Jeff Shapiro on gratitude, risk, and living where consequence sharpens perspective.
Words :: Todd Lawson // photos supplied by Jeff Shapiro except where indicated.
If there was ever a tried-and-true epitome of what it means to be a Mountain Lifer, Jeff Shapiro is your man. He’s a bona fide modern-day adventurer whose life unfolds across air, rock, and sky. Even with a wildly impressive array of outdoor pursuits under his belt—hang glider pilot for more than two decades, BASE jumper, wingsuiter, climber of multiple disciplines from alpine new-routing to wild first ascents in China, and daily coldwater surfer at his home break at Newport, Oregon—Shapiro seems like he’s just getting started.
I had the honour of meeting this outdoor polymath at a surf trip in the Mentawai Islands, off the Indian Ocean coast of Sumatra. At first, I knew nothing about him—other than the fact that he was the only guy in the group whom none of us knew. Group dynamics are often the most overlooked element of any big adventure, and it didn’t take long to realize Shapiro wasn’t going to be a problem. He carried himself with a calm confidence, the kind that immediately puts people at ease. This was a man who had it together—no bravado, no ego. Not a hint of hubris.
In fact, hubris is the exact opposite of how Shapiro operates. Picture a wingsuit pilot who nails a few clean lines and suddenly feels untouchable. That night at camp, they’re talking big, brushing off warnings about shifting winds. The next morning they leap into a sketchy exit without proper prep—and that’s when hubris takes its toll, turning a great day in the mountains into a wake the next week. Shapiro’s sharp mind works the other way: measured, humble, and always calculating risk with clarity.
“If I’m truly grateful for my life, then I need to be grateful for all of it,” says Shapiro from his humble Oregon home. “The good, the bad, joy and pain, all are ingredients for perspective and humility. I don’t get to pick and choose the parts of life to be grateful for. If I’m truly grateful, all of life is lucky, even the hard stuff, because every experience clearly provides the chance to grow.”
ML: When you were a kid, do you remember how the seeds of all these wild adventures got planted?
JS: I think I have always been drawn to places that felt difficult to get to. Being exposed to places or activities in books or magazines, or sometimes even on TV or in movies sparked curiosity and almost beckoned. And I think that wanting to see and experience new places, and perhaps different cultures, is the foundation for any adventure. I’m sure “doing dangerous things” has always attracted young boys and girls. It’s funny because now, I view risk with a completely different perspective, likely from all of the carnage along the way. But if I think back, these feelings began when I was too young for ego to be a driving factor, so I think the fire for adventurous experience might come from something deep inside our “child minds.” If I look back, it seems likely it’s the reason why even as an “old guy”, climbing, flying, surfing … all of these things still have the power to make me feel like a little kid playing outside.
ML: Let’s jump straight into the big stuff: What did it actually feel like to fly in the Annapurna range—one of your earliest mountain missions?
JS: We went to connect with Nepali friends and the kids involved in a project, for which our non-profit, Cloudbase Foundation, had partnered with the Oregon-based shoe company KEEN to create the KEEN to Learn scholarship. This scholarship was designed to fund five hard-working kids who’d earned, through their dedication to their studies, the opportunity for the program to pay for their last four years of upper-level education, including all living expenses along the way. These were kids who had significant hardships, yet also had a strong desire to become doctors, teachers, or whatever… and to bring the benefits of their education back to their communities. To us, it was the most sustainable use of funding. Education rings through time in that it not only allows those kids to help others in their villages, but it also has the power to inspire other kids to work hard and seek further growth in perspective and understanding.
“All of these things still have the power to make me feel like a little kid playing outside.”
While there, we made a short film to bring awareness to the project, during which we met up with an old Russian pilot who agreed to aero-tow us in our hang gliders behind an old, underpowered trike, out of a dry river bed right at the gateway to the Annapurna circuit. He was a total wild man, and it was pretty cowboy to be honest. He yanked us up into the sky and “dropped us off” (we released ourselves from the tow line) over the ridges and foothills, and then climbed in strong thermals into the big mountains. On our last day of flying, we got high enough to connect the dots a short distance back to Pokhara, where we landed next to the lake. It was an epic trip with great friends, new and old. Man, thanks for asking that one! It’s been a long time since I thought about that adventure!
