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PELHAM'S LEON TOKATLIAN IS OUT TO CONQUER WORLD'S TOP PEAKS
by John Collins
The Sun (Lowell, Massachusetts)
Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Business News
September 28, 2008 Sunday
Sep. 28--PELHAM -- No one has ever set his sights on a higher goal,
later in life, with more confidence than Leon Tokatlian.
The Pelham resident aims to break the record for being the oldest
climber to reach the summit of Mount Everest one day.
It's a lofty goal that Tokatlian would've had no chance to attain had
he not made a dramatic, life-changing decision 11 years ago to give
up a successful business in order to indulge his lifelong obsession
with mountain-climbing, full-time.
"The lawyers said I was crazy to liquidate rather than sell," recalls
Tokatlian, who earned the financial means to fund his passion by
working "14-hour days for 20 years" as a lithographer in Nashua,
making color catalogs for Sears and Bloomingdale's.
The dramatic life change was difficult for "typical Earth people"
-- as Tokatlian refers to nonclimbers, including the lawyers and his
wife and two grown children -- to fully understand.
"Life is too short," Tokatlian declared then, as now. "While I have
my health, I better do what I want to do."
What he wanted to do, since boyhood, was climb. Very, very high.
"I was considered the oddball by my family growing up, because I was
always fascinated with mountains, nature and climbing," says Tokatlian,
who is of Armenian descent and grew up in Paris. He speaks five
languages, all with a French accent, a Jacques Cousteau sound-alike --
except with expertise on the opposite extreme to the ocean's bottom.
"The way I analyze it is, a lot of people do drugs to get a high. And
I do this to get high. And I do, believe me -- physically, mentally,
every way," he says.
Making up for lost thin-air time, Tokatlian spent one very busy decade
"getting high," compiling an impressive resume of conquests that
includes many of the world's toughest mountains, ranging from 14,000
to 22,000 feet: Island Peak in Nepal; Mera Peak in the Himalayas;
Mount Aconcagua in Argentina, the highest mountain in the southern
continent; Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa's highest; Mounts Rainier, Baker
and Hood in the Cascades range in the U.S. Pacific Northwest; the three
highest glaciated volcanic mountains in the Andes -- Gayambe, Cotopaxi
and Chimboraza; and the tallest mountain in Mexico, Pico De Orizaba.
Since 2004, Tokatlian has acted as a lead mountain guide, taking groups
of climbers to the top of Pico De Orizaba (twice more), Machu Pichu,
home of the sacred city of the Incas, in Peru, and Adams and Hood
(again) in the Cascades.
Most recently, in July, Tokatlian led a group-climb to the 14,300-foot
summit of Mount Kuiten, in the remote Mongolian desert overlooking
Russia and China. He regards it as his riskiest climb ever, requiring
the group to traverse a "knife-edge" ridge to reach the summit,
with a potentially deadly avalanche only one false step away.
"Although we had satellite phones with us, if something went wrong,
nobody could have rescued us for four or five days because the place
was so remote," Tokatlian says. "When we came down safely, I breathed
the biggest sigh of relief of my life."
Despite what a "typical Earthling" might mistakenly read into the
Kuiten climb -- that what Tokatlian really craves is danger -- from
his doctor Tokatlian learned that there is a physiological explanation
for his altitude craving.
"As your body becomes acclimatized at high altitude, your red
blood cells are quadrupled and that gives you extra energy," he
explains. "Many times, at 20,000 feet up a mountain, I've questioned
myself: 'Why am I doing this, torturing myself?' And (I vow) this is
my last (climb). But soon after coming down, I find, like an addiction,
I want to go back up."
Tokatlian blames his altitude addiction for why he put off giving
his first newspaper interview for 10 years. He hates to sit still,
and yearns to get high, he says. Namely, 14,000 feet high, exactly
where the "sheer torture" begins.
"From 14,000 feet up, you have to breathe three times harder than
normal," says Tokatlian, who demonstrates by panting like a dog. "And
even while panting, you're taking only baby steps. Very slow. Every
ounce of weight in your pack adds more stress. You have to stop every
50 feet to catch your breath. You never really catch it, though. It's
not pretty, believe me."
Tokatlian's mountain-climbing rules No. 1 and 2: "Respect the mountain,
and know your limitations. If conditions aren't right, stop and go
down," he says. "Because the mountain will always be there."
Rule No 3: Bring money.
"It's a very expensive hobby." He lists travel, hiring guides and
climbing permits as the major expenses. "Every mountain has its own
price for a permit. It was $1,000 to climb Kilimanjaro; same for
Aconcagua in Argentina, $1,000."
