Sponsored Athletes
Note: In January, 2010 I asked my sponsored athletes to write mountain-specific essays on a series of provotive topics. Their essays are posted below. - Rob Shaul
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FAILURE
By Jan Ottobre
In March of 2007 I became only the 2nd woman ever to snowmachine over the top of Snow King Mountain. Only 50% of the men that race the snowmachine hillclimb circuit have ever reached the top of Snow King. It was an immense accomplishment in the sport, and an amazing, fantastic experience for me. Made me famous.
And the next year began on a high. I led in overall points in two classes on the hill climb circuit coming into the Jackson Hill Climb at Snow King.
It was a beautiful sunny day, my entire family was there and everyone was sure I would become the first woman to climb Snow King.... twice!
I thought I was totally prepared. I was even a little cocky.
Qualifying happens first. You have to ride your sled to the first catwalk of Snow King under a time limit to make it to the finals the next day and have a chance at the summit. That day, just 5 of 21 women riders qualified.
Perhaps it was the conditions, maybe it was my mind set - I wasn't one of them.
I didn't qualify for the finals.
A huge failure. One of the biggest in my life.
Failing qualify for the finals after being the second woman to make it to the top of Snow King the previous year was was the hardest thing I’ve had to deal with in my racing career.
I hadn't met expectations. I'd let everyone down. I was embarrassed .... humiliated .... crushed.
Time went on and I fought through. More hill climbs came, I won several, but crashed plenty too.
Finally I began to realize something . . . maybe my failure to qualify wasn’t failure after all. Maybe it was just life.
Living in mountain country offers us an unlimited array of opportunities. What we do with those opportunities is completely up to us. And with the choices we make - as professional athletes, as mothers, as fathers, as coaches - comes success, but also failure.
So how do we accept that by taking these chances we might fail? Why would we want to train as hard as we do, and take the chances that we do, when it is quite possible that we may fail?
I so badly wanted to learn how to snowmachine with the boys when I was in my early-20s. This was not normal – it was barely acceptable. But I did it, and the experience I gained and the lessons I learned are what have allowed me to accomplish the things I have accomplished in this sport.
Sure, I’ve crashed as many times as I’ve won races, I’ve broken hoods and windshields, I’ve hurt myself – but I have never failed. If you take the chance to pursue the opportunity you are offered, you can't fail.
Overcoming the feeling of being a failure is one of the biggest challenges in life, especially for those of us that strive to excel at our specific sports. It’s hard to convince yourself that, gosh, I’ve spent hours and hours at Mountain Athlete, and I’ve trained in the field and I’ve worked and sacrificed and neglected my children, all for what? To come in second or second to last? That’s the tough part. But never should we feel that we have failed.
Failure is not risking it. Never stepping outside the box. Failure is to not make a commitment and to not try your hardest at whatever you decide to do. No one on the hillclimb race circuit remembers any of the times I crashed, or didn’t qualify at the Jackson Hillclimb. They only remember the time I went over the top.
It’s up to me to accept that not qualifying the next year, or that coming in 2nd or 3rd or last at the other races is not failure. Concentrating so hard on the difficult parts of a race course and then crashing or missing a gate in the lower, easy part of the course is not failure. Failure is quitting after the disappointment of not finishing to your expectations. Failure is to never try it in the first place.
In the constant uncertainty that is life, I believe one thing to be certain. Take the chance. You may work and train to be the best, and you may still come in only second . . . that is life. It is never failure.
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PERSEVERANCE
By Jessica Baker
A young girl, I was slow to learn how to ride a bicycle.
My training wheels were attached to my two-wheel for two years longer than most of my peers. Although devastated, I was determined to make it work. Hours, days, months, were spent trying to balance on two wheels, only to crash and burn every time. Road rash on my hands and knees, I watched all my friends ride past me.
Defeat fed my fire. I fell and got back up countless times, for over a year. I was hospitalized for an injury to my groin while trying to master the balance needed.
