Notions of Grandeur

John Gill said "I don't think I would become a climber if I were young man now [...] What is freedom to a bird if it is in the middle of a flock ?"

Sadly, this sometimes rings true; what a mere mortal climbs has been climbed many times, every year, for a very long time, while often dodging crowds of other climbers. To climb something new requires acts of heroism, or perhaps insanity. It also requires specialization- a dedication to a specific form of climbing, or a willingness to take a route to a conquered mountain that no other person has been willing to take. It is an alpine style mixed route specialist taking on some marginally safe route of falling rocks, avalanche, low quality protection, and scary aid pitches. It requires marathon climbing for days on end. It requires something I doubt I have, and sacrifices I can't make.

Truly, I cannot climb for the sense of freedom, or for the feeling of being somewhere others haven't been many times, or even the rarefied virgin summit; these things do not exist much in the modern age, at least not without the above mentioned qualities, and money to go to distant lands.

So why keep attempting something so minuscule, trite, and pointless as climbing mountains that mean little to most people? Why keep flying in the center of the flock, just a number to be forgotten? Why fill a summit registry that few even will read? Why risk one's life and limb for such things?

I struggle with these thoughts, and I think any climber out there does more or less as well. Some do climb for the process, not the summit, however I do think there has to be a goal within that process. Even sport climbing has a point in which the climb has been reached- the goal.

But I read this:

"One does not climb to attain enlightenment, rather one climbs because he is enlightened." — Zen Master Futomaki.

Perhaps this is wishful thinking; I know some egomaniac climbers who are far from enlightened. However, this makes me smile. I would like to think this is a personal experience, and whether a billion people or not a soul has made it to the summit, only I can take myself to that summit. I am there to learn from the mountains, and to exercise meditation.

What little I understand of Zen, I do like, and it certainly seems to apply to mountaineering. Zen practice emphasizes less of teachings, and more of mindfulness throughout the day, especially through work. I think there is no time I have worked longer and harder than climbing, and no time I have been so clear minded through work, yoga aside.

When climbing with a clear and focused mind, it is absolutely sublime. When that focus is lost, and the mind starts darting from one place to another, from fear, to desire to reach the summit, it becomes absolutely miserable. Step by step, focusing on what you are doing and where to go next, rather than the summit, or any superficial things surrounding the climb, will degrade the experience.

I am struggling with the idea that it doesn't matter what I climb. It doesn't matter if it is a feat of masterful self control, endurance, and disregard for obvious risks, or if it is just a simple mountain in the Cascade mountains. What matters is that I challenge myself, and learn. It is easy to sit and dream about the epic climbs of the Karakorum range, or of more modest, but attainable climbs like Rainier or Shuksan (which i obviously do), but it is more important to continue to climb, whatever I can, whenever I can, and continue to grow.

“Let me respectfully remind you:
Life and death are of supreme importance.
Time swiftly passes and opportunity is lost.
Awaken! Awaken! Take Heed;
Do not squander your life.”

-a Zen gatha


Mount Stuart, Cascade Range, Washington (a personal goal to climb)

Top Photo: something I will likely never climb; K2 if I am not mistaken.

Botched Middle Sister

-- It is worth considering our priorities and how they affect the choices we make in the mountains. Thinking ahead of time about what risks, or how much one is willing to put on the line to reach the summit is critical. What will make us turn around is worth knowing in advance so that decisions are almost instantaneous. --

Middle Sister is the 5th highest mountain in Oregon, third tallest of the Three Sisters at 10047 feet. Its prominence is not that significant compared to South Sister (which is ranked 35th in the lower 48 United States) as it stands with North Sister, its col between 8880 and 8920 feet. However, the pair together still tower over the surrounding terrain, while being much more rugged than their southern sister due to many more years of erosion.