ML: How did you go from hang gliding to BASE jumping to wingsuit flying—and how do those experiences stack up? Are you still chasing any of them today?
JS: Initially, I was at an outdoor tradeshow having a quiet conversation, in a semi-quiet corner, with my friend, Dean Potter. He was super inspired by all forms of human flight and had been pushing boundaries in wingsuit BASE jumping at the time, but also was wanting to learn how to fly hang gliders. He offered to trade helping me get properly introduced to wingsuits if I’d help him learn to fly hang gliders. But when I asked about the process, he mentioned the amount of skydiving that was important to do before earning the opportunity to jump in the mountains. Honestly, I had exactly zero interest in skydiving. I was into flying and the airport environment didn’t attract me at all (although, I learned later that skydiving is actually pretty f’n fun). But then, in perhaps a serendipitous moment, my wife Kara and I were watching a Nat Geo special on TV where Dean climbed and jumped a big wall up in your neck of the woods (Mount Bute) and the footage of him flying a big suit over the trees and glacier was too much to resist.
It instantly fired every cell in my body onto a singular path. I pretty much had to fly that way. So, I called Dean and was like, “OK… I get it”. He gave me some sound advice and it was the start of one of the wildest eras in my life. After training hard, not only did I get to experience some of the most intense visual, emotional and time-defying things a human can experience (IMO), but the highs and lows have truly shaped who I am and how I view what’s important…. and conversely, what I view as not important in my life. Things that seemed so necessary before, like achievement, or social status no longer held any appeal at all. They meant exactly nothing. The simple day-to-day conversations with my kid, which I’d perhaps taken for granted, meant everything.
Instead of trying to be good enough at something to speak from a position of knowledge and authority, I realized, through how that sport/art humbled me, that I know nothing. The best part was that this was an inspiring feeling, not a frustrating one. Viewing my life this way is liberating, because there’s literally a lifetime to learn. So, thinking I know a lot is a really foolish way to use the time I have left! Sounds silly that BASE jumping would do that for someone. And I think humans can and do come to these same conclusions in many other ways. But that’s how it began for me. And yes… I’m definitely still seeking those experiences that allow profound presence, like I found with wingsuit BASE. Likely for different reasons, but there’s just so much value in doing things with uncertain outcomes. One of those important values for me is recognizing that time is our most valuable commodity. It’s free, but it’s priceless … and not endless.
Related content from ML:
ML: What’s your process when you’re scouting and launching new wingsuit exits in remote parts of North America?
JS: I would try as hard as I could to enjoy the process. It’s actually one of the parts of flying in the mountains I loved most. When I got into climbing, what attracted me was finding new lines or unclimbed peaks/faces. Again, it was mostly about adventure and uncertainty. So, for flying wingsuits, the process to find places to begin a flight and potential landing options was a huge component of the value of a jump. Normally, I’d see cliffs from a hike while out climbing, or sometimes off in the distance while flying the hang glider or paraglider. Then, I’d often use Google Earth or a topo to look for lines, aspects, and potential clearings to offer a spot to land. The mountains in Montana and Wyoming in particular don’t lack places to jump off from, but landing options are often spotty or non-existent.
Every once in a while, I’d find an exit with a perfect clearing below, but most required some thorough scouting and limiting glides. Once I found a line that offered potential, I’d take my heeler dog for a long hike and we’d walk the landing options and look for exits. If it was tricky terrain, I’d go solo and bring gear to rappel to possible perches. This was mostly before the days of using lasers and flysites, so the common practice was to use “rock-drops” timed for impact to determine the height of a particular exit point.
The other benefit of a rock drop was getting to see the trajectory of the rock. Often, the contours and features of a cliff were a bit of an illusion, so seeing a rock hit a ledge that looked like it should have cleared was a good and useful bit of beta! If the jump made sense technically, and the glide numbers to the landing options were sound, I’d hike/climb up there with a rig and wingsuit. If the conditions were good, I’d have a fly. For me, the coolest part of that process was being alone because there was never any outside influence on my decision-making. I did open a few exits with good friends too, and those were also super special experiences, especially with those friends who are no longer on this side of things. I’m super grateful for those memories.