Finally, one day, it happened. All the hard work, all the scrapes and bruises, all the humiliation, came to a head as I rode down a hill on two wheels, finally triumphant.
I can remember the feeling, the freedom, and relief, as I coasted down the hill balanced over my two-wheel bicycle. From that day forward, I had a respect and love for riding my bicycle, deeper and more engrained than most of my peers. It meant something special to be able to ride my bicycle freely, and I still feel that way today. I went on to become a champion mountain bike racer, and have since dedicated much of my time commuting sans car, with bicycle.
The first time I climbed the Grand Teton on July 1997 via the Exum direct route, I found a new goal in which to dedicate my focus. As I scaled the peak, I saw the Stettner and Ford Couloirs filled with snow and thought to myself, “I will ski this mountain some day…” In 1999, I moved to Jackson, WY. I dedicated my life to my skiing and mountaineering pursuits. As I met accomplished ski mountaineers like Bill Briggs, Mark Newcomb, Stephen Koch, Doug Coombs, and more, I gathered their stories of their Grand Teton ski descents, and cataloged every detail in my memory. I studied the aerial photos in the Teton climber’s guide, and made it my mission to attain the skills necessary for a clean ascent and descent of the mountain.
At one point someone pointed out to me that I could be the second woman to ski The Grand Teton, and the first in a non-guided capacity. While this appealed to me, I knew that success would not come without hard work, and that I would need to be patient and focused, as I worked towards my goal to ski The Grand.
For the next four years, I gained necessary skills to get myself up the Grand in full alpine style. And then it was time… I first attempted to ski The Grand Teton in early May of 2004. I started from the Lupine meadows parking lot, with my ski/climbing partner, at 1:00 am. Our packs weighed almost 70 lbs each, as we had ice tools, skis, ski boots, crampons, food, water, first aid, ropes, and light bivy kits, all of which was on our backs while we walked up the first 2000 vertical feet without snow. We reached the Teepee Glacier at 5am after a mixture of slogging on dirt, scree, rocks, then skinning. The weather was clear at the moment, but a bank of clouds was peering out from the West. We ascended the Teepee in crampons, came around the col to the Stettner Couloir, and I began lead climbing water ice and hard snow in the Stettner’s first pitch. As I led a fierce wind picked up, and the cloudbank from the West began to envelope the top of the Grand. Within 30 minutes I could barely hang on to my ice tools as the wind threatened to blow me off the mountain. Ok, strike one, retreat, and try again.
I could take up the next six pages with stories of my following attempts at skiing The Grand Teton. Perhaps some stats would suffice. Total attempts: 7. Vertical feet climbed: 35,000+. Vertical feet descended: 35,000+. Total Pounds Carried on my back: 360. Number of sleepless nights: 10. Number of close calls: 3. Attacks by bears: 1. Number of 12:00 am starts: 5. Calories burned: 72,000. Number of women who skied it while I was still attempting: 3. Total miles traveled on foot/ski: 70.
And finally, finally the weather, the stamina, the mental capacity, the fitness, the partners, the snow conditions all came together June 18, 2006. My goal to ski The Grand Teton came to fruition. As I finished the last lead of climbing up the Ford Couloir and ascended to the top pillar of rock on The Grand Teton, I took a deep breathe and let out a cry of relief, of accomplishment, of victory. I clicked into my skis as my ski mountaineering partner cheered on, and I skied all the way down the Ford Couloir in perfect corn conditions, without rope or belay, pure freedom on skis.
I was skiing a castle in the sky; floating on a cloud of bliss. All the effort, two years of attempting, seven years of a dream and preparation, had all come to fruition through pure unadulterated perseverance. All the disappointment, the failure, the hard work, was superceded by the perseverance, and the ultimate goal behind it.
To persevere is to consciously suffer. It is the backbone of a true athlete. It is a suffering with purpose in mind, with the completion of a goal as reward at the other end.
