Step into the Adventure of My Life On The Ledge.

At nineteen, I dropped out of college, packed a bag, and went looking for the highest places on earth.

It wasn’t a plan. It was reckless. Exhilarating. Raw.

For the next decade I chased hard mountains with harder men—Polish climbers armed with Soviet-era gear and stubborn resolve. No Sherpas. No bottled oxygen. No luxuries. We bartered for equipment, rationed food, and picked routes because they were difficult and remote. Some summits we reached. Some we didn’t. Not everyone came home.

I’ve been lost in whiteouts, frozen through, and left alone in the Death Zone with nothing but bad options. I once crossed into Tibet at night with no visa and no money—only to be rescued by a golden lab and later share a meal with a Duchess.

The mountains weren’t the only place I lived on the edge.

Years later, in a kasbah high in Morocco’s Atlas Mountains, I fitted Sir Richard Branson into a custom space suit I had designed—despite never going to design school and barely being able to draw. I've built high-performance gear worn by Olympians, Special Forces, and astronauts. Different altitude. Same risk.

These pages aren’t polished. They’re pulled from journals written when my hands were still shaking. A hundred-foot fall into a cave that should have killed me. Losing a boot above 8,000 meters. The 2015 earthquake that tore through Everest Base Camp and rearranged more than just ice.

I never had a Plan B.

Somewhere between summits and failures, I found something I wasn’t looking for—purpose. Not the kind planted on a peak, but the kind that breaks your heart and rebuilds it stronger. And a quiet faith that refused to let me quit.

If you want a tidy climbing memoir, this isn’t it.

If you want risk, consequence, reinvention—and the long, brutal, beautiful climb of a life lived without guardrails—

Welcome.