Ben Fogle
Conquering
mountains.
Adventurer, environmentalist and broadcaster Ben Fogle has spent his life building up agility, adaptability and confidence in the face of adversity through a series of extreme challenges. He spoke to us about embracing risk, and the role of shepherd rather than sheep; tackling tricksy tasks together; and climbing your own Everest.
PEOPLE
The United Nation’s former ‘patron of wilderness’ has crossed Antarctica, explored the Amazon, and faced a variety of perils in between, but at 8,800 metres on the side of Mount Everest he wonders whether, this time, he’s finally pushed himself too far.
This is the point at which the lungs struggle to take in even one in every three breaths of oxygen, and the body begins to destroy itself – it’s known as ‘the death zone’.
“If anything goes wrong at this altitude you’re beyond rescue; no helicopters or planes can reach you,” Ben Fogle recalls. “Worst-case scenario, you perish on that mountain and your body is left with the hundreds of other climbers who have lost their lives trying to reach the top of the world.”
On the positive side, he’s just 48 metres from the summit.
“Within touching distance. A lifetime of dreaming, years of hard work, months of suffering: nearly over. Nothing can stop me now. I take a step and – bang! – my supplementary oxygen and mask explode on me. My lifeline disappears into thin air. I find myself stuck, isolated in the most dangerous place on the planet, asking myself: how am I going to get out of this one?”
Fogle already knew a thing or two about setting a gargantuan goal without too much idea of exactly how to go about accomplishing it. It all started with a newspaper advert he spotted back in 1999, recruiting volunteers to be marooned for a year on a remote, uninhabited island in the Outer Hebrides. A shy teenager who already considered himself a “prolific failure” after a string of flunked exams and eight attempts at passing his driving test, Fogle saw no reason not to step outside the box, change tack and take a chance: a single decision that would dramatically change the course of his life.
“I knew I had to be part of this ground-breaking social experiment, which birthed a whole new genre: reality TV. We – the 36 men, women and children chosen for ‘Castaway’ – would be guinea pigs. Back then we honestly did it for the adventure. Nobody was paid, there was no prize, no ‘winner’.”
The experience helped form much of Fogle’s understanding of the natural environment, and taught him about community – something that he feels has disintegrated around much of the world. “Traditionally, that’s how civilisations worked, with whole communities looking after families. Community, in all its different forms, is one of the most important ways to work towards sustainability, education, family values. Without it, it all starts to fall apart.”
Tasked with creating a sustainable community from scratch, he and his cohort constructed buildings, a wind turbine and a hydroelectric dam, reared animals and grew crops while artificially cut off from the outside world for 13 months. It was the moment Fogle started to blossom, and rebuild his confidence.
Ever since I was a child I’d had that little gremlin on my shoulder, telling me I was going to fail. It becomes an inevitability – self-fulfilling. Through ‘Castaway’, I’d found something that I not only loved but was quite good at.
I’d never rowed in my life, didn’t have a rowing partner or a boat, and knew nothing about the oceans.
Ben Fogle and James Cracknell, La Gomera Canary Islands (the start of the Atlantic Challenge), November 2005.
Helicoptered back to his childhood bedroom when the show was over, Fogle decided that something sporting was his next challenge. “Despite being hopeless at sport as a child, when I discovered that people had not only rowed the Atlantic Ocean in a little boat of plywood and glue, but could race 3,000 miles across it, there and then I signed up for the Atlantic Rowing Race, known as the toughest on Earth.”
It was only after committing that he considered the small print. “I’d never rowed in my life, didn’t have a rowing partner or a boat, and knew nothing about the oceans. I did that typical blokeish thing for the first year and buried my head in the sand, but 12 months out, I had to find a partner.”
One night, at a party, Fogle spotted professional rower James Cracknell across the room, recognising him from his second gold medal win at the Olympic Games. “Hello James, how would you like to row the Atlantic with me?” he asked, emboldened by the evening’s merriment and only slightly crestfallen when the British champion told him where to go… After some perseverance, Fogle persuaded him to meet again a few weeks later, and soon discovered a completely contrasting personality in Cracknell.
Oceans apart
“Olympians are individuals who have dedicated – arguably sacrificed – their lives towards one discipline, usually. 365 days a year on a boring rowing machine, all to win a piece of metal, and in James’s case, that metal is gold or nothing.
“Then there’s me: jack of all trades, master of none; a human Labrador who loves being with people, loves a challenge. I’m pretty stubborn, but not very good at sticking with one thing.”
The press called them ‘the odd couple’, and while they recognised they were from different worlds, they concluded that two very separate characters working together towards one common goal could make for an interesting experiment.
First, Fogle had to become an ocean yacht-master, learning to navigate with the sun, the moon, the stars; using solar panels to operate a desalinator that converted salt water into fresh water; and learning first aid at sea. They’d be completely unsupported so if they broke a bone, needed stitches, or a tooth came out, they’d have to be their own doctors, dentists, nurses. “By the morning of the race, we had done all the box ticking… The one thing I had forgotten to do was to learn to row,” Fogle recalls.