Perseverance instills humility and generates respect and perspective in my pursuits. Through perseverance I have found meaning and true appreciation for my accomplishments as a professional athlete.
More will come, and I will embrace it, for I know what lies on the other side of the storm.
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INTEGRITY
By Ben Gilmore
Integrity 1) being complete; wholeness 2) unimpaired condition; soundness 3) uprightness, honesty, and sincerity
Before I write about integrity and how I think it relates to climbing, I’d like to clarify my views on the raging ethical debates common in the climbing world.
I’m a strong believer in an essay written about twenty years ago by Yvon Chouinard, entitled simply ““Coonyard Mouths Off, Part 2.” .” In his essay, Chouinard separates style from ethics, and he argues ethics are very important while style just doesn’t matter.
His definition of style describes the actions of climbers that don’t affect the rock and don’t affect other people, such as what they wear, whether they climb free or with aid, how fast or light they climb, or whether they use fixed ropes or not. These things only have an effect on the immediate climber’s experience, and they leave the mountain unchanged – unless, that is, they don’t remove their fixed ropes.
The example of leaving fixed ropes behind crosses the line into ethics, which Chouinard defines as actions that leave a mark on the mountain or have an effect on other people. Other examples of ethics are how climbers place fixed protection, how prepared they are for self-sufficiency, or how accurately they report their climb.
Much of the current debate in climbing makes the mistake of not separating style from ethics, and this leaves climbers arguing about stylistic differences.
I don’t care how fast people climb, whether they take a pack or a sleeping bag or not, if they pull on gear, or if they use fixed ropes. Judging climbers by their style just seems elitist and competitive to me, and I try to stay away from it.
I’m more concerned about things like bolts next to cracks, trash and gear jettisoned in order to go faster, rescues made necessary by incompetence or unpreparedness, and dishonesty or leaving out pertinent details when reporting climbs to others.
There are climbers out there with poor ethics, and I think it’s easy for them to shut out or disregard criticism about their ethics when people criticize their style in the same breath. There are also climbers who are sacrificing clean ethics in order to push the envelope in modern fast and light style.
The three definitions of integrity described above give a good framework for thinking about the word and how it relates to climbing and style and ethics.
1) Being complete; wholeness – is a route finished at the top of the difficulties or at the summit? To me, summits matter and I don’t feel like I’ve finished an alpine route unless I get to the very top. I can still have a lot of fun and adventure on a climb when I don’t quite make it to the summit, but I have a greater sense of integrity about my effort if I actually stand on the top. Usually post-holing across that corniced summit ridge when I’m exhausted at altitude has been one of the hardest parts of my climbs.
2) Unimpaired condition; soundness – how prepared was I for the climb? Sometimes accidents just happen because climbing is a sport with inherent risk, but too often rescues are needed because people get in over their heads or don’t come to the climb with the right judgment, skills, or equipment. One of my personal goals is to train hard enough at Mountain Athlete to prevent my back from going out high on a climb.
3) Uprightness, honesty, and sincerity – am I telling the truth about a route and how I climbed it, or am I sandbagging or leaving important details out of the story? I like to be completely honest and humble, rather than reporting in a way that is somehow designed to make me appear more strong or brave or competent than I really am. Most of all, I want my climbing achievements to speak for themselves.
I don’t claim perfection or complete integrity in my life as a climber.
My style of climbing is not always pure – I’ve used fixed lines, I chicken out and say, “take!” sometimes. I like to bring bivy gear on long alpine routes. But I don’t really care what anyone thinks about those things.
My ethics have been pretty clean but not always pure as well. Lapses in ethics are mistakes that lessen my feeling of integrity on particular routes. We all make mistakes and have to live with them, but I it’s integrity that reminds us to learn from them.
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FEAR
By Mattie Sheafor
Fear and I have an uneasy alliance.
The sick feeling in my stomach is uncomfortable, but facing it has always proved beneficial, even productive to me, in the long run.
