From where I stand, the rolling foothills of Northern Italy spread out below me to the south. On my left lie the distinctive peaks of the Dolomite Alps. On my right I can see the massive expanse of Mont Blanc, at 15,781 feet the highest mountain in Europe. I am standing at the summit of the Matterhorn. Knock another item off the bucket list.

I have been trying to climb this mountain for 45 years. During my early attempts I possessed the physical conditioning, but not the money to acquire the necessary equipment needed to get to the top. An ice axe, crampons, helmet, and ropes don?t come cheap to a 16 year old. In later years, vile weather frustrated my every attempt. Now the forecast was perfect, and the sun, the moon, and the stars aligned.

The Matterhorn has long been the premier climbing challenge on the continent. My doctor in Zermatt heads up many rescues and tells me that a dozen people a year die trying. The year 1999 was especially bad, claiming 39 lives. Still, if death isn?t on the table, it?s not worth doing.

I spent a restless night sleeping under a heavy wool blanket in a shared bunk with a dozen other climbers at the 10,695 foot Hornli Hut. Get a group of guys like this together, and there is always one who snores.

At 3:00 AM we bolted out of bed to eat a hardy breakfast of eggs, cold cuts, and lots of strong coffee before launching an assault on the mountain. We then quietly filled canteens and donned climbing harnesses and backpacks. The night sky was crystal clear, an ocean of stars shimmering upon us, with the occasional shooting star giving its blessing.

I had spent the past week acclimatizing myself to the high altitude, completing practice climbs to the top of increasingly difficult surrounding peaks. I was joined by my Swiss guide, Christian, of the Zermatt Alpine Center. In his mid forties, chocolate tanned, with thighs like tree stumps, he had already climbed the Matterhorn an impressive 77 times.

We took off at a rapid pace, passing most of the early starters. Zermatt guides are notorious for speed climbing, the theory being that the quicker they wore out their clients, the sooner they could go home. I realized there was something far more responsible going on. Christian had to gain the confidence that I had enough energy reserves left for the descent, when 90% of all fatalities occur. At 11,800 feet he said ?Good,? and we roped up.

It was about this time that I started to wonder if I should really be here. Most of the climbers we were passing were in their twenties and a few in their thirties, young enough to be my grandchildren. After all, I?m the silver haired gentleman people give their seat up to when riding the San Francisco BART. At 12,200 feet Christian ordered, ?Now we put on our crampons.?

From there on we silently pushed our way upward in the darkness, headlamps illuminating the way, methodically positioning our feet to make the leap to the next boulder above. The mountain has been climbed for 148 years, and many of the surfaces have been polished smooth by boots to the point of becoming dangerously slippery. Much of the slope is frustratingly unstable. Half the rocks you reach for are loose. Stones sent flying by climbers above are a major risk, which is why we wear helmets.

By 5:00 AM we were at 12,700 feet and the sun started to rise. I took out my camera to take a picture, but fumbling with my climbing gloves, I dropped it. It smashed into a dozen pieces and then skittered down into the great Matterhorn crevasse below.

I still had my iPhone 5s to take pictures. But its touch screen required me to take my glove off. With the temperature at 10 degrees below freezing, photos were not worth risking fingers to frostbite. So you?ll just have to read about it.

During the first half of the 19^th century, the Matterhorn was the Holy Grail among climbers, and was considered impossible to conquer. Englishman, Edward Whymper, finally led a seven-man team to the top in 1865. He pioneered the same Hornli Ridge route that I was ascending today. But on the way down a rope broke and four perished. One body was never found. Today, you can see the rope in a Zermatt museum, a crude manila affair, along with the clothes from another dead climber found months later.

Some 5,000 now attempt the climb every year, and about 500 make it to the summit. Ulrich Inderbinen made the top over 370 times, and last climbed it when he was 90. I was able to shake his hand at a picture signing in Zermatt a couple of years before he died from old age at 103 (click here for his obituary).

At 13,000 feet we approached the Mosley Slab, so named for an American who fell to his death here in 1879. Beyond beckoned the Solvay Hut, a tiny, precariously sited refuge from weather that suddenly turns bad. Taking a break I found, amazingly, that I still had cell phone reception. Should I send out a Trade Alert from 13,133 feet?

That was where I encountered my first zombie, a climber who grievously underestimated the mountain and had used up every ounce of energy to get this far. His guide was coaxing, shouting, and cajoling him to climb down one rock at a time.

Looking at his dead eyes, you know it was going to be a tough and dangerous descent. I later heard that the poor fellow, Japanese, fell and broke his leg and had to be helicoptered off. There were many more zombies to come.