ML: With 30-plus years on the rock, what keeps pulling you back? What’s still magnetic about climbing for you?
JS: Climbing is one of those lifestyle activities that just has so much to teach me. There’s always something more difficult, always more to learn and experience. The other thing that’s amazing about climbing…is totally arbitrary. Meaning, whether you’re climbing 5.8 or 5.14, if you’re trying hard and learning, you’re essentially having the same experience. I think that’s why climbers of all ages and abilities can easily talk to each other. I love that.
Also, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like the consequence of not being qualified or prepared as a motivation. I like things that require “doing the work” to be ready for, educated for, and physically prepared to face, but also have that activity improved by intentionally letting go of all expectations… to allow the adventure to unfold exactly as it does. That’s also a hugely useful skill that seems applicable to other aspects of my life. And, I should definitely mention the friendships I’ve formed in climbing. My best friends on the planet are climbing partners, flying partners and surf buddies.
ML: Let’s talk about China. It’s a pretty wild place, from eating all sorts of weird shit to some of the most mind-boggling terrain on Earth. Tell us the story behind your ascent on Mount Grosvenor in western China—what made that one stand out?
Oh man…that was one of the most “peak experience” trips of my life. There’s so many memories that stand out. Travelling from western China into (what should be) Tibet led us into the Daxue Shan and the northwest face of Grosvenor (Ri Wu Qie, 6376m). The whole experience was surreal. I remember our friend Doji, the religious leader within his small Buddhist village, loaning us horses to get into those mountains early in our trip. Spending time with Doji and his family, drinking yak butter tea while he was stoking a wood fire, counting beads on his mala with shanks of yak meat hanging from the ceiling, dripping oil on the wooden floor, and then walking a few days into those mountains to find a face I’d seen in a single photograph was like stepping into the pages of the books and National Geographic magazines that sparked the fire inside me to climb and explore when I was a kid.
My friend Kyle Dempster had sent me a single image of the northwest face of Grosvenor, and for any ice climber, it’s a pyramid shaped, iconic feature begging to be explored. We went there with open eyes and open hearts and hunger.
After listening to the mountains for a few weeks, we were discouraged that a weather window hadn’t come to fruition. The line we’d kind of linked together through a spotting scope had some “mystery spots” that we genuinely weren’t sure would “go.” And, because the Daxue Shan is the first, large mountain range the wind hits off the Tibetan plateau, storms had been blowing in to create 100 mph winds on the summits! Then, four weeks into the trip, we got a conflicting forecast. One report said storms, the other, given to us by our Russian friends, said three days of reasonable conditions. We decided to rack up and pack our shit, and sleep on it. The next morning, in the dusting of snow in basecamp, there was a single set of wolf tracks right through the middle of camp.
Our liaison officer was a bit superstitious and informed us that this was a sign of good luck. So, off we went and it was to this day, probably the peak experience of my climbing life. There have been many routes on El Cap, on the India/Pakistani border, blah blah blah… but that route and experience stand out for me. It was one of the only times where I found myself in a situation where I’d climbed myself into a single-option scenario. Normally, I’d refer to this as a serious error… (ha ha).
And it probably was. But I led up this rotten, free standing column with no gear for 30m and only two pieces of shitty gear between me and my partner (we were simul-climbing). I had a 40 lb pack on, it was overhanging and I got to a spot that I could no longer safely downclimb. It was stupid. But, it was also a really special place to be and a unique moment in life that had a lot to offer, even years after the experience. We had two open bivis on that face, sitting up all night shoulder to shoulder on ice buckets we’d chopped just big enough for our butts. And after topping out, sleep-deprived and really hungry, a massive storm overtook the mountain.
The next morning, in the dusting of snow in basecamp, there was a single set of wolf tracks right through the middle of camp. Our liaison officer informed us that this was a sign of good luck.
