Effort

        And it is here, after all this effort, that I arrive at the threshold of myself. Only with much effort the true self emerges, sometimes by increments; other times all at once, to assert himself. It matters little the activity; I suppose one could achieve this state while sewing.

        For me, climbing proved to be a full spectrum focal point. Christmas catalog like planning produced various lists, as I poured over local books and maps, finding the peaks and routes that were worthy and would test me.

       After much shopping and choosing, the next planning phase began, becoming perhaps the lengthiest, most involved portion. Everything from gear to weather was considered, often at length, then decided upon.

       Then the final packing of gear, and the inevitable triage that occurs as you simply can't bring everything. As I went, I learned how little was needed really; the greatest assets in the mountains are a strong internal drive and sound mental attitude.

       And of course the road trip. Short, long; each had extensive planning involved, usually about who's going to drive; fuel, where do we stop for food, overnight camping; keep your feet off the dash.

       Finally, the arrival at the end of the road, usually quite literally, to maybe a few hours rest; other times a 15-minute prep and go, no matter the time of day or night.

       When I reach this point little else matters; we're near the threshold spoken of earlier. My only thoughts concerned the climb and my partners and my wellbeing. I am on high alert because numerous things at this point can derail days and weeks and hours of planning; a wrong choice in gear; failing to bring the proper equipment; equipment malfunction. Injury, illness. Sometimes it's simply a feeling, on anyone's part, of something forbidding. This is kind of funny when you think about it; most of the places we went to were forbidding in some respect.

       Some form of late night or early morning approach is common, varying in degree from a 1/2 hour stroll to a 6 to 7-hour (or more) suffer-fest.

       I've considered when asked why I climb, and no, it's not for the usual reasons. Yes, climbing is usually exciting, often terrifying. Somehow, I derive a certain pleasure in the challenge; the unknown. And of course, it is there. But there exists a loftier reward.

       After extensive research, I've determined the real reason that I climb is to top-out, because it is here you find yourself at the threshold, there on the edge of that impossible precipice, with at least a couple if not several large stones just lying there, waiting to be rolled off. This is known in some circles as "trundling".

       The satisfaction of rolling a big rock into a bigger void cannot be overstated; if you've not done this it cannot be explained. Maybe if you've felled a rather large tree... that might be close. But even that's too short-lived, really; nothing touches several hundred feet of anticipation, holding your breath to hear the sharp detonation; then the booming echos; the faint smell of sulfur on the breeze.

       I say roll but it is rarely that. Tipping at best; sliding usually, scraping gritty rock over equally gritty rock, see-sawing toward the edge; you will earn your reward. And better tie off, too. It's a grand thing for sure, although one cannot do this everywhere. If there's even the remotest chance of other people in the area, I forgo this ritual, this coup de grace, and celebrate being alive some other way...


       Scott Lewis
       Wallace, Id.