Seeker Journal

From early experiences witnessing water scarcity to years spent quietly installing water filters across the world, Cyrus Maroofian’s path has been shaped by curiosity, commitment, and a willingness to step into the unknown. What began as informal, self-driven work eventually grew into Water Access To All (W.A.T.A.), an organization focused on creating lasting access to clean drinking water through local partnerships and community-led solutions.

Cyrus’ journey is not defined by grand gestures, but by showing up consistently, listening closely, and choosing to act even when the path forward isn’t clear.

This collaboration between Seek Discomfort and W.A.T.A. brings together two worlds rooted in the same belief: that growth, connection, and impact live just beyond what feels comfortable.

Below is an honest conversation between Cyrus and Seek Discomfort about what it means to lean into uncertainty in service of something bigger than yourself. It explores how discomfort can become a guide, how community transforms intention into action, and how meaningful change is built through presence, trust, and shared responsibility.

Rather than offering answers from a distance, this conversation invites you into the questions, decisions, and moments that shaped the work as it exists today.

1.⁠ ⁠Seek Discomfort has always been about leaning into the uncomfortable in pursuit of growth. How did that message influence your decision to start W.A.T.A.?

Honestly, just starting W.A.T.A. was the most uncomfortable thing I could have done, and I think that’s exactly why I did it. I had been setting up water filters for almost ten years at that point, but always on my own, informally, without structure. Making the decision to turn it into something real felt intimidating in a completely different way. 

The work itself was already uncomfortable. Getting to villages meant six-hour drives through the mountains, sleeping on the floor of a school, being barefoot most of the time, not showering for days, and dealing with heat and humidity. On one trip, it was so hot that we couldn’t even move much. We just sat outside, trying to cool down, read, and breathe. None of it was comfortable in the traditional sense.

But what stood out to me was that despite all of that discomfort, I felt an overwhelming amount of love, appreciation, and happiness from the experience and from the people we were working with. And when that same community asked for more water filters, something clicked. I realized that if something made me this uncomfortable but also felt this meaningful, then it was exactly what I needed to lean into. 

I had no idea how to start a nonprofit. I didn’t know what success even looked like. I didn’t know that it would mean constantly asking for money or putting myself out there in ways that felt vulnerable. But at its core, the idea of seeking discomfort is what pushed me to stop overthinking and actually commit to the work.

2.⁠ ⁠Was there a specific Yes Theory or Seek Discomfort moment that pushed you from inspiration into action?

There wasn’t one single moment, but more a buildup over time. Watching Yes Theory connect with complete strangers in places they had no prior connection to felt very familiar to what I was already experiencing on my own trips. Their serendipitous moments mirrored a lot of what I was seeing happen naturally in my own travels.

There was one episode where they convinced someone at an airport to completely change their flight and go on an adventure with them. That moment really stuck with me. The idea that you could meet someone who was on a completely different trajectory and invite them into something meaningful felt powerful. I actually experienced my own version of that in Vietnam. We were in Dien Bien when a random guy came up and asked what we were doing with all these buckets. I told him we were taking a water filter to a nearby orphanage and school and asked if he wanted to come with us. He joined us, helped with the distribution, and was so motivated by the experience that he asked if he could take our leftover filters with him when he later traveled through Laos on a motorbike. That moment made everything feel very real. 

Seek Discomfort had already influenced how I moved through the world, but this showed me how directly it could translate into the water work itself. I’d see things like throwing a party for a stranger, taking someone skydiving, or inviting someone into a completely unfamiliar experience, and I kept asking myself how I could apply that same energy to humanitarian work?

A lot of my ideas since then have been rooted in that mindset, taking strangers surfing, setting up filters together, navigating fear, language barriers, and uncertainty side by side. It made me realize that you could create a meaningful impact by inviting people into discomfort while also helping others at the same time.

3.⁠ ⁠W.A.T.A. focuses on community-led, local partnerships rather than parachute aid. Why was that model important to you?

Being on the ground over the years showed me how powerful simple human connection really is. Sitting with someone, sharing a meal, shaking a hand, or just being present can have a deeper impact than anything you drop off and walk away from.