We rappelled a face we’d never previously seen on the back side of the mountain which consisted of rotten ice and avalanche slopes, hiding in the cliff bands from a pretty savage wind and whiteout. As we descended into a hanging glacial basin at around 5500m in the dark, my climbing partner Chris was involuntarily falling asleep at the anchors on the way down the face! Although I’d never speak for Chris, I think one of the most memorable parts of that experience for us was that we couldn’t establish communication with our friends at base camp. Their last view of us was our headlamps close to the summit at the end of day two on the face.
And with how fierce the storm was, I think they were genuinely concerned that we hadn’t survived. So, late the following day, after too many more stories to tell, we made it back down and around the mountain. We were definitely smiling as we radioed down to get some hot food and drinks ready. We could literally hear them cheer from a mile away and it is a really special memory, walking into hot drinks and hugs from our small expedition team and our Russian friends, who were the only other climbers in the area. It was really cool and a super meaningful conclusion to a truly dream-like, big mountain rock and ice route.
ML: As an industrial designer, what lit the spark for creating the Wills Wing Covert harness and parachute system? With something that life-or-death, there must’ve been a mountain of boxes to check before putting it out there. What hurdles did you face?
The harness project was a fun one because at the time, I’d gone back to school and was making a living working as a Respiratory Care Practitioner in our local hospital’s ICU. I was also racing hang gliders in XC competitions all over the world, and the hang glider manufacturer that I was a “factory pilot” for didn’t have a competition-class harness within their product line. Wills Wing, at the time, was the largest hang glider manufacturer in the world, and it made sense for customers to be flying both WW gliders, and a WW harness. That market space allowed for the product development to make sense.
So, I was able to get back to my roots a bit and use my first degree in Industrial Design to create a shape and structure for an aerodynamically advantageous harness. When flying really fast, the pilot’s frontal profile and the drag associated is one of the largest contributing factors for increased parasitic drag. But not only was it important to design something super aerodynamically clean—it also had to be safe and comfortable. We’d spend 4-8 hours in the air regularly during cross-country competitions, so comfort was critical. And, we’d had some industry equipment failures (from other manufacturers) that led to fatalities during comps, so it was important to me to design a sound and efficient parachute deployment system as well. What lit the spark for me was that I was simply a passionate pilot, a passionate competitor, and wanted to make something to keep my friends safe while doing this “thing” that we loved so much.
“One of my all-time favorite quotes is ‘there’s no growth in the comfort zone and no comfort in the growth zone.’”
Luckily for me, I had the support, help, and guidance from one of the best aircraft engineers and designers in the world, Steve Pearson. Steve and I had fun with the project and after setting up a proper sewing loft, friends, family and I started taking orders for custom harnesses for pilots all over the world. I’d travel for flying comps, race my face off, and then come home and sew like a madman until the next competition. It got so busy that I quit my position at the hospital to focus my work-related life on building custom harnesses and to fly and climb full-time after that point. It’s funny, I figured it was likely that the ability to make a living climbing and flying was going to last maybe a year or two. That was almost 20 years ago now. Crazy. It’s been a long time since I was sewing harnesses, but that was a gateway into being able to keep the lights on with my passions in life.
ML: Gear can make or break an adventure. How do you balance pushing innovation with making sure it’s still safe and practical?
JS: As I said, it’s been a few years now since I’ve been involved in designing gear, but you’re absolutely right. And I partner with companies that make gear I trust and appreciate using. Having the correct tools for the job, whatever that may be, can be life-and-death in extreme cases and save you from a lot of old-fashioned suffering at the least. From ice tools to avionics, climbing clothes to parachutes, each choice I make needs to be intentional. None of it is for show….I use it all and a good piece of kit can be as meaningful as a partner on a wild trip somewhere out there.
ML: You’re clearly not a one-trick pony. Ultra trail running, falconry, bush-plane piloting… how do all these passions intersect in your life?