The "most commercial" mountain of all, Everest, sets climbers back
$20,000 for a good-once-only permit. Tokatlian does plan to pony up
the dough to conquer Everest, but only when the time is right.
"Everest is so crowded, it's almost like going to Hawaii for vacation,"
he says. "For me, I can wait. Right now the record for the oldest
person to summit Everest was a 71-year-old, this year. I'd like to
break that record one day, maybe in 10 or 12 years."
He's coy about revealing his age, citing it as a source of fun debate
among his fellow Appalachian Mountain Club members, many who marvel
at his fitness. "I'm in my early '60s," Tokatlian says, "but I really
feel like 25."
To keep himself in top shape in between expeditions, Tokatlian hikes
three times a week, usually in the White Mountains, including the
"nasty" Tuckerman Ravine trail on Mount Washington.
"I may say it's 'only' 6,000 feet, but you have to respect Washington,"
Tokatlian says. "People die on it every winter. They underestimate,
go unprepared, underclothed -- and perish. That's how it is."
Tokatlian has witnessed one climbing death, of a "close friend," on
Island Peak in Nepal. "During the climb, we were all hooked together,
but then he decided to free-climb," Tokatlian says. "It was a very
windy day. He was climbing on a narrow ridge, and a 70-mph gust
knocked him off, into a deep crevasse. He's still there."
Recovering the body was prohibitively dangerous.
Like any true mountaineer, however, Tokatlian believes climbing is
worth this ultimate risk.
"I always say that if my time is up, it's up," he says. "If anything
were to happen to me, I'd rather it happen on the mountain, to
be honest."
If not exactly a cheerleader, Tokatlian's wife, Shakeh, has at least
made peace with her husband's pursuit.
"It's like a wild bird, you can't keep it in a cage," Shakeh says. "You
need to give it freedom. And Leon has it. He's very lucky. I hope he
appreciates it."
By her husband's nod and smile, it's clear he does.
"It's in my nature, really, to climb mountains," Tokatlian sums up.
"For me, there's no better feeling on Earth than to sit quietly,
in solitude, at 20,000 feet up, with nothing between me and the
Creator. ... I like to live on the edge. It's why I do what I do."
by John Collins
The Sun (Lowell, Massachusetts)
Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Business News
September 28, 2008 Sunday
Sep. 28--PELHAM -- No one has ever set his sights on a higher goal,
later in life, with more confidence than Leon Tokatlian.
The Pelham resident aims to break the record for being the oldest
climber to reach the summit of Mount Everest one day.
It's a lofty goal that Tokatlian would've had no chance to attain had
he not made a dramatic, life-changing decision 11 years ago to give
up a successful business in order to indulge his lifelong obsession
with mountain-climbing, full-time.
"The lawyers said I was crazy to liquidate rather than sell," recalls
Tokatlian, who earned the financial means to fund his passion by
working "14-hour days for 20 years" as a lithographer in Nashua,
making color catalogs for Sears and Bloomingdale's.
The dramatic life change was difficult for "typical Earth people"
-- as Tokatlian refers to nonclimbers, including the lawyers and his
wife and two grown children -- to fully understand.
"Life is too short," Tokatlian declared then, as now. "While I have
my health, I better do what I want to do."
What he wanted to do, since boyhood, was climb. Very, very high.
"I was considered the oddball by my family growing up, because I was
always fascinated with mountains, nature and climbing," says Tokatlian,
who is of Armenian descent and grew up in Paris. He speaks five
languages, all with a French accent, a Jacques Cousteau sound-alike --
except with expertise on the opposite extreme to the ocean's bottom.
"The way I analyze it is, a lot of people do drugs to get a high. And
I do this to get high. And I do, believe me -- physically, mentally,
every way," he says.
Making up for lost thin-air time, Tokatlian spent one very busy decade
"getting high," compiling an impressive resume of conquests that
includes many of the world's toughest mountains, ranging from 14,000
to 22,000 feet: Island Peak in Nepal; Mera Peak in the Himalayas;
Mount Aconcagua in Argentina, the highest mountain in the southern
continent; Mount Kilimanjaro, Africa's highest; Mounts Rainier, Baker
and Hood in the Cascades range in the U.S. Pacific Northwest; the three
highest glaciated volcanic mountains in the Andes -- Gayambe, Cotopaxi
and Chimboraza; and the tallest mountain in Mexico, Pico De Orizaba.
