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 Why
People Climb Part II by
Susan E.B. Schwartz
To someone who doesn’t climb, the
idea of climbing is probably like the way I regard Olympic aerial skiing —
decidedly eye catching, somewhat admirable, arguably absurd, completely
unimaginable.
So when I started rock climbing in
1990, I surprised myself. Climbing had been near the top of my mental list I
periodically updated: “Things I’d swore I’d never do.” In the late 1980’s, in
Utah on a ski trip, I turned to friends after our car drove by a cliff filled
with rock climbers. “One thing I know for sure,” I recall joking,
“that’s something I’d never do.”
But there are things in life that
you just don’t know about until you’re there. It was the winter of 1990, and I
tried climbing once, just for the experience. Immediately, I was hooked. And
soon found myself spending nearly every weekend in the Shawangunk Mountains.
(For those unfamiliar with the Gunks, look west from Main Street, at that ridge
of sparkling white cliff.)
In 1995, I began writing a book,
Into the Unknown — an adventure biography of Gunks climbing pioneer, Hans
Kraus—married, started a family, and kept working fulltime at my corporate
job. Increasingly, any little free time went to my family and the book;
eventually, nothing was left over for climbing.
This past spring had a happy
double coming out: kids out of diapers, book out in print. After many years, I
decided to try climbing again.
It was one of those glorious early
spring days — golden sunshine, no black flies, not hot but not cold, no black
flies, congenial and compatible climbing partner, no black flies.
And it came rushing back: There
are many obvious reasons not to climb — the undeniable risk towers at the
top of the list. And there are many obvious reasons to climb — most people
would cite its physical and mental challenges.
But there are also many obscure
reasons to climb. In the latter category, here is my personal list of the top
ten:
Ten Obscure Reasons To Climb
- The Sights - Obvious, yes? A non climber could
retort: Can’t you just hike up a path to the summit from the other side
and get the same summit view! Ah, but it’s really not the same. You think
you see the same pastoral rolling landscape, turkey vultures swooping through
the sky, houses in the distant countryside below, as perfect and intricate as
Dutch miniature paintings. But it’s a little known scientific and geological
phenomenon: You see things differently when on belay, tied to a tree, on
the side of the cliff, overhanging space. Go figure.
- The sounds - Walk down the Carriage Road, the
dirt trail below the cliffs, and you’ll hear distinctive sounds of climbing
wafting from above… the time honored refrain of climbers singing out to each
other: On belay…off belay. . . Is that you? Yes, yes, that’s
me… Off rappel… And then the sounds from the Carriage Road itself,
as climbers announce their approach — the clink-clink of the climber’s rack,
as varying sized and shaped steel carabiners and “pieces of protection” sway
and clang against each other as a climber walks. (Years ago, climbers carried
an old fashioned type of climbing gear called hexes —the size, shape, and
wonderful sound of cow bells.)
- The smell - A non-climber could say, logically,
But I can smell the rock from the bottom! But it’s not the same as
deeply inhaling from at least one hundred feet up, belaying your partner, nose
against the rock. And what a smell! Add to the distinctive musty fragrance
of Gunks rock — all that quartzite conglomerate baking in the sun —a smidgeon
of sunscreen, a dash of DEET, sweat, climber’s chalk, spilled Gatorade…
Intoxicating! Chanel #5 doesn’t come close.
- The feel - A nonclimber can say, But I can
feel the rock from the bottom! But that’s different than feeling the
varying textures and shapes as you clamber over the rock to the top. There’s
an intimate relationship between climber and rock: Hans Kraus, whom I wrote
about in Into the Unknown, would caress the rock at the start of each climbing
season and ask whether it still wanted him and would still let him climb.
Sections of Gunks rock — like the top pitch corner on the moderate classic,
Frogshead, or the roof on a climb called Drunkard’s Delight —aren’t
technically difficult, but depending on the climber’s mood, might feel either
like an adult jungle gym or a gorgeous modernist sculpture (the latter is
particularly true when ice climbing).
- The portosans - Ok, I didn’t miss the portosans
themselves. It was the concept of no indoor plumbing and peeing in the
woods. Before I started climbing, I was completely urbanized; my first time
at the cliffs, I hesitantly, blushingly, asked my climbing partner what people
did when they had to pee. (I even phrased the question delicately, “…when
they had to use the bathroom…”) When my partner pointed nonchalantly to
a tree, I was shocked. Disbelieving. As though I asked for the powder room
in an elegant house and was directed to pee behind a dining room antique
chair! And yet it was so liberating — after a weekend of camping out,
climbing, and peeing in the woods — or using smelly portosans — getting back
to indoor toilets with toilet paper beckoned like a reward. I swore I’d never
take them for granted again.
- The cruddy water bottles - Similar to above. I
was shocked the first time I climbed when my climbing partner matter of factly
offered me his water bottle. From the same bottle! I barely know him! He
isn’t even a date! And I watched a nearby large group passing around a
water bottle from one to another. I tried to imagine a Manhattan cocktail
party where six people took turns sipping from the same martini glass. Yet, I
don’t believe I ever got sick from sharing water bottles. For all I knew,
maybe it builds immunities.
- The rope - The concept of being tied to your
partner, literally depending on each other for your lives, doesn’t have an
analogy in other sports, even the buddy system in scuba diving. (As a former
scuba instructor, I can say that once you start advanced diving — teaching,
caving or shipwrecks —you’re on your own anyway —either literally diving by
yourself, or if a problem emerges, bailing yourself out.)
- The people - Few activities are as egalitarian
and inclusive as climbing, few cut across so many different demographics and
personalities. And few build such close, enduring relationships. So many of
my closest friends came to me, as it were, from climbing — and stayed close,
even if one of both of us were no longer climbing. There have been so many
wonderful people I never would have met if not for climbing — including my
husband. Climbing relationships are so intense and trusting that they often
transcend even personal relationships. It’s not uncommon for former
romantically involved couples to continue as climbing partners after the other
aspect of their relationship ends.
- Rock and Snow - The good old neighborhood store
is a dying breed— even more, when it’s more than a place of commerce, like the
iconic Rock and Snow on Main Street. Stop by Rock and Snow in the morning
before climbers leave for the cliffs, or late afternoon, after they’re
returned, and you’ll find climbers milling about, swapping latest cliff
gossip, making dinner plans, perhaps waiting for one of the many Rock and Snow
slideshows to start. If you still think Rock and Snow is “just” a climbing
shop, consider its book section — besides classic mountaineering literature,
you’ll also find titles on gay marriage and the Holocaust.
- The glow - Everyone has heard of the runner’s
high. But the climber’s glow is even headier — take runner’s adrenalin, add
skier’s thankfulness of having intact knees at end of day, plus climber’s
gratefulness and wonder of being alive at end of day. Now add the physical
satisfaction of being sweaty, muddy, scratched from summit brambles, bitten by
black flies, itchy from poison ivy. Maybe throw in an odd copperhead bite
(not uncommon at the cliffs…and you soon learn, no big deal), some sun or
windburn, perhaps a thorough drenching from being caught on the cliffs in a
Gunks rainstorm. Now imagine several hours later — you’re finally home,
standing in a steaming shower, hot water pouring down over you, clean hair,
clean body, savoring an imminent beer or glass of red wine…
Why do people climb? It feels
good to climb, and it feels good when you’ve stopped.
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