Above Solvay, we encountered the ?fixed ropes,? which are actually steel cables bolted to the face to help traverse the steepest and most dangerous passages. Lose your grip here, and its 3,000 feet straight down.

This is where we ran into the traffic jam, with simultaneous ascending and descending climbers competing for the same handholds. One dummy actually abseiled down on top of me, nearly knocking me off of my grip. Here, falling climbers are a major danger.

At 300 feet below the summit I passed Sophie?s Ridge, so named for a young Italian woman who was turned back in the 1880?s because high winds were blowing up her Victorian ankle length dress. Now, altitude sickness was taking its toll, with many puking climbers turning back, the disappointment showing on their faces. Luckily, I felt fine.

Not far from there was the location of the original 1865 accident. We approached the small bronze statue of Saint Bernard, the patron saint of mountain climbers. Bolted to the side of the peak, it was covered with ropes, as many teams tie on to it to rappel down.

Then we were on top. The weather was glorious. The summit was graced with a wrought iron cross that one finds atop many Alpine peaks. There was an impatient line of climbers waiting their turn to tag the summit, take some quick pictures, and then start their way down. The feeling of accomplishment was immense.

We carefully picked our way down, rappelling down the steepest faces. By now the sun was well up, the ice was melting, freeing up infinitely more loose rubble. One boulder the size of a small car crashed down 50 feet away, making a thunderous roar. ?Yikes,? I thought, ?we better get out of here.?

At 13,000 feet, we encountered a team with one climber absolutely paralyzed with fear and refusing to budge. After some discussion, I agreed to let her rope up with us and escort her down to the Hornli hut. The other guide was Christian?s friend, and that would enable him to continue upward with his other clients. Our expedition turned into a mountain rescue.

Once Christian tied her in I had second thoughts about being so charitable. If she fell, she could take me with here. Christian then convinced me he could hold both of us with a belay. We then encouraged her down the mountain one step at a time. I went through my entire repertoire of German jokes, which is rather short.

I learned that she sold toilets on behalf of a Swiss plumbing company for a living, and that until today, had never dome anything more serious than a day hike out of Lausanne. All of her equipment was brand new. Part of the problem was that she had failed to don her crampons, which we found in her backpack, untouched in its original packaging.

Back at the Hornli Hut I was dog tired. Our impromptu guest suddenly fell to the ground and burst into tears. She then bought us both a celebratory liter of beer. I was dying of thirst, as I had done the entire climb on just two quarts of water to save weight.

It had been the hardest day of my life, and after 15 minutes at the table I couldn?t move. The $1,200 investment in Christian had been well spent. He departed for Zermatt to pick up his next client. I elected to spend a second night at Hornli and complete the 3,000 foot hike down to Schwarzee the next day. From there I was taking the gondola down. Nothing left to prove here. The second time, I slept like a rock.

It is traditional for successful climbers to pick up a stone at the summit and deposit it on a giant cairn at the beginning of the trail at 7,000 feet. Some of these weigh over 50 pounds, a macho display of strength and endurance. When I made my contribution, a small pebble the size of a quarter, I made sure no one was looking.

I now have an empty place on my bucket list. What will replace it? I hear that Africa?s 19,341 foot Mount Kilamanjaro is pretty easy.

Life is good.

Climbing One Step at a Time

Only 4,000 Feet to Go

Half Way, and All is Good

The Traffic Jam

The Summit

A Mountain Rescue

Take That Item off the Bucket List

I never cease to be amazed by the intelligence provided me by the US Defense Department, which after the CIA, has the world?s most impressive and insightful economic research team. There are few places a global strategist like me can go to get intelligent, thoughtful forty-year views, and this is one. Wall Street, eat your heart out.

Of course, they are planning how to commit ever declining resources in future military conflicts. I am just looking for great trading ideas for my readers, which my assorted three-star and four-star friends have in abundance. I usually have to provide some extra analysis and tweak the data a bit to obtain the precise ticker symbols and entry points, but then that?s what you pay me to do.

An evening with General Douglas Fraser did not disappoint. He is an Air Force four-star who is the commander of US Southern Command (SOUTHCOM), one of nine unified Combatant Commands in the Department of Defense. Its area of responsibility encompasses Central America, South America, and the Caribbean. SOUTHCOM is a joint command comprised of more than 1,200 military and civilian personnel representing the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, Coast Guard, and other federal agencies.

The United States is now the second largest Hispanic country in the world, and it will soon become the largest. These industrious people now account for 15% of US GDP, and that figure will grow to 35% by 2050. The Hispanic birthrate in many parts of the US is triple that of any other ethnic group. Because of this, any politicians that pursue anti-immigrant policies are doomed to failure. This may, in part, explain the November election result.

