The Next Challenge

Tag: Stories

  • An Introduction to Arctic Exploration – Part II

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    First stop? The rifle range. “100 yards… 80 yards… 60 yards…! 50 yards”, and the air fills with screeches, pops and, finally, a booming noise that wrenches your gut and shakes the ground as smoke trickles from the barrel, the rifle’s wry acknowledgement of its attention grabbing action as the imaginary bear gets too close…

  • Adventure, if you believe it

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    If you think that climbing mountains takes years of experience, requires a penchant for suffering and is the preserve of the athletic elite then think again. If a television programme in high definition featuring presenters with mud splattered faces talking in superlatives about the severity of the situation and the extremity of their environment gives…

  • An Introduction to Arctic Exploration – Part I

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    I’ll admit to being a little confused. It’s to be expected after any international flights – losing track of time as you cross different zones and spend infeasible periods in queues and uncomfortable seats – but I’m pretty sure it should be dark by now. Stepping out of the airport gates the first thing that…

  • The Sight of Solitude – Part II

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    And so it was with the familiar blend of apprehension and coursing adrenalin that I followed the trailing rope across the glacier and towards our latest foe: the 5,700-metre high Cerro Sofia whose summit lay to the left hand side of a snowy col whose imposing wall rose in front of us. The sun, risen…

  • The Sight of Solitude – Part I

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    I awake with a searing pain in my eyes. Without a background in chemistry or any medical knowledge whatsoever, I imagine that this is what it’s like to bathe ones eyeballs in a dilute solution of something rather acidic. Sun cream? A few weeks of being outdoors in the elements had left my skin a…

  • A Different Epiphany

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    These things happen like an avalanche. A sense of foreboding. The tiniest of movements. And before you know it, the world is in freefall. I set off this morning on a low. Emails were typed without feeling. Conversations were held without engagement. I went out on my bike with a familiar urgency to just BE…

  • Should we abort?

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    Heaven opens the sluice gates and eight pairs of knuckles turn white as they cling to poles in an attempt to keep the tent earthbound. Someone breaches the silence with the words we had already heard all too loudly in our own heads: “Should we abort?” We’re not at Advanced Base Camp on K2. Nor…

  • A Day on the Jubilee Line – Part II

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    “I think we should do it”, Laura said, determined. And everything changed. With the acceptance that it was happening, my body put itself into the appropriate gear and set about moving its way north west to Stanmore. Through the crowds by the London Eye, over a busy Westminster Bridge and a busier Parliament Square. Amidst…

  • How can they riot?

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    There’s a protestShe saidAnd I asked her what forJustice?Peace?Same as before? Um, noShe repliedA smile turned to frownNot in this placeNot in this town One side wrongOne side rightIt’s ever so easyWhen there’s blackAnd there’s white How can they riot?How can they hate?Why do they shoutInstead of debate? Stupid questionShe saidWhy march the same day?I…

  • When again will I eat houmous at midnight?

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    When next shall I find myself lying in a ditch beneath a sheet of camouflage nylon inside a sleeping bag strewn at the most obscure of angles to find comfort whilst tending a pot of luke warm cous cous as it heats slowly above the purr of a stove? How long until I once more…

  • Bigger, Stronger, Faster

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    My forearms rest over the handlebars and my head is down. My body rocks from side to side and my legs keep turning over. I look ahead at the rising road and subdue a smile with gritted teeth. In the pub last night, the guys propping up the bar all had the same response when…

  • Seven Kilos

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    by

    Tim Moss
    in

    “I know you”, she says, pointing a finger at me as she opens the front door. Hmmm. Is she a dedicated follower of my top-class website? Seen me give an inspirational talk somewhere? Or perhaps I’m jsuit the only person to have booked in some work on a bright yellow rickshaw that morning. “I’ll get…