Since 2004, Tokatlian has acted as a lead mountain guide, taking groups
of climbers to the top of Pico De Orizaba (twice more), Machu Pichu,
home of the sacred city of the Incas, in Peru, and Adams and Hood
(again) in the Cascades.
Most recently, in July, Tokatlian led a group-climb to the 14,300-foot
summit of Mount Kuiten, in the remote Mongolian desert overlooking
Russia and China. He regards it as his riskiest climb ever, requiring
the group to traverse a "knife-edge" ridge to reach the summit,
with a potentially deadly avalanche only one false step away.
"Although we had satellite phones with us, if something went wrong,
nobody could have rescued us for four or five days because the place
was so remote," Tokatlian says. "When we came down safely, I breathed
the biggest sigh of relief of my life."
Despite what a "typical Earthling" might mistakenly read into the
Kuiten climb -- that what Tokatlian really craves is danger -- from
his doctor Tokatlian learned that there is a physiological explanation
for his altitude craving.
"As your body becomes acclimatized at high altitude, your red
blood cells are quadrupled and that gives you extra energy," he
explains. "Many times, at 20,000 feet up a mountain, I've questioned
myself: 'Why am I doing this, torturing myself?' And (I vow) this is
my last (climb). But soon after coming down, I find, like an addiction,
I want to go back up."
Tokatlian blames his altitude addiction for why he put off giving
his first newspaper interview for 10 years. He hates to sit still,
and yearns to get high, he says. Namely, 14,000 feet high, exactly
where the "sheer torture" begins.
"From 14,000 feet up, you have to breathe three times harder than
normal," says Tokatlian, who demonstrates by panting like a dog. "And
even while panting, you're taking only baby steps. Very slow. Every
ounce of weight in your pack adds more stress. You have to stop every
50 feet to catch your breath. You never really catch it, though. It's
not pretty, believe me."
Tokatlian's mountain-climbing rules No. 1 and 2: "Respect the mountain,
and know your limitations. If conditions aren't right, stop and go
down," he says. "Because the mountain will always be there."
Rule No 3: Bring money.
"It's a very expensive hobby." He lists travel, hiring guides and
climbing permits as the major expenses. "Every mountain has its own
price for a permit. It was $1,000 to climb Kilimanjaro; same for
Aconcagua in Argentina, $1,000."
The "most commercial" mountain of all, Everest, sets climbers back
$20,000 for a good-once-only permit. Tokatlian does plan to pony up
the dough to conquer Everest, but only when the time is right.
"Everest is so crowded, it's almost like going to Hawaii for vacation,"
he says. "For me, I can wait. Right now the record for the oldest
person to summit Everest was a 71-year-old, this year. I'd like to
break that record one day, maybe in 10 or 12 years."
He's coy about revealing his age, citing it as a source of fun debate
among his fellow Appalachian Mountain Club members, many who marvel
at his fitness. "I'm in my early '60s," Tokatlian says, "but I really
feel like 25."
To keep himself in top shape in between expeditions, Tokatlian hikes
three times a week, usually in the White Mountains, including the
"nasty" Tuckerman Ravine trail on Mount Washington.
"I may say it's 'only' 6,000 feet, but you have to respect Washington,"
Tokatlian says. "People die on it every winter. They underestimate,
go unprepared, underclothed -- and perish. That's how it is."
Tokatlian has witnessed one climbing death, of a "close friend," on
Island Peak in Nepal. "During the climb, we were all hooked together,
but then he decided to free-climb," Tokatlian says. "It was a very
windy day. He was climbing on a narrow ridge, and a 70-mph gust
knocked him off, into a deep crevasse. He's still there."
Recovering the body was prohibitively dangerous.
Like any true mountaineer, however, Tokatlian believes climbing is
worth this ultimate risk.
"I always say that if my time is up, it's up," he says. "If anything
were to happen to me, I'd rather it happen on the mountain, to
be honest."
If not exactly a cheerleader, Tokatlian's wife, Shakeh, has at least
made peace with her husband's pursuit.
"It's like a wild bird, you can't keep it in a cage," Shakeh says. "You
need to give it freedom. And Leon has it. He's very lucky. I hope he
appreciates it."
By her husband's nod and smile, it's clear he does.
"It's in my nature, really, to climb mountains," Tokatlian sums up.
"For me, there's no better feeling on Earth than to sit quietly,
in solitude, at 20,000 feet up, with nothing between me and the
Creator. ... I like to live on the edge. It's why I do what I do."