Art and I had tried to organize an overnight bivy and climb of Middle Sister twice before, with the trip falling apart both times. Finally, with the last minute addition of Katie, at 1pm we were on the Pole Creek trail to Camp Lake, which is below the saddle between South and Middle Sister. It had been several years since either Art or I had been to Camp Lake, and Katie had never been. We were tremendously excited for climb.

After 8 miles or so of cutbacks and river crossings, we arrived at Camp Lake. It had snowed the night before up in the mountains, so fresh snow blanketed the jagged peaks, highlighting their beauty. We quickly found a protected bivy site, switched to dry clothing, and started bundling up as the temperature dropped. We did not have much sunlight left, so we quickly made our dinner and enjoyed the views before getting to bed for our alpine start.

South sister does not require technical gear, and we had but a few thousand feet of gain left, so we agreed upon a lazy alpine start at 5 a.m. Our route was going to be a bit different than the normal north ridge route. Instead we would take the snow fields and glaciers to the south, up the southwest ridge. We had our ropes, ice axes and crampons to cross the glaciers, and we brought enough technical gear to comfortably build basic rescue systems.

The temperature dropped quickly as it got dark, and the wind howled above the protection of the cluster of twisted alpine trees we were camped behind. I nodded off for short periods only to awaken again, feeling either too hot or too cold to sleep. I never sleep well or at all the first night out; it is a curse shared by many. My head is too busy, the distractions enough to disrupt the process of drifting off, and the excitement of the next day too much to allow for rest I suppose.

After a long night of tossing and turning, and looking at the stars, I watched the glow of my watch ticking its way to 5:00 a.m. It was 4:45 when I heard Art walking up to my bivy- I didn't know he was even awake- "Hey Drew!" he whispered harshly. "Wanna go on a mission?"

I knew it. For the last 24 hours I was waiting for something to sabotage our attempt to climb this mountain. Without much a thought I said yes, and asked the details. I had left my pager at home, and my cell phone was turned off, so he briefed me on the search in progress- three women lost about 10 to 15 miles to our northwest, overnight in jeans and t-shirts. The temperatures had been well below zero throughout the night.

We had our radio out, and were diverted down hill by command from where we came the previous day, so we could clear some trails to the north. Trudging through the dark, I realized I was walking away from my last chance to summit the Middle Sister that season. As we descended to the tree line, the alpine-glow lit up all three Sisters. I felt profound longing to be on those mountains, knowing I could not.

We were about three or four miles from the trail head when the subjects were located by a horse team deployed in the middle of the night. We walked to the car and drove over to the ICP so Art could check on the subjects (Art's our main medic), and meet the other teams and debrief. I was disappointed we missed our chance to summit Middle Sister, however there wasn't really a choice to be made; it was obvious that finding these girls was a much higher priority.

I don't have issues saying no to a summit- in fact, sometimes I wonder if I admit defeat too easily. Regardless, I do feel I have my priorities in check- life is more important, be it mine, my climbing partners, or some stranger. There is a certain amount of acceptable risk, but life is precious.

Pole Creek TrailPole Creek Trail- River crossing. Water was low due to being late summer.
Camp Lake- the wind was quite cold.

Camp Lake- without me making it look ugly.Middle Sister seen from Camp Lake
Middle Sister seen from camp lake

Our bivy siteEarly morning search- sun rising. Alpine-glow within the hour...

ICP

Class IV

At the risk of being redundant, I want to specifically write about Class IV climbing. It is arguably the most dangerous part of mountaineering for many climbers, and can be the most intimidating; it is hard or slow to protect with rope, and falls can vary from "of consequence" to deadly. Class IV, when exposed, can be terrifying for any climber, especially those less seasoned. I read a great article about this subject, and I found myself in constant agreement with the author. It is certainly worth a read.

I myself do feel better on ropes, with sheer vertical. I still feel safer within the context of rope systems, anchors, and the like, than I do on class IV without ropes. Yes- often the climb is easy, even if the rock in the Cascades is often crumbly and rotten- but it can be absolutely intimidating. In fact it can simply be miserable to climb under such conditions, where one wrong step, or a crumbly hold can lead to an ugly, violent fall, and ultimately to one's demise. It is a slow process accepting the vertigo inducing nature of mountains; each climb it gets more comfortable, more easy.

