Escape Routes - Book Review

While I was in the ICU with Kaleb, one of my good friends and fellow outdoors man, Nels lent me a book to occupy the time while sitting with my poor little guy.  He lent me Escape Routes by David Roberts.  This book is comprised of 20 essay-style short stories.  Roberts, a native from Colorado, and Harvard grad, has been a freelance writer for 15 years.  Roberts has embarked on many forms of outdoor adventure including climbing, white water rafting, and a unique combination of amateur archaeology and canyoneering.  Several of his adventures included fellow adventurer and life long friend Jon Krakauer (Into Thin Air, and Into the Wild).

Roberts' writing style paints a vivid picture and allows the reader to engross themselves in each unique setting.  His choice of words and sentence structures were well constructed and expanded my vernacular.  Strong character development and a focus on each individuals' positive traits creates a strong base for each adventurous scenario to play out.  Most adventure writing focuses entirely on the details of the adventure and the aspect of man vs. nature.  Many times adventure writing delves into over-the-top detail about this maneuver or that technique.  Roberts' writing actually explored many other aspects of outdoor adventure including archeology and the anthropological effects on each area discussed.  I enjoyed how I gained insight about each location and culture.  This book was actually very educational both historically and geographically.  I would highly recommend this book.  The book reads fast, and because it is a series of shorts, it is exciting to read each chapter start to finish in one sitting (you have to finish each story once you start reading it).  

Here is a small snippet from the book:

"He hooked a bent wrinkle of steel over a tiny flake of granite, stood on a nylon sling attached to it, and gained two more precious feet.  I let the rope inch out. 'I think it's going to go,' Ed said quietly.  It was a little before midnight.  I looked at the sky in the north.  It was June 22, the summer solstice, the longest day of the year.  The sun stood several degrees from the horizon, a yellow fire above black silhouettes of other mountains.

On sleeting, late November nights in Boston, where I live today, it comforts me to think of the Brooks Range, to know it still abounds with nooks and ledges where no one has ever been, and all it takes to get me there is another summer and the flimsiest excuse."

It really is a great read.  Give it a go and let me know what you think.