Latin America?s GDP is growing at 4% a year, more than double the current US rate. American trade with the region grew by 72% last year, with imports surging an eye popping 112%. It is the source of one third of our foreign energy supplies. It has tremendous wealth in copper, iron ore, and food production that have yet to be exploited. In the last decade, 40 million have risen out of poverty. Yet 13% of the inhabitants earn less than $1 a day.

This poverty has made Latin America fertile ground for the international drug trade, which poses one of the greatest threats to America?s security today. Profits from the cocaine trade reached $88 billion in 2011, which is more than the GDP of any single Central American country. Some $33 billion worth of this narcotic made it into the US last year. Brazil is the world?s second biggest consumer of cocaine, after the US, with the UK the largest per capita consumer. The farther you move this product from the source, the more expensive it gets. Cocaine costs $2,000 a kilo in Brazil, $40,000 in the US, $80,000 in Europe, and $150,000 in the Middle East.

Technology has made communications, organization and logistics tools once only found in the military available to anyone. This creates a level playing field for international crime organizations of all sorts. The drug business is so profitable that the cartels are now building submarines in the jungles of Columbia at a cost of $4 million each, and sending them under water to the US to make a $100 million profit per voyage.

This illicit wealth is financing the growth of other illegal activities, like money laundering, arms dealing, human trafficking, and even the transportation of exotic animals. This is corrupting the smaller and weaker governments. Key transit point, Honduras, bas become so violent, with the highest murder rates in the world that the US recently had to withdraw 150 Peace Corps volunteers.

As a result, Fraser has had to modify the mission of SOUTHCOM from a primarily military one to non-traditional crime fighting. His planes are intercepting smugglers at the favored Venezuela-Honduras-US air corridor, as well as craft making it up the Central American west coast. He is providing military assistance, training, and joint operations where he can, but must balance this with the human rights record in each country.

In addition to his other responsibilities, General Fraser is also keeping close track of China?s rapidly expanding trade relations in the area. They have begun selling inexpensive, low end weapons and military equipment to some of these countries.

The investment opportunities I picked up from General Fraser were legion. It certainly made the ETF?s for Brazil (EWZ), Chile (ECH), and Columbia (GXG) no brainers for a long term portfolio. The Brazilian Real and the Chilean peso are screamers. Copper (CU) and the grains, (CORN), (SOYB), and (WEAT), are probably also good bets.

General Fraser graduated from the Air Force Academy in 1974 and is fluent in Spanish. He has commanded Air Force combat units in Japan, Korea, and Germany. He was later a senior officer in the Space Operations Command. General Fraser joined SOUTHCOM in 2009 after serving as deputy commander of the Pacific Command.

After his briefing, the readers of the Diary of a Mad Hedge Fund Trader who came at my invitation that evening were given the opportunity to ask questions of one of America?s most senior military officers on a one on one basis. In a lighthearted moment, I mentioned to the General that his career total of 2,800 flight hours exceeding my own by only 600 hours. But his rides were vastly more exciting than mine, with most of his time spent in F-16?s and F-15-s, some of the most lethal weapons ever developed. My log contains an assortment of aircraft that include a lot of more sedentary Cessna?s, a few C-130 Hercules, a P51 Mustang, a De Havilland Tiger Moth, and a few precious hours in a Russian Mig-25 and Mig-29.

Meet my Flight Instructor

Buried in the recently passed Dodd-Frank financial reform bill are massive financial rewards for turning in your crooked boss. The SEC is hoping that multimillion dollar rewards amounting to 10%-30% of sanction amounts will drive a stampede of whistleblowers to their doors with evidence of malfeasance and fraud by their employers.

If such rules were in place at the time of the settlement with Goldman Sachs (GS), the bonus, in theory, could have been worth up to $500 million. Wall Street firms are bracing themselves for an onslaught of claims, legitimate and otherwise, by droves of hungry gold diggers looking for an early retirement.

Don't count on this as a get rich quick scheme. Government hurdles to meet the requirement of a true stoolie can be daunting. The standard of evidence demanded is high, and must be matched with the violation of specific federal laws. Idle chit chat at the water cooler won't do. Litigation can stretch out over five years, involve substantial legal costs, and often lead to a non-financial settlement with no reward. For those who do deliver the goods, death threats from defendants are not unheard of.

Having 'rat' on your resume doesn't exactly look inviting either. Just ask Sherron Watkins, the in-house CPA who turned in energy giant Enron's Ken Lay, Andy Fastow, and Jeffrey Skilling just before it crashed in flames. Nearly a decade later, Sherron earns a modest living on the lecture circuit warning of the risks of false accounting, and whistleblowing. There have been no job offers.