TV cameras all around him, Fogle put the oars into the boat with classic Labrador enthusiasm, sat back and felt a tap on his shoulder from James. “Mate, you’ve put the oars in the wrong way round…”
The race morning was the first time the boat had been in the water, the first time Cracknell and Fogle had sat in it together. So focused on getting the paperwork in place, the pair had never really got to know one another, either. They had trained in gyms on machines but never sat down and had a drink together – a seemingly minor detail that would prove key.
They’d decided to row the first six hours together then break into a relay routine of two hours on, two hours off, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, no matter the weather. There would be days when they’d row that 24-hour period and stay static in the water because the wind was just the right speed to hold them stationary; other days when they would make minus 50 miles and their spirits would be in tatters.
“After that first six-hour session, I came off the oars and looked at my hands. They were bleeding. I went into the cabin, saw the sat nav still reading ‘distance to destination: 2,996 miles, speed: 0.5mph’, and had my first ‘Everest moment’. I hit a brick wall, mentally. Anyone who’s run a marathon will know that moment when your body says ‘I can’t go any further’.”
Fogle was dehydrated, hungry, hurt and homesick, but above all he was terrified. “Not because of the ocean or the scale of the challenge, but because I realised I was stuck on this boat with a complete stranger. We’d only focused on the box ticking. We’d never gone to a café and talked about our hopes and aspirations. We’d never even discussed our goal. On the face of it, we’d have the same objectives in the race, but it soon transpired that I was very much there to complete this thing, while James was there to compete in this thing.
Two become one
“I didn’t care if it took us four, six, 12 months, so long as we finished, alive and unassisted, in the spirit of the race. James didn’t care if we died halfway across, so long as we put in 100% commitment.”
The clash resulted in monumental arguments. “I would have done anything to get out of that race. The only thing that kept me on that boat was the complete fear of failure and humiliation. Everyone assumed we wouldn’t make it. My own mother was waiting for us in the harbour where we’d set off.”
The journalists had pre-written the headlines, but neither Cracknell nor Fogle were prepared to concede. Determined to control their narrative, on they went, proving humanity’s unique adaptability, and even taking the lead in the race – before complacency bit them hard.
“We were 2,000 miles from the start line, having been at sea for six weeks. We’d stopped stowing things away and left everything out on deck; stopped wearing safety harnesses, life jackets. Then, early one morning I saw white water breaking around us. Next thing I knew, the boat was rising up and I felt a falling sensation – cold water as my body slammed against the ocean. We’d capsized. The oars were ripped from my hands as I tumbled through the water, like I was in a washing machine. No sign of James, upturned boat, mountainous seas: I was convinced I was off to meet my maker.”
Somehow Fogle got back to the boat and was able to right it. In the waterlogged cabin, James was alive, but they’d lost everything that made sealife safe: solar panels, desalinator, VHF radios, satellite phones. “I was ready to pull the emergency beacon that summons rescue but we were hundreds of miles from the nearest shipping route,” Fogle remembers. “James chucked a wet towel at me and told me I had five minutes to pull myself together and get back on the oars before we lost our position in the race.”
“…Dude! You’re still obsessing about this competition?”
In hindsight, Fogle would come to see this as a perfect example of the need to have various opinions, approaches, characters and ideas in the room when faced with a crisis. Despite everything the ocean had swallowed up, they did have the bare basics to carry on. “We’d packed just enough emergency bottles of fresh drinking water in the ballast of the boat, a paper chart, compass and a hand-held, battery-powered GPS in waterproof bags. The oars hadn’t broken so we had a means of propulsion. That night, 10 of the 30 boats racing had capsized and would take two weeks to be rescued. Meanwhile, 14 days later we crossed the finish line, the first boat by a full two days – 49 days after we’d set out.”
It remains his proudest achievement – the moment two strangers became friends for life. Fogle and Cracknell would go on to tackle further challenges together – a non-stop rickshaw ride 423 miles from Edinburgh to London; the inaugural Amundsen Omega 3 South Pole Race, commemorating the historic 1911 race between Roald Amundsen and Robert Falcon Scott, during which Fogle suffered hypothermia and frostbite. In 2017 Fogle got his big patron gig, working with the UN environment programme as a voice and advocate for wilderness and biodiversity under threat around the world.
Among his many TV jobs over the years, hit series ‘New Lives In the Wild’ sees him meet people who have relinquished the rat race to live a simpler life in remote corners of the planet, engaging with nature-based solutions instead of modern amenities. Immersing himself in their everyday existence, he explores their motivations and the highs and lows of living in tough conditions in the wild. “They’re largely off-grid, mostly in simple structures they’ve built themselves. Often, it seems the simpler you make life, the happier you can be. Society has made life quite complicated. We think we’ve made it easier for ourselves but, actually, we’ve added to the burden that we all endure. Sometimes you’ve got to go back to go forwards.”