At the same time, watching Seek Discomfort really shaped how I think about community. I’ve seen how they bring people together to support strangers, show up for events, and rally around shared experiences. What stood out to me was that while there are recognizable faces, the real power comes from the community itself. It’s not about one person, it’s about collective energy.

In the humanitarian space, a lot of models still focus on parachute aid or on centering everything around one individual or organization. I never felt aligned with that. I wanted W.A.T.A. to feel like something people are part of, not something that drops in and disappears. When local leaders are trained, trusted, and empowered, the work continues long after we leave. I believe a lot of this is gained by simply bringing yourself into the work. Bringing in your community, your interests and passions will make all the difference.

Seeing how Seek Discomfort mobilizes community made me ask what this could look like if applied to water access. If people didn’t just donate, but showed up, learned, helped install filters, and felt connected to the communities they were supporting. That belief is why community-led work is so important to me. It’s not about saying we helped, it’s about building something together that actually lasts so we can continue helping.

4.⁠ ⁠What does “seeking discomfort” look like in the context of building an NGO and working on water access projects?

It shows up everywhere, both behind the scenes and in the field.

On the organizational side, some of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever done include calling friends to ask for donations, speaking publicly, promoting events, asking people to share work I’ve created, and constantly putting myself out there without knowing the outcome.

One of the biggest moments of discomfort for me was around my job. I had been working at the same company for about ten years, and my position was going to be eliminated. They offered me another role, but it would have added significantly more responsibility and taken away from my ability to actually work on the nonprofit and get it off the ground. At that point, I already knew W.A.T.A. needed more energy than I was even giving it.

I made the conscious decision to turn down that offer, knowing it would lead to me being laid off and having no salary. That meant stepping fully into financial uncertainty. Waking up every day without a steady income and asking myself how I was going to make it work was extremely uncomfortable, but I also knew staying comfortable would mean never fully committing to the work.

Then there’s the fieldwork. Traveling to countries where I don’t speak the language, navigating unfamiliar laws, police checks, military presence, visa issues, and different cultures. Sleeping on floors, using outdoor bathrooms, eating very local food, sitting for six hours on buses through the mountains, giving presentations to 150 families in places I’ve never been before. There have been moments where visas were expired, situations felt sketchy, cars broke down, or the logistics alone were overwhelming.

As the work grew, I started to realize that for me to get better at this, I had to continue seeking the moments that made me the most uncomfortable. Those moments were shaping me. Every time I leaned into discomfort instead of avoiding it, it led to deeper connection, better understanding, and more meaningful impact. In that sense, seeking discomfort isn’t separate from the work, it’s built into everything we do.

5.⁠ ⁠If you could speak directly to the Seek Discomfort community, what would you want them to understand about the impact they’re helping create?

If I could speak directly to the Seek Discomfort community, I’d want you to know that your presence matters more than you probably realize, especially at this stage. W.A.T.A. is still small. It’s something I work on every single day, and right now, having a community that believes in this work isn’t optional, it’s essential for it to keep moving forward.

Every time you show up, share something, come to an event, volunteer, or even just talk about the work, you’re helping carry it. That support creates momentum when things feel heavy or uncertain. It reminds me that this isn’t happening in isolation.

What’s powerful about the Seek Discomfort community is the way you show up together. You don’t just watch experiences happen, you become part of them. When that same energy is brought into humanitarian work, it starts to break down the idea of “us” and “them.” Instead of helping from a distance, we’re working alongside one another.

That mindset is exactly what I want to build into this work. If we come together in the same way you already do, leaning into discomfort, showing up for strangers, trusting the process, then problems like the clean water crisis start to feel solvable. Not because one person is leading it, but because a community is carrying it forward.

The real impact you’re creating isn’t just clean water. It’s proving that collective action, inclusivity, and shared responsibility can move something that feels overwhelming into something we can actually solve together.

The idea sparked months earlier after I fell into a rabbit hole of TikToks from last year’s race. There was something so moving about watching thousands of strangers cry, cheer, and push through pain together. It reminded me of a concept called collective effervescence, that feeling of shared emotion and connection when people unite around something bigger than themselves. I wanted to feel that, even if it was only once in my life. I told my friend Raul in Chicago about it, and he signed up too so I wouldn’t do it alone.

