At 6:00 A.M. on May 1, 1963, after a miserable night in a tent hammered by hurricane-force winds, I crawled out into a maelstrom of swirling snow, strapped on crampons, shouldered my pack, roped up with my Sherpa friend Nawang Gombu, and took the first step on the last leg of a two-month struggle to climb the world's highest mountain. 

     Gasping for breath in the thin, cold air and wind at 27,450 feet and struggling to remain upright, it did not occur to me that this was an historic moment. It did not occur to me, despite the conditions on the mountain, that it was a particularly risky moment or that I might not return. It certainly did not occur to me that this was the moment around which the rest of my life would pivot.

     It was, in fact, all these things. But at the time, only one thought was in my oxygen-starved mind: put one foot in front of the other. Climb. So that's what I did. And exactly seven hours later, at 1:00 P.M., I became the first American to  reach the summit of Mount Everest. 

     In a lifetime of adventures, I've often felt blessed by fortune. But I believe that to a considerable extent luck is something you make happen-by extending yourself into situations of risk but also by preparing yourself to succeed under those risky conditions.

     Not that success has always been the outcome, of course. My life has been a long series of planned ascents and unplanned falls, of surprise successes and abysses narrowly avoided, of moments of high triumph and plunging disappointment-on mountains, on the high seas, in business, and in my personal life.

     Amid all these ups and downs, however, there has been one constant- my inspiration, my comfort, my compass and rudder: the beauty and richness of nature. Throughout my life I have been drawn forcefully to the outdoors, to forests and mountains, seacoasts and oceans, drawn by both a conscious delight in the grandeur and diversity of the planet and an unconscious spiritual yearning to be in the natural world. It is in the wild places-in the damp, clean air of an ancient forest, on a heaving ocean in unpredictable winds, on a snowy summit at the top of the world-that I enter my own personal cathedral and know where I fit in the vastness of creation. 

     I heard a phrase not too long ago that pretty well captures my philosophy of life: "If you aren't living on the edge, you're taking up too much space." It has nothing to do with thrill-seeking. It's about making the most of every moment, about stretching your own boundaries, about being willing to learn constantly, and putting yourself in situations where learning is possible- sometimes even critical to your survival. Being out on the edge, with everything at risk, is where you learn-and grow-the most. 

     This is a memoir of a life lived on the edge and some of the things I have learned out there. 

Copyright (c) 2001 by Jim Whittaker.  All rights reserved. Reproduced with permission from Jim Whittaker.