JS: I always admit that I’ve never been a runner. Just a climber who pretends to be one. Running is just the most obvious and beneficial way to stay fit for the other things I love to do. And, ultrarunning in the mountains offers up such useful lessons. We spend so much of our time as athletes trying to connect mind and body, but while running long distances in the mountains, I find that being able to separate the two is also a super useful skill. On long ones, I’ll daydream or problem-solve in my mind and 45 minutes later, I’m no longer suffering and sometimes don’t even know where I’m at! I try hard to never get caught up in distances and instead, just run for an amount of time. A four-hour approach hike into the mountains to climb a route is totally normal, so if you look at it that way, and run two hours from home, which obviously requires you to run back, that’s four hours running. And even as slow as I run, that’s about a marathon distance, give or take. So, instead of goals, I just pick a length of time I want to run and try to enjoy that. If I’m hurting or sore, I daydream about flying and before I know it, it’s time to turn around.
“I try to live my life these days knowing that it’s not my job to be happy, but it is my job to seek happiness.”
Falconry is a long story. I actually think my fascination with flight comes from, or is at least related to, my interest in birds and raptors. I mean, how long have humans been laying on the ground in the mountains or the prairies, looking up at circling birds riding thermals to cloudbase and wishing they could do that? It’s crazy to be alive during a time where that is now totally possible. Falconry is a way to have a respect-based relationship with a raptor, and to partner, hopefully creating a series of advantages for that bird. It’s also a unique way to be part of nature and has taught me a lot about patience, expectation, and follow-through. Honestly, it’s a bit like meditation in many ways. It’s testing and challenging to figure out how to promote behaviour in a raptor through only positive reinforcement and consistency. A bird isn’t like a dog and would never understand a negative response. If you tried to “discipline” a hawk or a falcon, they would either grab you with their talons or fly away. So, to get them to choose to stay with you and actively hunt together in a partnership is a cool process and teacher. It’s taught me a lot about how to be a dad, too!
The bush plane obsession is a whole other rabbit hole!
ML: You also helped launch the Cloudbase Foundation. How has giving back through that lens shifted your outlook?
JS: Traveling around the world to hang glide, or paraglide is obviously a very privileged existence, and a small group of us were tired of seeing people struggling while we were there to essentially vacation. When we discussed ideas, as stated earlier, we felt like giving money could create problems in the long term for many communities, and a much better way to help was through providing opportunity for education, medication, etc., for the kids in each place we were visiting to fly. We started by building a school in Canoa, Ecuador and trying to provide much-needed medications in a few of the communities around Guayaquil. That evolved into other projects in all corners of the world. There was a clean water project in Ghana, earthquake relief in Nepal and Haiti, and some cool domestic programs to get school supplies to kids who couldn’t afford what they needed to be successful in their education. I stepped away from the board a while back after a decade to let new and fresh ideas flow through a new group of excited and inspired pilots. It’s something I’m proud and grateful to have been a small part of. And I’m happy to see the current team continuing to help people.
“If I’m truly grateful for my life, then I need to be grateful for all of it.”
ML: Let’s get back in the air for a sec. One of your most-recent passions is flying your rad plane, a Super Cub you call the KAVU Cub. Could you describe a moment in the high skies that profoundly changed how you view yourself and the world?
JS: After so many years of focused glider flight, to get into general aviation and have the privilege to fly into remote places in a Super Cub still kind of blows my mind. First of all, a Super Cub is unique among airplanes in that because you sit centerline and have a window on each side of you in a tight cockpit, it feels like you’re literally wearing the airplane. After enough time in the saddle, the Cub feels like an extension of your body. They are so fun to fly! Second, the design is still, after nearly over 80 years, nearly perfect for the mission of flying into remote, off-airport environments. A Cub is a “fun-wagon.” Throw all the gear in the back and in an hour, you can be in a place that would have taken three weeks to hike to! For us, having that bushplane has represented a massive freedom that I never want to take for granted!
ML: Humility and gratitude seem baked into the way you live. How do they play into decision-making when you’re staring down risky situations?
