Conquering the North Face

by Hap Klopp

  For countless hours the two young artists would talk—meeting at cafés, bistros, and tabacs, observing colors, people, and societal changes. Picasso was enthralled with Braque. He called him “Wilbur”—a high compliment, naming him after Wilbur Wright, the inventor of the airplane.

  From his immersion in the frenetic urban petri dish of Paris, Picasso sensed a fundamental shift in society—from the stability of the mid-19th century to the frenzy of modern society. He and Braque talked endlessly about this, both understanding that they were in the midst of the dawning of a new age. They agreed that art was going to reflect that change, and they set out to be the creators of the new form.

  Individually they painted. Collectively they talked and explored the shifting scene in Paris. The gray-brown colors of the world they lived in—a world of cobblestones and smoky bars—replaced the pastel colors used by the earlier Impressionists. The soft, simple landscapes and still lifes dealing with depth, light, and shading gave way to multiple impressions—impressions that shifted, overlapped, and relied on flat planes. Cubism appeared to be composed of work that was almost cut and reassembled—perhaps a reflection of what Braque and Picasso felt modern society was doing to the traditions of the former century.

  Through this transition Braque and Picasso moved in concert. As Braque said in describing that period, “We were like two mountaineers roped together.” When sand was added for texture, both added it at exactly the same time. When stenciled commercial lettering appeared in Picasso’s work, it also appeared in Braque’s. The colors were the same, the textures were the same, and the angles and techniques were the same. Theirs was a shared vision of the highest order—an almost metaphysical union of two very diverse souls.

  Yet it was competitive. Studies have discovered that there was a tremendous rivalry going on, especially on the part of Picasso. It was an open rivalry, but fierce just the same. They shared ideas. They shared perspective. They each had access to the other’s studio and work in progress. They pushed limits.

  When the first cubist paintings by Picasso and Braque came out in 1910 and 1911, they looked virtually identical. Today art museums put them side by side for effect and you cannot tell the difference. The book Modern Art, by Sam Hunter and John Jacobus, explains that “the artistic relationship between Picasso and Braque [was] so close that in the absence of signatures—and they very rarely signed or dated their works at the time—it is almost impossible to determine who made which individual contribution to the evolution of the cubist style.”

  Braque and Picasso comprehended and thrived on the competition. Although Braque early on was the more famous painter, Picasso fairly quickly eclipsed him. That should be the goal of business—to motivate everyone to compete with the strength of their individuality toward a mutually energizing goal.

  Sharing a vision with a lot of followers becomes geometrically more difficult, but also geometrically more powerful. The importance of the vision, like the use of symbols, gains as the numbers grow. Vision is what sustains the effort during the silent times in a company.

  At The North Face, where vision was the heart of our business, our vision was one of quality. It was woven (we thought literally) into the fabric of our business. Above and beyond everything else, we wanted to be the best. It was not some minor goal that would be nice to meet—it was, as I saw it, our reason for living.

  We had no desire to make everyone in the company like our plan. Quite the opposite. We wanted to make the plan, and the sacrifices necessary, so clear that those who were not in tune with it would quit, recognizing that it was time for them to move on.

  In situations where employees didn’t fit but also didn’t have the fortitude to move on, the best solution was to quietly fire them. Just as surgery, even radical surgery, can lead to better health, removing people who don’t share the vision of the company can improve the company’s health. In such situations we helped ease their transition out of the company. Everyone who remained was happier, and the shared vision was stronger.

  Shared visions don’t just happen. They must be nurtured. In a company the best way to do this is to create reasons for people to get together on a regular basis. The most obvious, yet probably worst way is with meetings. They don’t work because they are not really interactive, and often no one listens. Meetings foster power games and hierarchy, which undermine passion and communication.

  Informal gatherings are better. You can schedule events around company anniversaries, picnics, corporate sporting teams, or Friday afternoon happy hours. The idea is to get people talking to each other—not “onstage” for each other, but onstage together. Sharing visions, if you will. People have to be passionate and they have to connect.

  Alice Waters had a vision, a sweeping vision. She put together a team that turned that vision into reality—one of the best restaurants in the United States. Waters’s vision was to create a whole new style of cooking, and she did so at her restaurant, Chez Panisse, in Berkeley.

  In her view food is more than sustenance—it’s pleasure. Her food stresses the California virtues of constant farm-fresh produce, and her restaurants stress food that is creative, healthy, and generally without additives. It is no longer just her vision. It is now known throughout the world as California Cuisine.

  Instead of opening one restaurant at Chez Panisse, she opened two. Downstairs is a formal restaurant (or as formal as one might get in Berkeley), serving one set dinner menu at a fixed price. Never in the 20-plus-year history of the restaurant has it served the same meal twice. Upstairs she has a second restaurant—a more casual cafe with a constantly changing, extensive menu that includes everything from farm-fresh goat cheese salads to nasturium-garnished pizza.

  Hers was a revolutionary vision, not an evolutionary one. She has extensive knowledge of French cooking and she certainly pays homage to it. But her vision is uniquely American, uniquely Californian, and uniquely Alice and her fine team of chefs.