Climbing is the sport I use to shine light in the dark corners. There is a familiar cadence to this sport for me after all these years. It is a discipline I can lean up against and trust in. Gravity always wins. The rules are clear, if unforgiving.
Fear plays fiercely in this arena. Reigning it to a slow dance rhythm is sometimes the best I manage and I stumble along at that.
When I was younger I believed that eliminating fear was the big key to unlocking climbing harder things. I don’t anymore.
I now believe that vanquishing fear would actually make me more vulnerable: my instincts less keen and my responses less sharp. I’ve come around to believing that I’m better off to know when the stakes are high, to know it to my marrow and try to harness the energy that comes with that for my own ends. It makes sense that fear helps us evolve, keeps our DNA moving on.
These days I consider fear to be a rude messenger with screeching volume, piercing intensity, the weight of doubt, and way too much personal knowledge of me. Sounds like a candidate for a restraining order maybe…And while I almost never like how fear informs me, I have come to believe that I deny its news at my peril.
We can probably agree. A clear assessment of exposure followed with recognition of consequences goes a long way toward good judgment. It’s important to know how many chips are on the table when you are digesting the hand you’ve been dealt. Often just as you get your head around the realities of the situation…Voila! That potent fear cocktail is already coursing through your bloodstream.
Your mouth goes dry, leg starts shaking, water sprouts from every pour. Thoughts bounce rapidly in all directions. Self doubt, recrimination, anxiety…all manner of creatures that live quietly under the bed come out screaming. It’s loud and mean and battering.
How to keep steady? How to avoid freezing up or is opposite cousin, blindly rush through a minefield of consequences. Fight or Flight??!!!!
Keep your head. Stay in control.
You chose how to respond to fear. Not the other way around. You can always hold your center. Identify what is still working in your favor. Sort a strategy to turn quickly the tide.
Lose your center to fear and all is lost. This is a sure thing. Like gravity, another clear, unforgiving, rule.
Best to look fear in the eye and find out what it has for me. The uncomfortable arise and wash over me. I listen and answer each in turn, calm as I can. Not easy.
I use a checklist to organize concerns and options. Big stuff has the most momentum. Identify what might kill you first, and work your way through it.
Change the trajectory of just one thing and you might change the situation. You have saved yourself or your partner from big consequences. You can "thank" fear for making you aware of the opportunity.
Even before the precipice, in the planning stages of adventure, fear can play a helpful role.
Canadian climber, boater, and pilot, Will Gadd, calls it the “positive power of negative thinking”. Will considers and thinks through possible negative outcomes in advance of an event. He proactively uses fear for productive purposes. His mind throws out all these riveting, creative, anxiety driven problems and he gets the opportunity to use his intellect and experience to solve them ahead of time!
When you put yourself in a stressful situation fear will join you. So it goes. Expect it. Train for it. Do your homework, run through every possible scenario, keep your sense of humor and mental flexibility. Then buckle up, or pull down, as climbers say, and give it everything, knowing you’re not alone, that fear is certainly in the seat beside you waiting to pounce. All fine, as long as you hold the wheel.
Fear arrives when I'm climbing and I grudgingly admit it in. Fear almost always brings something useful, even though I still resent its presence.
I feel fear when I say goodbye to the climbers I care about, hardly matters if they are bound for Mt. Foraker or Lander. I fear losing them and this is based on painful experience. Fear reminds me that I need to tell them how I feel while I have them in front of me, that I need make the best use of my time and energy-and live it.
Without fear in my life I might live in a narrower space, not the broader one I seek.
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AMBITION
By Christian Santelices
It was an audacious plan – to climb twenty of the Fifty Classic Climbs of North America, a list of the fifty best climbs based on aesthetics and history compiled by Allen Steck and Steve Roper. My good friend Hans Florine got a hold of the book and originally thought of climbing all fifty in fifty days. Hans had not read the book yet and so didn’t see routes like the Hummingbird Ridge on Mt. Logan, a ridge of corniced snow and ice in the Yukon Territory first climbed in 1962. Since that time it has been ascended in its entirety only one other time. The first ascent took over thirty days.