JS: There’s definitely been stages. Ego and ambition drove many of my early adventures that came with risk and consequence. But ironically, those experiences needed to happen to learn the valuable lesson that ego and ambition are stupid reasons to risk. I’ve failed far more than I’ve succeeded and to take it further, I’m now at a point in my life that I clearly recognize that there were no failures at all. Each and every experience, good or bad, is a lesson that if taken to heart and stowed in the hard drive, leads to being better suited to deal with whatever this life has to offer in the short time we’re here. Getting my ass handed to me in the mountains, sky, or the ocean reminds me how small and insignificant my “problems” are. And those experiences have made it obvious that happiness isn’t a place or a thing or an accomplishment, it’s a choice that we get to make every day. That doesn’t mean everything is always going to be good. But being grateful for what I have instead of being stressed or concerned about what I don’t, is a key ingredient for me to make that choice an easier one to consider.
ML: With everything screaming for our attention these days, how do you find clarity and presence when you’re gearing up for or executing high-stakes ventures?
JS: It seems pretty simple when risk is involved, perceived or real. Standing at the edge of a cliff wearing a parachute, gearing up to lead a wild-looking pitch, or paddling out into a big ocean makes it really difficult for my small brain to focus on anything other than exactly what I’m doing. That element is a massive reason I enjoy experiences like that so much. What people refer to as a “flow state”—when the level of presence during an experience is so intense and engaging that things like time are no longer linear, and the part of our brains that generates clear memories doesn’t work anymore—it’s a special place to live for short periods. In some ways, certain sports are almost like cheating. A friend and I used to talk about BASE jumping in that context. We both agreed that “it’s definitely possible to find the same level of presence, and come to the same conclusions that intense experiences like flying a wingsuit can allow, with a quiet mind (perhaps through practiced meditation or something), but it’s just much more difficult than simply jumping off a cliff.”
Clarity and presence is for me, a daily practice and I absolutely think it should be something I strive for in all aspects of life, whether doing something intense or not. The past has already happened and there’s no sense doing anything about it except using experience to move forward in a positive way. The future hasn’t happened yet, which is important for being able to think about fears and expectations rationally. In other words, often my imagination creates a scenario that generates fears about what “might” happen. I think considering all potential outcomes is a smart and rational exercise. But, I think being afraid of something that hasn’t happened yet is irrational and something I try to avoid by always (trying) to come back to all we really “have,” which is the present moment. In that way, I don’t miss details of what an experience has to offer because my eyes and mind are already onto the next “thing.” It’s obviously easier said than done and an absolute work in progress for me.
ML: For someone itching to ditch the conventional path and chase their own “full-value adventure,” what’s your best piece of advice?
JS: Put one foot in front of the other toward the life you imagine being the most fulfilling path, whatever that may be. For me, for any adventure, the crux is always leaving the house. In other words, everything gets easier with action and direction. The hard part comes with needing to let go of preconceived expectations or any attachment to outcome. I feel like staying inspired to move toward the things that fill your batteries is important and that inspiration will feed a motivated mind. But many of the best aspects of my life have come from unexpected directions and opportunities that had nothing to do with those original goals. In other words, I would have never been exposed to what are now some of the best memories of my life without walking toward some inspiring “goal” that had nothing to do with the resulting life highlights.
“For me, for any adventure, the crux is always leaving the house.”
I love the quote, “The prize isn’t picking the ripest fruit in the top of the tree, the prize is the choice to climb into the tree.” My truth seems to be that I have absolutely no idea what the future will actually hold, but if I have a sound perspective and stay unattached to any particular outcome, and probably most importantly use joy, fulfillment and growth as key metrics over things like money, perceived success or an illusion of security, than whatever happens will likely add to my life in a positive way. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time.
Jeff Shapiro is a member of the Citizen Watch TEAM PROMASTER, a collective of individuals who represent the spirit of adventure, challenge their limits, respect the environment and go beyond the imaginable. Working collaboratively with their Promasters, Citizen’s goal is to inspire, inform and engage with communities to create a better future for people and planet.
To get a visual glimpse into his adventures, follow him on Instagram @jeffreyshapiro
Article sponsored by Citizen Watch.
Check the ML Podcast!