  To effect her vision she had to break a lot of the traditions of the restaurant business—doing things in absolutely new ways, often risky, which dictated a lot of extraordinary effort. And it required convincing a lot of people to do things they had never done before.

  Waters loved the goat cheese she had tasted in France, but she couldn’t find it fresh in the United States. No problem. She convinced one of her friends to share her vision and develop a goat farm north of San Francisco, in Sonoma. The goat farm is now a great success in its own right—serving Chez Panisse and a myriad of California cuisine restaurants in northern California.

  Waters started Chez Panisse in a converted old, dark wooden two-story house in a weak retail section of Berkeley. There is no parking, and no noticeable signage. But her vision was so strong that it worked anyway—for the last ten years it has been ranked in the top ten American restaurants by virtually every reviewer in the United States. Many rank it at number one or two.

  Her advertising is equally unique. It uses none of the standard advertising vehicles, only a different poster each year celebrating Chez Panisse’s anniversary. The poster has always been designed by David Lance Goines. At first, the story has it, Waters traded meals for his work. But he became as successful as she did, and his poster art is now world famous. Their relationship has never been based on the written contract, but rather on the strength of their human connection. Waters compensates Goines with more than free meals presently, but they still work together as they did in the early days—recognizing the magic of their shared vision.

  Her vision was a detailed one, requiring many others to commit to it. Besides seeking a different cheese, she also required farm-fresh produce and meats with no pesticides or synthetic hormones. To acquire these she convinced a number of farmers to produce them, even if it was for her restaurant’s singular consumption. She got her way, as even more people shared her vision.

  Probably the most amazing part of her success is that she turned the age-old restaurant problem of high turnover among chefs into
an asset. Instead of trying to bind them with some form of “golden handcuffs,” which are so traditional in the business world, she accepted turnover as inevitable. It was a chance for her to learn from her chefs, just as they learned from her. This fueled her need for constant change and encouraged some of the world’s best chefs to come to her—chefs like Jeremiah Tower of STARS and Mark Miller of the Coyote Cafe who, in their own right, have gone on to revolutionize the restaurant and food industry.

  Machievelli said, “Make no small plans … for they have not the power to stir men’s blood.” Human passion is aroused by the pursuit of greatness. People will work for money—but they’ll give everything they have if they believe. Leadership has to touch that which makes a spirit soar. Great leadership creates not just vision, but grand vision.

  The 3,300-foot sheer rock face of Mt. Thor in Auyuittuq National Park in Canada presented such a grand vision to Steve Holmes. Holmes was consumed by his vision—a deeply personal one in which he wanted to rappel down Mt. Thor for a new world rappeling record. And then, equally as daring, he wanted to climb back up the sheer stone on the same rope.

  The prior record for rappeling had been down the stone monolith El Capitan in Yosemite Valley—about 700 feet less than Holmes’s proposed Mt. Thor attempt.

  It was his passion. And it was his quest. He quit his job and sold all his belongings to finance the trip. He was consumed by fitness, understanding the importance of an in-tune body to make his dream a reality. He began to piece together a team.

  Holmes’s team, it turned out, was mostly spelunkers—those who explore caves. Spelunkers are more used to making descents than mountaineers. Mountaineers generally think first about climbing, not descending, so Holmes doubted they’d be properly enthused about his plan.

  Among his team was photographer Nick Nichols, the man from Chapter 8 who got thrown around by gorillas. Holmes knew of Nichols’s exploits. He knew Nichols had a full-blooded passion.

  Holmes began selecting his team. The idea was not just to get some people who were willing to go along on the excursion, but to find true believers—those who understood and shared his passion. He wanted people who would guarantee success.

  He found ten people, ten souls with a flame as bright as his own. They began to plan as a team and expand the vision. Because the assault on Mt. Thor was an excursion that had never been done before, he and his team had to dream up new equipment. Once the vision was refined and detailed to his satisfaction, Holmes had to share his vision even further, with the corporate world. In one case he needed a mile-long mountaineering rope. He found a company to make it. He needed other equipment, things not available on the commercial market—which he had to design himself. Things such as special rappeling equipment and climbing ascendors (climbing ascendors are mechanical devices that allow climbers to climb up the rope, but not slide down.) Each time he had to share his vision to convince companies to build the unique equipment he needed. In every case the company became excited about being involved. His passion was contagious. I know—The North Face even designed some of the clothing to protect his team from the cold, damp, and variable weather of northern Canada.

  The rappel was almost like a free-fall—thrilling and frightening. The climb back up, equivalent in distance to three World Trade Towers in New York City, was exhausting. Twenty-five minutes to get to the bottom, but more than five hours to climb back to the top. And why?

  Because it was worth it, because each of the participants believed fully that life is for living, not watching. They believed that a grand vision was something they wanted to share. Steve Holmes had a vision of a world record and of the thrill of a lifetime. He shared that vision, and it became reality. Steve Holmes knows what it is to lead. He knows what it is to share vision. He has proved it on the face of Mt. Thor.