When Fogle became a father, he turned his back on the risk and adventure that had been so important to him in facilitating his personal growth post-’Castaway’. “I became a sensible parent. As my children grew up, I found myself encouraging them to be the shepherd, not the sheep; to be who they are, not what other people want them to be, but I then began to realise I wasn’t doing that myself. I’d become the dad who had simply done those things in the past.”
After that first six-hour session, I came off the oars and looked at my hands. They were bleeding. I went into the cabin, saw the sat nav still reading ‘distance to destination: 2,996 miles, speed: 0.5mph’, and had my first ‘Everest moment’.
The simpler you make life, the happier you can be. Society has made life quite complicated. We think we’ve made it easier for ourselves but, actually, we’ve added to the burden that we all endure. Sometimes you’ve got to go back to go forwards.
Cue: Everest
Fogle had dreamed of climbing the world’s highest mountain since he was a little boy himself. “Everest was synonymous with romance and heroics, beautiful landscapes and inspiration. But if I didn’t want to become one of the statistics, one of those who had perished on the mountain, I had to respect the mountain. I teamed up with Kenton Cool, a veteran of 12 successful Everest summits, and two-time cycling Olympian Victoria Pendleton, whose individuality I loved. She would make sure I got the most out of myself.
They trained across the world for three years, in the Andes, the Himalayas and the Alps before going out to Nepal to try from the south-east side in 2018. As with most mammoth challenges, they would have to build up to it, split it into more manageable chunks, and take it one step at a time. “How do you climb Everest? It takes about two months, and a series of climbs,” says Fogle. “You station yourself at base camp and, over the course of a few weeks, you do a climb up to the first camp at 6,000 metres, then you go back to base camp, rest for a few days, go up to the second camp and so on, until you’re acclimatised and ready for one complete summit bid.”
They’d been out for about six weeks when Vic started complaining of a piercing headache and nausea. Blood started coming from her nose and mouth. She’d been struck by mountain sickness. “Left untreated: instant death,” says Fogle. “Fortunately there’s a quick remedy: you descend as quickly as you can. We went back to base camp and her symptoms lifted but then she had to decide if she’d carry on or concede to the mountain. A lot of people who take on these challenges get obsessed with reaching that goal to the detriment of all else; their health, their own life. They get ‘summit fever’. Vic listened to her body, but she asked me to carry on.”
That meant getting used to a whole new team dynamic – something we deal with all the time in life, especially in the workplace, although, ordinarily, lives don’t depend on it. Again, Fogle found himself having to adapt, be agile. “It was strange, leaving base camp for the final time: me, Kenton and my Sherpa teammate. We got to camp four, at 8,000 metres, and everything changed. A huge storm hit the mountain and the fabric of the tent was ripped from its pegs. It was like stepping into a horror film.”
“It was strange, leaving base camp for the final time: me, Kenton and my Sherpa teammate. We got to camp four, at 8,000 metres, and everything changed. A huge storm hit the mountain and the fabric of the tent was ripped from its pegs. It was like stepping into a horror film.”
A calculated gamble
On Everest, the line between life and death is very thin; the weather often switching in an instant. “By the morning it had cleared and my summit bid was on again. My whole life had been a crescendo, building to this moment: the final pillar for the rebuilding of my confidence. Until that oxygen bottle exploded. No spares. Can’t go forward, can’t go back.”
Not for the first time, teamwork would save the day. “Kenton took off his mask and bottle, handed it to me and told me to carry on with the final 48 metres while he stayed put. It was a calculated gamble. He hoped someone else would come from behind or from the north side with a spare bottle or something he could fashion a mask out of. The valve had gone. It paid off and, sure enough, 40 minutes later, someone came. He was able to make a mask from an old plastic bottle.
“40 metres became 30, 20, 10 – suddenly I was there on this tiny little patch of snow, the highest point on Earth."
“It’s not a champagne cork-popping, fist-pumping, euphoric moment. You feel quite numb. Partly on account of the fact you’re only halfway there. What goes up must come down... Most people who perish on Everest do so because they’ve got no gas left in the tank. They’ve been so fixated on this one target, to the detriment of all else. Kenton made me promise that I would have 40% energy left for that descent."
“But I’ll never forget that moment; looking out at a horizon, hundreds of miles of nothingness. I could see the curvature of the Earth, and the sky was so blue it almost looked black, like I was in space.”
Fogle has learned a lot about the calculated gamble and letting the spirit of inquiry and exploration take the lead.
“Climb the mountain so that you can see the world, not so the world can see you – and if you really want something, surround yourself with a team of excellence. You’ll be astonished at what you can achieve."
“Open your mind to curiosity about life, the world, other people, being open-minded. It’s one of the most important traits anyone can have, and something I try to instil in my own children – it unlocks a whole world of opportunity. If more people showed curiosity and opened their hearts, the world would be a happier, kinder, more sustainable place.”