I will refrain from talking about whether or not certain situations are safer with a rope, or in fact less safe with rope. I think people must use judgment that comes with time, and their own perceptions.

Anyway, rather than re-write a well written article, I thought I'd pass along the link.

Hemingway and Mt. Washington vs Nanga Parbat

Ernest Hemingway said "There are only three sports: bullfighting, motor racing, and mountaineering; all the rest are merely games" (I feel it's only right to include the fact that Steve House quoted this during a bivy on the side of a mountain)

The machismo in this sport is so palpable, I probably need not even write any more about it. In fact, I am willing to bet nobody wants to read about it. Nor does anyone want to read some observations of its grace, or anything of that nature. Something I have noticed though is that once one takes on a mountain- even the silly little Cascade volcanoes I climb- all other sports, pastimes and activities seem to lack the epic scale. In comparison, other activities, while perhaps requiring as many or more years of dedication and practice, and untold quantities of skill, do not pull at ones imagination the same way; they feel like games. Or perhaps climbing a mountain is much more than sport.

I feel at times I risk redundancy in my descriptions of something I still have such limited experience. My words tend to take on that of a groupie at a concert; I observe the music more than I can play it. Sure, I have started to develop an intense passion for mountaineering, and I drool over beta, photos, descriptions and stories. But aside from challenging myself with some easy climbs over exposure, and working on exploring and expanding my limits, what have I done? Nobody knows how many have climbed these mountains, for counting the hoards of people scrambling up them is impossible. Few appreciate what I have accomplished, but most are aware it is still a feasible task for anyone who can focus a few hours and face a small amount of risk.

I do not live up to the giants of this sport. I am not even an ankle biter to them. I see what they accomplish, and I feel small. Yes- I am facing the same thing they are in myself; I challenge my limits, I take calculated risks, and I feel triumph at the peak. I enjoy the experience as much as the summit. But if you measure the man by what he does in his life, those measurements are certainly hard to compare. I question if I have lived up to my potential in my life, and whether I can make up for it now. Some say "Drew, you are young, don't worry!", but I see most who accomplish great things in their lives start much younger than I.

Even a dangerous classic like the north face of the Eiger seems unattainable... a wall so easily accessible seems far beyond my reach, let alone a first ascent or a new line on some peak in the Karakorum range. The thought of climbing the crumbly North Sister still gives me a bit of a racing heart and a shot of anxiety. I have not tamed my sense of fear in a way that would allow me to do something grand. Maybe climbing the most simple of mountains will be grand enough, though I doubt it.




My greatest alpine climb; a 3 pitch summit block featuring mostly class IV scrambling with sections up to 5.3/4 at best. Yes- there was exposure with a fall resulting in death, but it does not measure up.



Steve and Vince's route, "Nanga Parbat's infamous Rupal Face, a vertical 13,500' challenge of snow, rock and ice,
is widely considered the greatest alpine wall in the world!"

I suppose I take one step at a time, one mountain at a time. I might never be a world class climber, but as long as I am exploring my own limits, I suppose I should feel proud (even if those limits are nothing to brag about).

I'll end this with some additional Ernest Hemingway- you're welcome.

“Never mistake motion for action.”

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

“The best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them.”

“All things truly wicked start from an innocence.”

“An intelligent man is sometimes forced to be drunk to spend time with his fools.”
“Auto racing, bull fighting, and mountain climbing are the only real sports ... all others are games.” (incorrect quote, or alternate version?)

“Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.”

Failure

One would think that I'd be used to failure by now. Yes, I'm that guy- quit my ski team, left Italy six months early, college dropout, failed aviation career- I have honed this down to a science. Somehow, turning around on a mountain seems to concentrate the feeling of failure. Lack of success can hurt. But is it actually failure? What is success? Coming back in one piece? Learning? Sharing memories? The process? The summit? The company?