Training was tough. I’m not naturally a runner, and Florida heat makes long runs feel impossible. Some days the air felt too thick to breathe. Other days, I was halfway across the country, hiking instead of running. In hindsight, I wish I had trained more, but every mile I did manage taught me something, mostly about showing up even when it’s uncomfortable.

The first day of training was humbling. A few miles felt like forever, but finishing that first run lit a small spark in me. Over time, that spark became momentum.

On race day, the energy in Chicago was electric. The crowd, the music, the signs, it was everything I hoped it would be. The first ten miles felt euphoric. I was smiling, waving, taking it all in. I was in complete awe of the energy around me, so much so that I was genuinely sad knowing it would all end once I crossed the finish line. I wanted to stay in that moment for as long as possible.

Once the pain hit, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. Around mile 13, my legs grew heavy, my hips started to ache, and a blinding headache crept in. I think it was an exercise induced migraine. I started seeing auras in my vision and had to stop at an aid station for more than thirty minutes.

When I finally got back on the course, I was behind pace and in a lot of pain. Quitting did not feel like an option. My boyfriend and family met me on the course and ran beside me until mile 25. My boyfriend kept saying, “Let’s do bite sized runs.” We would pick a streetlight or a sign, and I would run to that. One small goal at a time. Raul, who was also running, reminded me to stop being so hard on myself, that this was my pace and my journey.

Crossing the finish line was surreal. I cried a lot. The second the adrenaline wore off, everything hurt, ten times worse than it had during the run. My legs, my hips, my feet, all screaming at once. Still, underneath the pain, there was peace. It was brutal and beautiful at the same time. It was proof that I could endure far more than I ever thought I could.

I have been seeking discomfort for more than a year through travel, storytelling, and saying yes to things that scare me. This marathon pushed me in a way nothing else has. It was not just mental or emotional discomfort. It was physical, raw, and unrelenting. It tested every part of me and reminded me that discomfort is not only about fear. Sometimes, it is about patience, surrender, and trusting that you are stronger than you think. 

I did not run for time. I ran for the experience, for the connection, for the pain, and for the lesson in persistence. I crossed that finish line not as an athlete, but as someone who said yes to something that terrified them, and kept going anyway.

- Fabiana

From the projects of San Antonio to chasing big dreams in Los Angeles, Eriqlee’s journey is built on resilience, grit, and unstoppable determination.

When a life-changing diagnosis forced him to reimagine his path, he didn’t let it hold him back. Instead, he discovered endurance sports—pushing himself through Ironman triathlons and ultramarathons that tested the limits of mind and body.

Even after a knee injury, Eriqlee kept showing up. At one run club, he scooted alongside the group on a scooter, reminding everyone that seeking discomfort isn’t about perfection—it’s about showing up, however you can.

Today, he leads the LA Run Club with that same energy: pushing past limits, inspiring others, and proving that setbacks don’t define you.

Everyone show some love to @eriqadame...he’s just getting started.

Our first ever Seek Run Club was nothing short of incredible. The energy was electric, the miles flew by, and it felt amazing to bring the community together and get everyone moving again. Honestly...you just had to be there.

A huge thank you to everyone who joined, and an extra shoutout to our ambassadors for making the experience so special for everyone involved.

If you missed this one, don’t worry. We have more runs on the horizon and are hoping to expand to even more cities soon. Trust us—you won’t want to miss the next one.

Next runs:
10/4 - LA & Toronto
10/11 - London

The Seek Gang X

We officially launched the Seek Discomfort Video Contest last week, and we’re blown away by all the excitement so far! After the success of last year’s photography contest, we wanted to take things up a notch and give our community an even bigger platform to share their creativity. This is all about celebrating bold, cinematic storytelling and the adventurous spirit that defines Seek Discomfort. Whether it’s capturing breathtaking landscapes, daring stunts, or everyday moments of courage, we want to see your unique perspective come to life on screen. Our goal is to feature the most inspiring work and highlight the incredible talent that exists in our community.

