like just a bunch a crap on how climbers are selfabsorbed. all i can say is 'what a bitch.'

 

Here, here. All the chics that were quoted sound bitter and angry. I'd be curious to see how the sales go; doesn't seem like a very inviting topic.

 

Who's buying this for their significant other for Christmas? "Here, Sweetie, I bought you this book on how all the other wives deal with their mountaineer spouses. Maybe it'll help you work through all the bitterness and rage you feel when I just go cragging for a day. Maybe you won't drink so much when I go to Washington Pass for a whole weekend. I hope this book will help you get in touch with your feelings when I fuck up and die in the mountains like all those people in this book. I love you. Merry Christmas."

 

hellno3d.gif

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Speaking of which, and interview w/ Maria Coffey in the P-I today - she's yakkin' at Mounty Hall.

 

interview

 

so it makes me wonder what deep dark secret she's revealing?? it's not like everyone doesn't know and discuss the dangers and reprecussions of climbing. granted high altitude climbing has even more risk associated with it but come on...it's not as though this is a forbidden topic. and what's up w/that tribe stuff??

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