I failed to reach the summit of Broken Top this summer with Katie. We didn't have the time to reach the northwest ridge to go for the main peak, so we decided to go for the south peak which is around 80 feet lower. However, it was technically a false summit as it doesn't have 400ft of prominence. So... we failed at the alternative to failing the main peak. Fantastic.

The question though is, was this failure, or was this success? I'd like to consider this a successful day. My climbing partner did not feel comfortable going further up the steep scramble, and I did not either. I didn't know the route, and didn't want to rope up not knowing what was ahead. I do not have a photo of the section that turned us.

We walked away feeling absolutely defeated, but also feeling we made the right choice at the time, and feeling we could always give it another try another day.

I can't help but shake the feeling of not wanting to fail on my next technical climb. They say the most successful people shrug off failure and try again, ignore naysayers and just try harder. I'd like to be that person, and perhaps that is what I need to learn most right now.

I do think it also fueled my determination to make the summit of Mount Thielsen the following weekend. I had a sense of drive during one pitch that felt almost foreign to me. Failure the previous weekend forced me to face that inner demon and focus. It made me shrug off that voice that said "Drew, you can't do it. You'll fail. What if you fall? You will be hurt or killed. You can't! You aren't strong enough! You aren't focused enough! You will screw up!" I instantly smothered that voice saying "You are strong, focused, and able. You can be safe, you will not fall if you take it one step and one hand hold at a time. Three points of solid contact, check hold, breath, step, check footing, breath, focus." I kept that pattern all the way up the pitch, then slowly worked my way up the path to the next pitch.

I did falter some at the next pitch. When I regained my confidence, when I again stopped doubting myself so much, I breezed up the final 90 foot pitch to the summit.

I think this was really rooted in failure. I wasn't compensating for not summiting Broken Top, but it did effect how I talked to myself. I shook that notion that I couldn't do it, and was amazed at the results.

Next time I might not shake the feeling, and it will be a good warning as to when to turn around. Turning around only helps you learn about yourself. Learning ones limits is key to this. Flirting with that line is sometimes okay, but backing off at the right time is what makes a smart, successful mountaineer.

The Genesis

It does somehow feel like I am doing this backwards -- My first summit of a prominent Cascade volcano was a rescue. I suppose growing up in the mountains, skiing, climbing, camping, hiking, backpacking lead me to be very comfortable in the environment, and training in technical rope rescue techniques made me an asset rather than a liability. But it was odd escorting people down a mountain that I had always only enjoyed from the tree line below, when they had already made the summit two years prior. Legendary American alpinist Paul Pedzoldt said "It's just camping" when talking about his climbing in the Himalayas and Karakorum ranges in an interview. His point was that technical climbing skills were by far second to being able to not only survive, but also be at home in the wilderness and the mountains. Perhaps that explains my ability to adapt to alpine climbing, and contribute to a team of more experienced alpinists.

This rescue was the beginning of my obsession. South Sister is the third highest peak in Oregon, and the South Spur / Climbers Route is a non technical, steep scree route most of the summer. We left the trail head as the sun was setting, and we knew there was a distinct possibility of a technical rescue on the glaciers above. Our subjects were just below the summit, and we suspected them to be stuck somewhere near Hodge's crest. Due to snow staying late, what is usually a steep trail ended up being snow fields. We had to find our own way in the dark through scree and snow, kick stepping all night. In the end we had over 6000 feet of gain, and we escorted them from the summit down at sunrise.

Team One spent the night with them, giving the subjects warm clothes and creating a shelter. They roped them past the glacier, and from there team two (us) escorted them down. It was a rather simple mission all said and done, and did not require all the technical gear I carried (the young grunt gets the rope / gear). What did happen was transform what I thought about tackling summits.