We’ve received some great questions already, so here’s a quick FAQ:

Q: How long can my video be?

A: Up to 60 seconds.

Q: What format should I use?

A: Vertical or horizontal — both are welcome.

Q: What are the prizes?

• 🥇 1st Place – $1000 Creator Grant + Film a Seek Discomfort campaign + 1 year of Epidemic Sound
• 🥈 2nd Place – $250 Gift Card + 1 year of Epidemic Sound
• 🥉 3rd Place – $100 Gift Card + 1 year of Epidemic Sound

Q: What kind of videos are you looking for?

A: Bold, cinematic, adventure-filled storytelling that embodies Seek Discomfort and grabs attention instantly.

Q: Can I use old footage?

A: Yes! Any footage you’ve created, even from past adventures, is welcome.

Q: Can I enter more than once?

A: Absolutely! More entries = more chances to win and more opportunities to be featured on Seek socials.

Q: Do I need to use Seek Discomfort products?

A: Not required! But if you want, use discount code SDVIDEOCONTEST25 for gear. Please avoid other branded logos.

Q: Can I post my entry on my socials?

A: Yes!

Q: What’s the deadline?

A: December 3.

Q: What music can I use?

A: All audio must come from Epidemic Sound. Contestants get a free 2-month trial with code SEEK50 at epidemicsound.com.

Q: Where do I submit my video?

A: seekdiscomfort.com/videocontest

We can’t wait to see what you create. Remember, you can enter as many times as you like — so start submitting now and show us your boldest adventures!

Thank you to everyone who joined us in celebrating Seekers Day 2025! Once again, this community reminded us why we’re so proud to be part of it.

Our worldwide meet-up (which included 29 cities from 4 different continents) was an incredible success. From small gatherings in local parks to group runs on the beach, the energy was electric. We’ve heard stories of strangers meeting for the first time and walking away as lifelong friends. We’ve seen games of discomfort spark laughter, courage, and connection. We’ve even heard about people who had never heard of Seek Discomfort jumping right in and becoming part of the fun.

The truth is, this event was more than just a celebration. It was the spark we wanted to ignite the community. A first step toward more in person events, more spontaneous adventures, and more opportunities to come together beyond the screen.

Seekers Day reminded us that at its core, this movement is about community. It’s about creating a safe, welcoming space where we can all push past our comfort zones, explore the unknown, and know we’re surrounded by others who believe in doing the same.

This was just the beginning. And we can’t wait to see where the next adventure takes us.

Till next time, Seekers.

The Seek Gang X

I’ve been part of the Yes Fam since the Project 30 days. Saying “yes” and growing through discomfort has shaped so much of who I am—on paper and in the messy, magical moments in between.

A few months ago, I said yes again. I booked a trip to South Africa, not knowing what was waiting for me, only that I felt called to go. Just days into the trip, I found myself hiking the Tsitsikamma Trail… with a fever. I had thrown up that morning and probably should’ve stayed in bed, but something in me refused to quit. I hiked anyway. I was the last to reach the campsite, but when I arrived, the other trekkers welcomed me without hesitation.

I changed into my swimsuit, wandered down to a natural pool, and stretched out on a sun-warmed rock with my book. There was a stillness there—a feeling of being completely alive in the middle of nowhere. Later, I rinsed off in an outdoor shower overlooking the mountains, and it felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.

That night, I headed to the grill clutching a sad can of tuna. I wasn’t expecting much. Then a woman my age looked at me and said, “There’s no way I’m letting you eat that.” She grilled me a full plate—sandwich, sausage, steak. Then she handed me juice, a sweatshirt, and something even more nourishing: genuine kindness.

We sat and talked for hours. About home. Family. Dreams. We laughed, we prayed, we traced constellations under a sky untouched by city lights. And when I finally asked her name, she said, “Danielle.”

That’s my name too.

From there, the synchronicities just kept unfolding. We shared traditions, values, old stories and new hopes. For the next two days, we were inseparable—hiking, swimming, dancing. A few weeks later, we trained for a half marathon together, running it on the same day: she in South Africa, me in Texas.

