IT'S TRUE THAT the most obvious adventure icons, the Everests and the Amazons, have been done. But there's still so much left, and it's accessible to more of us than ever before. Airplanes and the Internet have democratized adventure. It took the 1932 Sikong Expedition three months to get to the Daxue Shan from the U.S.; it took Ross and me less than a week. You no longer need special contacts or sponsors to pull off a world-class trip. You need only a good partner, a few weeks, and a fistful of desire.

You no longer need sponsors to pull off a world-class trip. You need only a good partner, a few weeks, and a fistful of desire.

According to the International Union of Alpine Associations, there are 144 unclimbed 7,000-meter peaks (those falling between 22,965 and 26,246 feet). At a recent Alpine Club symposium in Penrith, England, Japan's Tomatsu Nakamura, the leading authority on the mountains of eastern Tibet, estimated that there are 200 to 250 unclimbed 20,000-foot peaks in this region alone. Even after all the peaks have been climbed, there will still be beautiful routes left to find.

"As technical standards continue to increase, people look at things with different eyes and see new possibilities," says Kelly Cordes, 37, assistant editor of The American Alpine Journal. The Estes Park, Colorado, climber has put this theory to the test, making several unrepeated first ascents, most recently scaling the 7,500-foot face of Pakistan's Great Trango Tower in a stunning four-day sufferfest. "The potential for adventure is limited by your imagination, not by geography," says Cordes.

This evolution—from planting the flag to a more subtle, primal focus on the personal how and why—is the future of adventure. "From a kayaker's point of view," says Asheville, North Carolina, river rat Daniel DeLaVergne, "there's an endless supply of places to go get lost and get in trouble, an uncountable number of unrun rivers in Alaska, Canada, New Guinea, China."

DeLaVergne, 28, should know. Last spring he and his pals did the first descent of Mosley Creek, in the Coast Range of British Columbia, a deadly three-day carnival of Class V+ rapids.

"But you know, it's not really all about first descents," says DeLaVergne. "It's about how you paddle. It's about keeping your shit humble and making good decisions. You can do the same river everybody else has done but try to do it in better style. No matter what happens, every time, you learn something."

And it's more than just technical prowess and physical risk. A friend of mine has journeyed to Nicaragua and El Salvador to monitor elections, and his tales match those of any adventurer.

Ecologist Michael Fay's 1999–2000 Megatransect, a 455-day foot traverse of Central Africa's Congo basin, is a perfect example of modern exploration at its best. Fay's goal was to "go as deep into the last wild place on earth as possible" in order to help conservationists and governments identify the most vital places to protect. He walked 1,243 miles, used 12 rolls of duct tape on his blistered feet, and filled 39 yellow waterproof notebooks with everything from accounts of thousands of elephant sightings to descriptions of plant species. In 2002, due in large measure to Fay's journey, the government of Gabon created 13 new national parks, setting aside more than 10 percent of the country's land area.

Adventure, then, is no longer simply about exploitation or adulation; it's about the quest for understanding. You don't need a mountain or a river or a jungle—you need only an open mind. Your goal does not have to be a first; it need only be something that takes you to a new place and challenges you physically or mentally, emotionally or spiritually.