As ambitious young climbers, we wanted to challenge ourselves and make a name for ourselves. Hans was already a world renowned speed climber, having won the World Speed Climbing Championships in Europe and holding speed records on El Capitan and Half-Dome. Nancy Feagin was one of America’s few who had scaled Half-Dome and El Capitan in single day efforts. Willie Benegas was one of the “Patagonian Brothers.” He and his twin brother Damian taught themselves to climb on the loose sedimentary rock near their home on the Argentine coast. Well known for their energy and enthusiasm, they inspired people with wild tales of “seat of the pants” mountaineering.
Then there was me. I had learned to climb from some of the foremost Yosemite climbers at the time, and was a collegiate rower. But to be invited by Hans for this challenge was a huge boost to my ego and budding climbing career. To that point in my short climbing career I had climbed in the Alps, on El Capitan, and some other sport climbing endeavors. But my name had not been established, and I sought sponsors and fame and glory as a climber. I saw this as my chance.
My ambition fueled my desire to train as hard for something as I’ve ever trained. I did not want to let my teammates down and not be able to complete any part of any ascent.
What ensued was one of the greatest adventures of my life. Thanks to all of our dedication to the idea, we became a strong team and moved smoothly through every ascent on our twenty-day tour through the Western United States.
Ambition can be a powerful tool to make dreams come true. Ambition can focus the mind toward completing difficult tasks, to seeking out the right connections to make something happen. But it can also be blinding when not coupled with humility. History is littered with characters who let their ambition cloud their judgment, seeking the rewards of power and fame without thinking of a thought to the collateral effects of their desires on other people.
My own experiences with blind ambition helped to steer me on a path of humility and reflection, allowing me to focus my ambition in ways that benefit my career, but also my family, friends and community. On a guided trip to the fairytale landscapes of Patagonia, I was the junior guide on a trip with a leading adventure travel company. My goal was to get a regular job with this company and show both the guides and the clients that I was the best guide around. My ambition fueled my desire to work hard, but to also show off for the clients and other guides. In a quiet taxi at the end of the trip, sitting with my two co-guides, I asked “so what did you guys think about the trip?” I was absolutely stunned when one of them said, “Well I thought it pretty much sucked. You were an asshole the whole time.” The other guide nodded in agreement.
In my quest to be the best, and show others how great I was, I managed to alienate my teammates, the guys that were supposed to be my allies. I think about that lesson often. Good leaders use their ambition to move the goals of their group forward, but use humility to temper their personal goals and be sure to take into consideration the goals and ambitions of those who are following. Those seeking to rise to the top through ambition would do well to remember that burning bridges along the way will ultimately lead to unkept promises, fewer friends, and an ultimately unsatisfying experience.
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PROFESSIONALISM
By Andy Bardon
Climbing was a major part of my life for a number of years before I was asked to join a guide service. I would hit the road for weeks on end pushing myself both physically and mentally to attain personal goals with only intrinsic rewards. No money, sponsors, or recognition. Just a rope, a partner, and a mutual goal. Perfect.
After being asked to join a guide service in Jackson WY I realized that I had a lot to learn about professionalism in the mountains. Through my time spent with senior guides, as well as some serious personal reflection on my previous climbing experiences, I have learned a number of valuable lessons about professionalism that I try to convey to clients each time I head out into the mountains.
1) Focus on what you do have, not on what you don’t have. This lesson was learned high on a face in California when I realized that I didn’t have extra gear to protect a long pitch of climbing that I was leading. The 180 foot pitch of rock climbing had very parallel cracks which called for numerous pieces of the same size. Turns out my partner and I only brought doubles of our camming devices to 3 inches. By focusing on the gear that I did have, as well as maintaining a positive outlook, I was able to finish the pitch by back cleaning and bumping pieces. This simple lesson has since been applied to my daily life on numerous occasions. Focus on the resources that are available to you at the moment, and do the best you can with what you have.