Now, across continents and time zones, we talk every day. She’s asked me to be her bridesmaid this December. She offered her house, her clothes, and every ounce of support to help make sure I could be there. I’ve never felt more honored.

What started with a stranger’s kindness in the wild became a friendship I know will last a lifetime.

So here’s what I’ll say to you:
Take the trip.
Go alone.
Say hi to the stranger.

You never know where it might lead.

- Danielle DeMoes

Check out Danielle's Instagram for more adventures!

Back in January 2023, me (Dez), Tommy, Cam, and Tristan filmed an editor’s adventure series for the Seek Discomfort channel in Australia.

We played hide and seek in the city (you don’t need to watch that one... I lost lol), had the honor of learning from Indigenous Australians, went to the Babylon premiere, and even became the Wiggles. Yes, the actual Wiggles. I’ll share that story another time.

Even though the whole trip was planned out, we had no idea two surprise guests would show up...Thomas and Staffan.

We were hyped they were joining us, but what Thomas didn’t know was that we were going to pull an Uno Reverse and surprise for him with his biggest dream: visiting Hobbiton in New Zealand. 

(If you have no idea what Hobbiton is, its where the Hobbits lived in Lord of the Rings. Thomas is a huge LOTR fans, so this was a huge deal for him.)

Tommy and Cam pulled me aside and told me this was something Thomas had wanted for a long time, and we had to make it happen. I was immediately in. Then they told me the plan: we were going to surprise him by blindfolding him, blasting music in his headphones, and flying him to a whole other country without him knowing where we were going.

I was nervous. As someone with pretty intense anxiety, the thought of being blindfolded and transported somewhere unknown sounds like my worst nightmare. And I didn’t want to put that kind of stress on someone I care about. But the thought of him opening his eyes in his dream destination? That felt worth the risk.

After definitely not illegally sneaking a photo and stealing his passport to get a visa (joking, if you're the government), we were ready.

Walking up to his door to tell him was SO stressful. He answered, saw all of us standing there with a camera, and immediately knew something was up. Especially since he was in the middle of prepping for some other Yes Theory episodes - so his stress levels were already high.

We told him he had one hour to pack, that we weren’t coming back, and then we were off. Blindfold on, headphones in, and we headed to the airport.

Walking him through the airport blindfolded was a whole experience in itself. It looked like we were kidnapping him. But people in Australia are so kind. We explained what we were doing, and they were actually excited to help. 

At security and any checkpoints, we just had Thomas close his eyes and move quick. Somehow it worked. 

(For those of you who thought we FAKED the whole thing...i'm here to confirm WE DIDN'T! It was all VERY real and VERY stressful)

What didn’t make the video was that our flight got super delayed. So we sat at a restaurant and Thomas started spiraling, asking where we were going, if it was gonna be worth it...lowkey freaking out.

Then the craziest thing happened… he straight-up guessed it.

To me, this convo was the key to making sure he stayed fully surprised. I wish we got it on camera, because it was actual magic.

Thomas: “Are we going to Hobbiton?”
Dez (without missing a beat): “What’s a Hobbiton?”
Thomas: “Oh ugh... it’s from Lord of the Rings.”
Dez: “Where even is that?”
Thomas: “New Zealand.”
Dez: “Are we close to New Zealand?”
Thomas: “Oh… yeah, never mind.”
Tommy: “Oh dang, that would’ve been a good idea…”

Thomas looked so disappointed, probably thinking this whole thing wasn’t going to pay off.

I had to fully pretend I didn’t know what Hobbiton was and act like I had zero clue New Zealand was even near Australia. I played it real dumb. Like “what even is a New Zealand?” levels of dumb.

Honestly, I deserve an Oscar. Didn’t know I had that in me.

That moment sealed it. After that, he truly had no idea where we were going.

Getting on the plane was its own circus. People watched with curiosity, clearly enjoying the chaos. We were just hyped to finally take off.

Then we landed… and spent three hours in the customs line. Thomas was hungry, exhausted, and grumpy. Honestly, he handled it way better than I would have.

We finally got to the hotel, made sure nothing said “New Zealand” anywhere, and got him to bed.

The next morning, we blindfolded him again, put on his headphones, and drove to Hobbiton.