  To lead is to personalize, to inspire people at their core. You must get others to share a common view—viscerally as well as intellectually. That sharing can be with one person or with many, but the concept is the same. A shared vision must not be stagnant; it must evolve. A vision that works especially well becomes not the product of one person, but of all involved. As the Chinese philosopher Lao-tzu said 2,500 years ago, “True leaders inspire people to do great things and, when the work is done, their people proudly say, ‘We did this ourselves.’”

  Vision is active, not passive. You must open your senses and your mind to the world around you and periodically indulge your fantasies of the future.

  Climbers know they will never make it to the peak unless they have already been there in their minds. It is the same in business. Commit yourself to your people and constantly communicate with them in a simple and honest manner. Let them know where your heart lies—fulfill your commitments. Set an example by committing your full body and soul to the task you undertake. Visualize success and communicate it. Talk and listen. Listen and talk. If someone shares your vision, he or she can probably improve it.

  Leadership at its best is not a chore. It is a wonderful, exhilarating adventure—a voyage fueled by human potential. It is frantic at times, almost manic—like a 100-yard dash rather than a stroll in the park. It is urgent. It is about tapping into the source of power inside each human soul and getting it to care about something that you find important.

  That is the key—you must find your vision important. Holmes did. Everyone I have written about in this book did. I did. I believe in the depths of my soul that it is important to be the very best in the world. At The North Face, I knew my vision was about much more than making tents, backpacks, and ski clothing. It was about measuring up—looking in the mirror and feeling at peace with myself. My vision was about making a difference; that’s the measure I used. I wanted to matter in people’s lives. And you?

  What I’m calling for is a revolt—a revolt of honesty—both against those pompous incompetents with titles and for the power of vision. It is time to stop the bitching and get on with the business of changing. Speak up. Act out. If your company is so afraid of your ideas that it won’t listen—or worse, condescends—then you should quit and move on.

  Don’t take it anymore. You don’t have to. Find a better job, one where the company appreciates your leadership. Someone somewhere has a vision you can share. You just have to find it.

  Or you can create it. Start your own business. Find something you love and make it your life’s work. When an artist dies, the artist leaves behind “a body of work.” Do the same—begin your body of work. Find a vision and share it with others. Don’t just stand back and let it all be. Live. Burn. Dance like a dingledodie.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  FROM HAP KLOPP

  No expedition or grand adventure succeeds without a tremendous amount of support—support generally unseen by the outside world. As such, I would like to thank everyone who has given me support, training, insights and their love in my business, personal, writing and outdoor adventures.

  The age-old leadership question is ‘who or what inspires a leader?’ My experience is, it is very simply answered—leaders are inspired by those people around them who listen, respond and grow—grow to be even better than their leader. I’ve been very lucky to have been surrounded by some of the best. To all of you, I say a heartfelt thanks.

  FROM BRIAN TARCY

  I remember the exact moment during a previous career when I sent an electronic message to a co-worker that said, “Walking in this place is like swimming in embalming fluid.” A few weeks later, Hap Klopp contacted me wanting to write a book about good leaders and bad leaders.

  Since then I have co-written more than a dozen books, including books with other business leaders and professional athletes, but this is the collaboration that resonates the most for me. I love Hap’s message. So, thank you Hap, for teaching me that I didn’t have to spend my lifetime swimming through embalming fluid. My life is so much richer because I met you.

  Lots of people have influenced me: my brother Dave stands out. I have four heroes—my c
hildren: Denim, Derek, Kayli, and Marissa. Thanks for letting be there for the beginning of your adventures.

  PRAISE FOR

  THE ADVENTURE OF LEADERSHIP

  “He hates what he calls ‘the embalming fluid’ of contemporary corporate culture, ‘the fraud of authority, the power to be a bully by virtue of title.’ A title, he writes, makes no one a leader. He calls for vision, creativity, inspired leadership and the faith that anything, absolutely anything is possible.”

  -SAN FRANCISCO EXAMINER-

  “Reading ‘The Adventure Of Leadership,’ one gets the sense that Hap Klopp walks the walk…Klopp is entertaining and readable, and he has something to say worth hearing.”

  -ROCKY MOUNTAIN NEWS-

  Hap Klopp was the founder and 20-year CEO of The North Face, the world renowned mountaineering, backpacking and skiing company. After selling the highly successful company he set up his own global management consulting company, and began lecturing at leading business schools, speaking to large businesses, and writing. Most recently he and two partners have taken ownership of the 100 year old global rugby company, Canterbury of New Zealand. For fun, Klopp has rafted down the Zambezi River, flown hot air balloons and gliders over the Napa Valley, skied down glaciers in Europe and explored jungle ruins in Latin America.

  Brian Tarcy is a freelance journalist who has collaborated on more than a dozen books with business leaders and professional athletes. He has also written for many magazines and newspapers across the country. Tarcy has a degree in Journalism from Ohio University, and lives in Falmouth, Massachusetts.