Death in Climbing, part 2
Read part 1
My connection with Alexander did not end with his death. I continually seek out climbs that he’s appreciated, scouring his Mountain Project page for comments and ratings to see what Tiger thought were routes worthy of a repeat. I long to climb Sinestra in Indian Creek once again, a chance to show Alexander that he wouldn’t have to wait forever at the anchors for me to pull though the overhanging number threes like he did on my first trip to the desert. When I went to Squamish, I elected to lead a harrowing pitch, 75’ of 5.9 friction slab with absolutely no protection, I knew would make our Fearless Leader proud (a moniker Alexander received amongst our friends for his bold climbing). I felt centered. calm. rooted. But I always knew the ultimate tribute would be the Grand Traverse.
I recently had two days off. A weather window in the Tetons conceited perfectly. I decided to blitz out to Wyoming and give it a shot. Day one would be spent acclimatizing via the Owen-Spaulding route. A decent pace of 3.5 hours brought me to the lower saddle, but I already knew I was doomed. My lungs weren’t happy with the abuse I was giving them. I was in Salt Lake City (4200’) at 10pm the night prior, the trailhead (6700’) not long ago, and now I was sucking wind and nearly falling asleep at 1:30pm on the lower saddle (11,700’). I wasn’t going to do the Grand Traverse tomorrow. I wasn’t even going to summit today. Despite the reports of verglas and ice, I decided I might as well trek up to the upper saddle (13,200’) to take a look. That took me two hours. I had enough challenge for the day. I ambled back down, welcoming the rain and accepting the darkness that fell.
Alexander’s death has made me a more conservative climber. I don’t feel bad when I back off things, when I “fail,” when I realize a goal is a little too lofty for at the moment, when I decide coming home uninjured is more important than reaching the summit. I can still be bold and push it, but the circumstances have to be right. I listen to my gut a lot more and try to not let my ego get in the way. I also understand the things that can kill me in the mountains aren’t always the things that feel scary. A lapse of judgement from lack of sleep or lack of oxygen, cutting corners in an attempt to move needlessly quickly, pressure (either internal or external) to achieve. These are the things that will ultimately do us in. Complacency kills climbers. Though I know I’ll be in good company, I don’t want to end up on a Climbers We Lost page. I hope that list is smaller with each passing year.
So how do we deal with friends that die in climbing accidents?
First and foremost, I think we can be thankful for the summits we shared together. We can show our appreciation for the smiles they brought to our face around the campfire, in the passenger seat on a long drive, or huddled in a tent as we sought refuge from thunderstorms. Second, we can learn from them. Climbers love to analyze accidents. Call it morbid curiosity, fatalistic voyeurism, or the desire to not be another AAC Accident report, it doesn’t take long into a memorial thread for someone to inevitably ask “what happened?”. While I believe this is something that can wait until all the information is gathered and the loved ones of the deceased have time to mourn, there is value in piecing together the details. Cautionary tales keep us on our toes. We owe it to our friends to not die the same way they did. Third, we can embrace the spirit of the friends that’ve gone before us. When I’m feeling scared on the wall (but ultimately not in extreme danger), I think about the boldness and confidence Alexander exhumed. I try to latch onto that feeling and channel it myself, if only for a moment. In this way I can keep his attitude towards climbing alive.
If you’ve grieved the loss of a friend or loved one because they didn’t return from the mountains, I hope you’re healing or finding the support you need. I hope my thoughts gave you an uplifting perspective, or at least let you know this experience isn’t something you’re going through alone. If you haven’t lost anyone to climbing, I hope this has prepared you in some small way for when the inevitable happens. Much love to you, as well as Alexander, Christian, Maya, Cody, Arron, Nolan, more friends of friends, and all the others.