Driving through the hills of New Zealand and not letting him see any of it was both hilarious and kind of painful. But we knew it would all be worth it.

When we reached the start of the tour, we had to get on a tour bus. Watching Thomas get on a tour bus blindfolded was absolutely hilarious. Since it was a proper tour, the guide was supposed to talk about Lord of the Rings on the microphone. But the guide and the other guests were all fully committed to keeping the secret, so they played along and didn’t say a word.

Then, the moment came...

Our whole vision was to have him take off the blindfold and open his eyes right where you see all of Hobbiton. So we planted him, got the cameras ready, and waited.

He took off the blindfold, blinked a few times, and then let out the biggest gasp. I can still hear it in my head so clearly. He was in shock, absolutely overwhelmed. The happiness on his face brought me to tears. It was like we were watching little Thomas come out to play. 

A few nights before, he’d told me he’d never cried happy tears before… well, I am proud to say we changed that for him. 

We ended up doing the full Hobbiton tour, and even came back the next day for the festival. Childhood dreams were fully activated.

I’ll never forget that experience. It reminded me how beautiful life can be, and how making your friends' dreams come true can bring a kind of happiness that’s beyond words.

Love you so much, Thomas!

If you want to see this full adventure, watch it here!

- Dez

I set off at 1:30am from Mr. Mullet’s hostel in San Pedro, one of the towns on the edge of Lake Atitlan, Guatemala to hike up Rostro Maya (Indian Nose), a mountain shaped like the side profile of a face, with the plan to scramble up and stand on top of Pico de Loro (Parrot’s Beak) and take some self-portraits with the starry night sky and the ensuing sunrise.

Given the trail reports of bandits with machetes along the path waiting to charge hikers money, I also figured the middle of the night would allow me to avoid all but the most dedicated bandits. After 50 minutes of walking through San Pedro and San Juan, getting aggressively barked at by at least a dozen dogs along the way and probably waking up half the neighborhood, I arrived at the trailhead.

Another 1.5 hours of hiking up the mountain brought me to a spot on the trail just above Pico de Loro, which I figured would be the ideal spot to scout out the best vantage point to set up my tripod at. Venturing slightly off trail, I bushwhacked a couple steps before I decided that it was too steep and sketchy to continue, especially in the dark. Turning back, I stepped down with my left leg on what I thought was ground, but turned out to be loose branches. My foot went completely through and I fell backwards, tumbling 8-9 feet down a 60 degree slope before my right knee caught on a small root and stopped my fall. Lying upside down, my headlamp had been knocked off my head, but turning my head back, I could tell I was lying right on the edge of a cliff (which, when I could see it properly later during the daytime was definitely more than a hundred foot drop).

Lying on loose grass with barely any rocks or branches to support my weight or to hold onto, I recognized I was in a very delicate situation. Any sudden shift in weight could cause me to slip right off the edge of the cliff. I needed to move slowly and cautiously. I slowed down my breathing and my heart rate as I knew panicking would only make things worse. Reaching around with my arms in search of any solid rock to grab onto to haul myself up, I found nothing. just loose grass everywhere with no purchase. shit.

I stretched my arms to their absolute limits and finally found a rock waaaay off to the left. Phew. I hauled myself up on the rock and got back on the trail. Recognizing I could have almost fell to my death there, I felt grateful to have survived.

After taking a couple minutes to collect myself, I hiked down to Pico de Loro. Climbing it in the dark was absolutely out of the question. I’d already tempted fate once, and now that I’d lost my headlamp, I wasn’t about to scramble up this sketchy rock with just one hand and my iPhone flashlight in the other. So, I waited until it was bright enough to see the rock without a light and then climbed to the top. Flying my drone from there, these are the images that I captured. It was an absolutely incredible sunrise.

By the time I got back to the hostel it was about 8 and the town of San Pedro was just waking up. I took a well deserved shower and then hopped on my laptop and started my work day, the events of the past several hours feeling absolutely surreal.

Lesson learned. I’m definitely never again venturing off trail in the dark on a trail I’ve never been on.

