When I first began climbing, I thought the things I was learning would help me succeed; to reach the summit. It took awhile to see I was really learning to fail; because I’ve failed more than I’ve succeeded. In fact, some seasons, some years, were downright humbling. Let’s get one thing straight right off; although it held my attention for many years, I was never a world class climber. I rarely, in fact, ever got out of my armchair. I haven’t done Everest (I'd rather try Gasherbrum IV), never even climbed the Eiger, although I once looked at it; maybe that’s why I didn’t climb it.
The fall on the north face of Gunsight affected me for awhile. My journal, late August,1999 - I'm having a hard time erasing the vivid, mental image of my mother collecting all my stuff, if I were to ever die unexpectedly. She, of course, is sad and teary eyed; questions unanswered, unspoken; seeking reasons. Wanting to understand, knowing she never will. I fear not so much death itself, beyond the primitive instinct that gives us fight or flight, but how my death would adversely affect others; namely her...and my father, who would, of course, view it as a waste, senseless...grieving nonetheless.
Our next objective that month was the classic Liberty Crack on the east face of the Liberty Bell, obvious there on the way up over Washington Pass. A fair grade V; one long day, even with an early start. I had an obvious horse to get back on.
August 16, a few days before Ken and I attempt the Liberty Crack. More than a dance with death, or of being cavalier, it is a re-confirmation of the soul, of the spirit of life. If I don't climb this one and more to come, how will I ever face myself? My spirit will die before my body and that to me is unacceptable. I fear more the long, agonizing death of complacency and luxury or comfort...the death of the spirit. I love facing challenges, hardships and fears. Not that I deliberately seek them; the nature of the things I do is enough.
Friday, August 20, just back from the Bell. I think they're starting to leave spare change lying about...they know I'm broke. Kenny footed the bill for the Bell trip. Last Tuesday morning everything just seemed outa-sync. The previous late afternoon we had driven up from Mazama (after spending the day sorting, packing and resting; did I also mention hydrating and peeing an awful lot?), to suss out the approach and glass the route one last time.
Fixed lines hung from the top of the second pitch of Liberty Crack and a couple guys were hanging it out on the Thin Red Line. We did supper while feeding the mosquitoes, yakking with the tourists (scored some free O.J.), and watched the fellas on the T.R.L. break out their port-a-ledge. After food we went and found the trail up to where we wanted to go and returned. Darkness came and we finally retreated to our sleeping bags in the back of Ken’s car. A 2:00 am wake up call was agreed on, giving ourselves a generous 1 1/2 to 2 hours to the base and girded.
3:27 am sharp we awoke and stumbled about, sorting and packing and eating again, blinding each other with our headlamps and generally making no headway, until Kenny suggested we drive down to the trailhead and sort it out... damn! I thought I did all this yesterday! It seems I'm never done sorting and organizing and packing. We park along the road near the trail and do a shortened version of what went on earlier. Pre-climb jitters and nerves. I had them anyway. Ken watches me with virgin eyes; he'll learn.
My headlamp seems fuzzy as we bounce and weave our way up the steep hillside, blundering around a bit; I was just here a few hours ago. Locate the trail... another. We stop and rest mightily towards the top of the talus, realizing how futile it is to try and make up the time. I slowly become aware of rocks and boulders the size of automobiles and small structures and the Bell looms above in the pale morning dim. I am humbled.
We reach the foot of a short snow section and finish gearing up. Soon, we're scratching our way up the cupped snow to the very base of the cliff. Wow, what a moment! So full of anticipation, fraught with anxiety. The fixed lines hang there, teasing us. Ken, who gets the first pitch, decides to have a look at the left-hand start (there’s two options), so we go out and up the snow a little ways. The day is beginning to dawn and the valley sweeps out from our vantage in fine fashion, giving pause to consider the 1st ascensionists.
We decide against the left-hand start and begin working our way back down to the right-hand start. We hear voices; there, below us, two guys working their way out of the trees and up the snow patch. Must be the guys with the fixed lines. We're about 20 feet above the start, clearly heading in that direction, and up they come, without hesitation, and hop in the moat right in front of us and begin gearing up, putting on rock shoes, breaking out ropes...what? Just like that, we got the classic bump; dissed. They hadn't even asked us our intentions. Well, that tacks on a couple hours to an already late starting day, seems like we're right on par here. We drop our gear and hang out on a flat place in the snow. I throw a mental temper-tantrum and resign myself to a longer day...what else can we do? I roll a smoke and we wait for the guys with the fixed lines to come jump in front of us as well. Ken feels bad because he's the one who wanted to check out the left-hand start or we'd be up on the 1st pitch by now, ahead of the claim-jumpers. I tell him not to worry, some things you just can't foresee. Shortly, we hear other voices down in the talus; sound Russian. They gear up and start up; I move down by the start in case they're not the ones' with the fixed lines. Man, I'm not used to such a traffic jam.
Note: following a series of errors, we got a seriously late start and ended up bailing after getting to just below the Lithuanian Lip. Kenny wasn't feeling right and I didn't feel like pushing him. We'll be back.
Sep. '99, N. Idaho
Sep. '99, N. Idaho
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