~Climbing Ethics~
Climbing ethics are an interesting thing. No, I'm not referring to the age-old bolted vs. unbolted argument, or development of new crags, for that matter. These issues are really pretty straightforward when you take a little time to get to the heart of the matter. What is a bit more esoteric and difficult to quantify, however, are the personal ethics of how climbing effects our social lives and the way we connect [or don't connect] with others. It is often said that climbers and mountaineers are inherently selfish and intensely focused people, prone to extremes of reason and compassion over things "normal" people find mundane or strange. This is obviously a gross generalization, but is rooted in some truths about the type of people often attracted to the big mountains.
I realized today that while it's mid-January in Colorado, and, the recent "warm" spell not withstanding, not exactly prime sending weather, I've been on rock in some form of climbing for 5 out of the past 7 days. Is this particularly unusual for me? Not really. Has it served at a catalyst to examine so deeper positive and negative issues in my life? Certainly. Monday I bouldered at Morrison [finally sent longstanding problem, yay!], Tuesday again I found myself pebble-wrestling on some crimpy red Fountain sandstone at Flagstaff, then Saturday in Eldorado Canyon climbing some fun moderates with local hardman and season vet Stu Richie. Sunday, I ventured out for a few trad and sport multipitch lines in Boulder Canyon, retreating in the afternoon as some flurries turned to snow in from the divide. As for my social life over the past week.... wait, what social life? I suppose I did go see the new Tom Ford movie "A Single Man" Friday night with a friend who seemed at one time not too long ago to be a romantic interest and now I'm hoping can just be a friend, as I sat in the movie theater absorbing the stunning visual aesthetics of the film, I realized how much I like this person and yet dislike myself for not being physically attracted to them. Realizing this also was the acceptance of my own free will and ability to trust my intuition and do what's right for me.
There are some things in my life I need to sort out before I can really have a relationship with someone else right now. Anyways, I recently read an editorial in Climbing Magazine by Majka Burkhart about trying to date non-climbers, and I have to say I instantly empathized with her in a sense. Something that has become so important and stabilizing in my life; how can I reduce this to "oh, it was fun", or "yah, we did some nice routes today"? I realized this is a very selfish and narrow attitude, but right not it works for me when other things don't, and while I don;t expect a fellow lunatic like myself, it would be nice to be around someone who empathizes when I'm not feeling sexually energetic or charismatic or creative because I'm tired from bouldering today and I'm getting up early to go to Eldo tomorrow and right now I just need to go to sleep. I'm not always like this, but sometimes I am, and I need this to be OK. No, I don;t have expensive shoes or a new Sedan or a 40" flatscreen T.V, or even comfortable enough bed to share with you, but I do think I have a darn good sense of my place in this world and a happiness that overflows on the edges of my laugh when I'm with you; I hope this is enough. I've sculpted my figure into sleek lines without the aid of weight machines or treadmills, and while this seems shallow and vain, it's hard work and I'm proud of it.
Falling 35 feet into a crevasse in the British Columbia backcountry and breaking my jaw taught me some needed humility and when to ask for help; 6 weeks with my jaw wired shut has given me a new appreciation for every powder day and bluebird morning on the rock. Two weeks ago I was down in the gloriously rugged San Juans skiing at Silverton Mountain, a gem of an anti-resort tucked into an alpine valley above it's namesake town. Being there, high in the mountains with few dozen strangers who were also friends, I felt as if the rest of the world had vanished in some kind of silent mini-apocalypse and here I was; oblivious is this little bubble from all the stuff in life that makes me sad. Sure, I hit some rocks, got a few little core shots in my skis even, but I wouldn't trade the experience for the world.
As I bootpacked up the slating knife-edge ridge of Storm Peak, a helicopter carrying eager skiers and riders buzzed over my head. Below, another group listened with nervous excitement as their guide briefed them on their flight ahead. He was strong, confident, a leader, yet also humble and safe. "I'm going to do that someday" I thought, and it was as if something unseen and looming had finally crystallized in my soul; a realization, and affirmation, "I can do this." I can't do long relationships it seems, I can't do calculus, I sure as hell can't do most popular sports, but god dammit a think I'd make a pretty good heli guide if I ever got the chance. I smiled as I realized both the freedom and the enlightenment of possibility and the daunting task of preparation.
It would be a tough road to being a real heli skiing guide, filled with training, training, and more training, more than just my WRF and little trip leading experience, and of course being a competent skier. A journey I couldn't wait to depart on, one that might shape my life into further meaning I didn't yet understand, something as terrifying and also satisfying as guiding strangers down some of the biggest regularly skied peaks in the world. In a way, I think climbing has prepared me for this; all the afternoon's spent soloing plain dumb highballs in Morrison, lapping the Flatirons, bushwacking through thickets of alder and spruce in search of backcountry powder. I'm a firm believer that if you aren't happy yourself, you can't make anyone else happy, and if this semi selfish pursuit of mild recklessness in the mountains is my path to self awareness, climb on!