2) Get the right people on the bus. This lesson has really rang true in the mountains and on big walls. In order to have a safe experience in the alpine environment, or big wall, there simple are character traits that are essential. It boils down to discipline. You can have all the motivation in the world, but if you don’t start with disciplined thought, and disciplined action, the results can be disastrous. It has been important to find intrinsically motivated people to climb with, but it has also been important to find partners that exhibit professionalism without being asked. Racking gear where it belongs, making sure that the anchors that we are climbing or sleeping on are bomber, coiling the rope in an organized fashion, and eating/drinking enough to go the distance are all characteristics of a solid partner. These traits don’t have to be discussed, they are simply part of taking a disciplined approach to experiences in the hills. The right people are self-motivated, and they are self-disciplined. The right people consistently exhibit professionalism.
3) Be fully engaged and in the moment. My climbing partner, friend, and mentor Mark Givens had a unique gift of being very much ‘present’ while both guiding clients as well as climbing on off days. Clients would respond to Mark knowing that he was giving them his undivided attention, and as a result they would give more to the experience knowing that they were being watched closely. By being fully engaged yourself, you will affect the attitude and actions of those around you.
Another mentor named George Gardner was able to bring the best out of his clients, often teen groups, by employing similar tactics. After introducing himself to the clients, George would lead by example, and engage the group in activities that would prepare them for the days adventure. George showed me that by being fully present, and by truly giving, one is able to inspire others to do the same.
4) Be a curious student of your craft and learn from others with wisdom and experience. As a young guide, I am consistently inspired by the professionalism exhibited by the senior guides, and I humbled to be able to learn from such a passionate and committed peer group. Watching the senior guides work has given me a true appreciation for the level of commitment required to accept the fact that other people are entrusting you with their lives. Senior Exum guide Christian Santelices is a prime example. No detail is too small, and nothing is overlooked. Planning and preparation are key, and Christian’s ability to empower the clients while maintaining a safe climbing environment is impressive. When you are with him, you feel important. Better yet, all the days work is done with a smile on his face. Professionalism, for sure.
5) Safety is a top priority. I had an experience high on the Grand Teton (13,770) two summers ago with Rod Newcomb, who is in his mid-70’s, and one of the most senior of the Exum guides, that left me inspired. Rod had soloed the Owen-Spalding route for his birthday, and took two hours out of his day to climb around the upper mountain with me telling stories and laughing all the while. He showed me all the tricks that he has learned from 45 years of guiding, and was willing to re-climb sections of the mountain with me that day just to show me the safest way to guide the routes. Rod taught me that there was no margin for error, showed me specifically where accidents had occurred in the past, and that it is critical to learn from others mistakes. I watched as Rod coiled a roped after we rappelled, and every coil was precise and perfect. Rod was eager to share his knowledge and experience, and I am humbled to have tied into a rope with such a fine guide.
The lessons about professionalism that I have learned from climbing in the mountains and from other Exum Guides have stuck with me in my daily life, and serve as life lessons, not just climbing tips. Take responsibility for your actions always. Show up early and be prepared. Surround yourself with the right people. Do the best you can with what you have. Learn from your mistakes, and don’t make them again. Cherish the bonds that you create with those around you, because nothing lasts forever.
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EFFORT
By Angela Hawse
Imagine the effort it takes to climb Mt. Everest. Weeks of acclimatizing in ever thinning air above Base Camp at 18,000’. Going up and down. Deteriorating physically from too many days at altitude and mentally taxed from the hazardous Khumbu Icefall and covering the same terrain again and again. Wondering all the time if you’ll get the weather for a shot at the summit or have the stamina to hold out. Unique to Everest, much of the time you travel by yourself, in your own bubble… your mind racing between hope and doubt.