We climbed the Southwest Ridge alongside Lewis Glacier (where we had an hour bivy at the base to melt additional water) , which leads to the summit itself as the moon was setting and the sun was rising. At the summit, awaiting the arrival of Team One with the three subjects, we were able to watch the sun rise. It was cold, but the air was absolutely still. The mountain cast its shadow on the terrain some 6000 feet below. The mountain lakes were strewn about, and we could see little headlamp dots rising to the summit. It was amazing. It was the genesis.

Now I feel I am at the bottom of a mountain, looking upwards, and feeling overwhelmed and also enthralled; I am a fledgling mountaineer, with the training and knowledge I need to start, but not the experience to rely on yet. It makes even the most simple summits an exhilarating. Exposure still can make me dizzy, and a multi-pitch scramble can still scare me. Perhaps that will never change entirely, and perhaps it shouldn't. I know some level of fear creates a focus, and without it, one can get careless. However I am in a hurry to get past my amateur status, and start to gain the experience that will make me a wise mountain guru. I suppose the first step to gaining that status is patience.

Photo One: After a night of climbing, reaching the flats below Moraine Lake. The support teams brought us breakfast and switched out our heavy packs for their lighter ones. They are my heroes. Summit in the background.

Photo Two: Greeting the husband and father of the subjects. He didn't get any sleep that night either. The whole family was very kind, very grateful. Nice bunch of people.

Photo Three: Me still managing a smile after an impromptu night of no sleep and lots of climbing.

Oui Oui

On Mount Washington, I apparently stuttered the word *we* on the down climb. I stuttered it several times I am told. Stress comes out differently for us all. Apparently for me I sounds like I am French. Oui, Oui. Now I cannot hide from it. People call me this who weren't even there.

Last Sunday I climbed with a group of SAR people. Compared to Mount Washington, it was an entirely different experience.

Climbing Mount Thielsen was absolutely sublime. It was a perfect mix of sensations, of terror, of joy, of focus, and the distractions trying to break it. I had moments of weakness, and moments of strength. It lacked as much sustained exposure, and it was not as technical, however its 90 foot summit block with thousands of feet of exposure made for a perfect climb. Its high end class IV scramble was so much fun I am actually looking forward to another chance to climb it. The optional class IV scramble up the dinner plate flakes gave me a shot of adrenaline and was a transcendental climb. It took a deep breath, and clearing my mind to continue.

Irony is, when I finished, I realized it was almost relaxing and meditative, that climbing this mountain cleared my mind, without being destructively bleachy like Mount Washington.

The most important part of all my climbs so far, has been connecting with those I have climbed with, and those I have met along the way. Mountains bring together people that might never meet, never find common ground otherwise. My only regret is that I was unable to help Katie and Danny summit. There is always a reason to return.

Vertigo

September 8th I was invited to climb Mount Washington with three fellow experienced Mountain Rescue Members. While I had climbed non technical peaks, and I had climbed rock, and trained technical rescue rigging, this was my first try at a technical peak with such exposure.

I didn't realize how much of an impact this experience would have on me. This might not have been the spark that started my new found passion, but it did change my perception of that passion, and expanded my understanding of myself far greater than I thought possible.

I have never been so afraid in my life. I have never felt such a sustained sense of risk, and I have never grappled with the feeling of impending doom like I did that day. It started as a creeping feeling during a scramble on unstable rock and scree, with a fall having potentially fatal results, and continued to grow as I progressed in the climb. Once on the mild 5.3/4 first pitch, on rope, I did feel much better. However, after the first pitch, the focus I briefly had was left behind with the security of the rope that was left coiled at the anchor; the final 3 pitches were crumbly class IV scrambles with brief 10-20 foot pitches of low 5.x.

On several occasions I experienced vertigo -- the world around me spun, and I felt as if my inner ear was removed, rattled around in a can, and then put back upside down. The keen awareness that a single wrong step, or a failing hold would result in an ugly death grew within me, and caused me to fight the shakes. All I could think about was getting down to solid ground, but I knew I could only continue to climb upwards. Perhaps it was the strength of the climber I followed, or the opinions of the two Legends of Mountain Rescue climbing behind me, but I continued, as if a mechanical driving force was moving me upwards. I was a puppet of a subconscious self. I knew it was perfectly acceptable to stop wherever I felt, but I was physically unable to stop the motion forward.

