The Mysterious Flag

On December 22, 1979, 13 years after the first ascent of Vinson, a German team summited. They found one flag flying from a bamboo pole from the summit. John Evans—who didn’t expect a flag to still remain after 13 years—spent time researching the mysterious flag. Eventually he found that it was in fact from his expedition; Bill Long had planted the flag of his home state of Alaska, on the summit. In 2008, Dr. von Gizycki (in cooperation with Long) donated what remained of the flag to the AAC. That flag would see a return trip to Antarctica's tallest peak with Jake Norton in 2011.

The TSA officer looked askance at my refusal. “We gotta scan everything. It’s going through the machine,” he said.

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” I replied a bit sheepishly, hands guarding the tattered bit of fabric like a newborn. “But it’s very fragile, very old, and has a lot of meaning. It’s not going through the machine.”

It really didn’t look like much: a piece of blue fabric, frayed at the edges, torn in places, and sun-bleached in spots. A few gold stars stood out against the blue. It could have been an old hanky or a chunk of an ugly bedspread. But it was much more than that—it was history.

After 30 minutes of discussion and deliberation, I finally won. The fabric was delicately re-wrapped in archival paper, put back in its tube, and continued on its journey south to where it came from.

When the 1966 AAME summited Mt. Vinson in December 1966, they left behind an array of flags to celebrate the accomplishment, recognizing nationalities and allegiances, sponsors and societies. One of those flags was a simple blue field emblazoned with eight gold stars: the flag of Alaska, brought there by Bill Long.

The flag withered there in the snow for 13 years before Peter von Gizycki, a member of the second ascent party, found it and brought it home. It remained in his home until 2008, when it was returned to John Evans and eventually made its way to the American Mountaineering Museum and into my hands.

To me, objects are profound connections to our past: to memory, experience, and understanding. That tattered bit of flag was far more than the sum of its component parts; within the folds of its fabric—in the bleached spots and tattered edges—lay the story of a great expedition and the tendrils of climbing history upon which our lives as climbers are built. And so the flag came with me. Through security checks and customs lines, across the ice and up the hill. And, finally, back to the summit of Vinson, its blue shining brightly, gold stars flickering in the wind, kissing once more the snows of Antarctica. A tattered piece of fabric—yes. But also a tie to history and a small celebration of climbs and climbers who deserve to be celebrated.