- Ivan Chan

Several years ago, early on in my outdoor climbing journey, my buddy Adam and I set our eyes on climbing up The Chief, one of the crown jewels of Canadian rock climbing. A granite monolith towering 700m+ above the adventure town of Squamish just an hour north of Vancouver where I live, there are hundreds of routes up the face of it, which attract climbers from all around the world.

At this point, Adam and I had only been climbing outdoors for a couple months, and the highest route that we had climbed was approximately 200m, so climbing the Chief would be a big step up and a major milestone for the both of us. Adam and I had actually met each other while on the trail hiking up the Chief, and from that teamed up as climbing partners as we both wanted to start climbing outside, so this would be sort of a full circle moment for us as well.

On our first attempt, we underestimated how long it would take to climb to the top, started too late in the day, and ended up having to bail on the climb halfway up. Determined to finish it, we decided to make another attempt the following weekend.

As the weekend approached, Vancouver was hit with a heat wave, hitting temperatures of 34C. This might not be considered extreme in many other cities around the world, but because Vancouver is used to moderate temperatures, most buildings don’t have air conditioning, and when heat events do happen, its quite an ordeal. And at the very least, not ideal to be baking with no shade all day on the side of a 700m+ rock face.

But, determined to make up for our previous weekend’s failed mission, we decided not to delay our climb and set out bright and early on the weekend at 9am. The first couple hours went relatively smoothly, and we slowly made our way up the mountain. Eventually, the sun rose directly above our heads and we started to be slammed by the heat with nowhere to hide. Adam informed me that he had run out of water. We were maybe halfway. I gave him half of the remaining water that I had, but 30 minutes later, again told me that he’d run out. He was supposed to ration that for the rest of the climb! I guess we’d have to survive on barely any water for the rest of the climb.

When we reached about 75% of the way to the top, there was a section where we had to scramble up a sketchy exposed area without any protection with a rope. To fall here would be dangerously injuriously if not fatal. Typical practice would have been to coil our rope and put it around our shoulders and then climb through that section, but to save time, we decided to just keep the rope trailing behind us as we climbed the section and then to pull up the rope afterwards.

I felt very sketched out climbing through this section - I didn’t like that I wasn’t protected with a rope. But I made it through and breathed a sigh of relief. Until I went to pull our rope that had been trailing behind us up. The other end of the rope had gotten stuck in a crack, meaning I had to climb back down through the sketchy unprotected section, unstick the rope, and climb back up again. When I first climbed through it, having to climb it 2 more times was the last thing I expected to have to do.

Finally, we had the rope all sorted out, and could continue climbing, but now another concern presented itself. It was starting to get late in the day and we only had a short period of time before it started to get dark. We had to hurry. As relatively inexperienced climbers, we hadn’t predicted even the possibility of ending up in the dark and so we hadn’t packed headlamps with us. If we didn’t make it up before dark, we might end up having to spend the night perched on the side of a mountain.

We climbed faster than we had ever before and managed to make it up to the top just as it was becoming too dark the see the rock features in front of us. Exhausted, hungry, and dehydrated, we nevertheless sighed a sigh of relief. The only thing between us and a big meal was an hour hike back down the mountain. Using our phone flashlights, we slowly snaked our way down and finally got back to the parking lot.

But, as we got closer, it appeared the parking lot gate was closed. A quick google search revealed that the gates closed at 11pm every day, and we were about half an hour past that. Fortunately, Adam was living in Squamish at the time, and we called a taxi to bring us to his place, with a quick stop at McDonalds to refuel after our big day.

In the morning, I woke and went to grab Adam’s bike to bike back to the Chief to retrieve my car. But searching high and low, I couldn’t find my car keys. I finally came to the conclusion that the only point I could have lost them was in the back of the taxi the night before. Calling the taxi driver, I couldn’t get through - clearly he was still asleep after his night shift. In the end, I had to call my parents who were visiting me in Vancouver to drive the extra pair of car keys up for me, finally drawing the adventure to a close.

A day where everything that could have gone wrong pretty much went wrong, the story of the first time we climbed the Chief is one that we cherish and that we’ll be telling and laughing about for the rest of our lives.

- Ivan Chan