I might sound like I was foolish, or allowing desire to summit, to accomplish this climb control me. I knew the consequences of a fall. I also knew that the climbing was within my abilities. I have climbed at a significantly higher level. It was the mental and emotional challenge that I faced that day. Even a sidewalk with a few thousand feet of exposure can make one feel uneasy. I instead realized that it wasn't anything but an inner strength overcoming fear. The power within my subconscious being was carrying me through. It took over my failing conscious self, it shouted at my insecurities, and allowed me to persevere. I focused on my next step, the next hold, and little else. I made my bubble of focus so narrow that I was able to refocus some.

I must admit I wasn't completely successful at controlling my thoughts, my racing mind, or my anxieties and fears. Through all my aviation training, skiing, climbing, biking, I have never directly faced obvious deadly consequences. The danger I was in was no more than traveling in a car, according to statistics. However there was no denying how much closer I felt to an untimely end.

Even though the act of climbing is enjoyable, and certain aspects of that climb did bring me joy, I wanted to return to safe ground with all my being. I felt joy at the summit, and just as much at the base of the mountain. It was strange to me, when after the climb I found myself staring at pictures, and planning my next climb. Why would I want to return to such an unstable place with such obvious peril? Is it our hard-wired need for facing death? Is it our stale offices, our creature comforts, our temperature controlled homes that cause us to push ourselves in this way? Could it be I craved returning to a place that narrowed my focus, and sharpened every experience? A few hours of vertigo, anxiety, exhaustion, suffering, and terror had created a new high water mark.

I wanted that sublime mix of triumph, focus, fear, and joy. It would take a missed attempt before I would find it again.

Fear, Exhaustion, and Desire

Helen Keller wrote, "Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all."

I have begun a journey- not only of body, but of mind and spirit. The allure of climbing has tugged at me since early childhood, which would cause me to climb the shelves, the refrigerator, and various appliances in the house. I could barely walk, but even then I wanted to be higher. Later in my childhood, trees, and other boyhood obstacles served this purpose. I was never the most brazen child; I knew fear, and what the result of my actions might be if I didn't respect it. However, I continued to feel a pull to climb. Only second to the school art room, the local rock gym, and boulders around town, were my sanctuaries. However, the mountains around my home town did not call to me to climb them, just only to observe. Perhaps I was lazy, but I would like to say it was more out of respect that I did not climb them until I myself was ready.

Now they do call to me. They seem to consume my thoughts in the way that art and flying do. They seem to draw me close, a dangerous but necessary communion with nature and a direct confrontation of inner being. I am entirely unsure where this relationship with nature will go. I only know that I must see it to its end. This strange force, this strange phenomenon -- I call it anti-gravity. It is a pull stronger than the one keeping us on safe ground. It is the unknown force that drives us to continue upward at our own peril, defying death that is one slip away. Few things have pulled me in this way. In spite of fear and exhaustion, I continue to rise, with some strange desire to continue to dare the death at my doorstep to leap out and take me. A mountain seems to have its own gravitational force moving upward, that some of mankind cannot resist.

While death finds us all, to truly live is a choice. Crouching in the shadow of fear, hiding from that which comes to us all, is only a decision to deny any meaningful existence we can have. Without confronting death, we cannot experience life. Our life's end will come, and we know not when that will be, or how. So let us consume the marrow of life with a fervor unrelenting and without hesitation. Let not the threads of fear control us, but remind us of one thing: we are alive, and this time is ours to use, ours to bring us closer to truth, closer to the mystery of our very being. Let this life be a testament to the human spirit and the fire within. Let the flames of our being temper the world around us. Life is short, so spend it wisely.