Now, take away your right foot, add a prosthetic and strap a crampon to it. Envision how different that effort might be. More than you can probably conjure up, unless you’ve witnessed what happens at altitude to a stump that oscillates from a swollen mass to a shrinking twig and doesn’t fit it’s prosthetic from one day to the next. Not a pretty picture and not a recipe for success on the highest mountain in the world.
Add steadfast determination, fitness, sweat and tears, and you’ve got the First Disabled Ascent of Mt. Everest. In 1998, I had the opportunity to be on the A Team to help friend and amputee Tom Whittaker turn his dream into reality. Weeks on the mountain with Tom were either blissful or burdened with the excruciating pain he bared. The extra effort and energy he put out maintaining his stump made my personal woes pale in comparison.
The highest I’d yet climbed was 22,841’. to the summit of Aconcagua and five expeditions on Denali. I had no idea how I would do at extreme altitude. All went well acclimatizing with the team up to Camp 2 at 21,000’ until a wicked cough consumed me and I was flat on my back in BC for 6 days. With the weather perfect, my team pushed ahead to sleep at Camp 3 on the Lhotse face, to acclimatize for a summit bid. I was crushed being left behind, but kept hope alive, and Tom’s effort inspired mine.
The reality of the situation meant going up, by myself, through the Khumbu Icefall and spending a night at Camp 2 with our Sherpa cook. The following day I’d have to continue up the Lhotse face, to spend a night at Camp 3, where our tent was stocked with all I’d need for a night out, alone at 23,600’. I was motivated and dug deep to find courage I’d never tapped into. It was the most formidable mountain experience I’d had, alone on Everest, sleeping higher than I’d ever climbed. There were many times I wanted to turn around. There were ample excuses in my mind that would have justified it, but I pressed on and each step gave me more confidence that I could do it.
My solo push paid off. When the weather was good enough for the first summit bid, I was on the team. Unfortunately, Tom’s health had deteriorated and he held back knowing he’d need everything he had to make it. My partner, Gareth Richards and I went for it with a couple of Sherpa, and Tom’s blessings.
Three nights out from BC, we reached the South Col at 26,085’. The weather was dubious, with high clouds heralding a change and constant wind hammering the tent. Anxiety was at an all time high as we packed for our summit bid. No one had yet ventured above the South Col yet that season and we expected deep snow and slow going.
A call on the radio from Whittaker informed us that the weather forecast looked dismal with a huge cyclone forming off the Bay of Bengal. Tom thought he might only have one shot and was on his way up. His arrival would force Gareth and I to continue down to C3 or C2 instead of spending another night at the South Col. A longer day was in store.
The alarm wasn’t necessary. Neither of us slept a wink in the thin air and heavy anticipation. We groped in the cold and darkness to put on harness, crampons, headlamp and oxygen masks and stepped out into what was to be the wildest mountain day of my life. Hours went by post holing up to our waists in unconsolidated snow and it wasn’t until dawn that we reached the Balcony at 27,600’.
By the time we reached the South Summit at 28,750’, a massive flag cloud shrouded the summit ridge. We weighed the consequences of going for it. Teams were piling up behind us. A Sherpa looked at me and said, “it is better to live than to die. Let’s go down”. We bolted out of there and later learned that no one summited that day.
On the South Col we brewed up and had a quick exchange with Whittaker before continuing down. If we made it to C2 where our Sherpa cook was waiting, we’d have to descend another 5000’.
Shortly into the descent, Gareth was a small figure in the distance. I could not keep up. His effort became inspired and mine became weaker. By the time I reached C3 on the Lhotse face, Gareth was nowhere in sight and I realized I was about to spend a second night alone at C3 as darkness fell upon me. Gareth would be handed a cup of tea and a meal. I’d melt ice for water and feed myself whatever was left in the tent. Grim. My effort lacked and his was outstanding. After a sleepless night, I drug myself out of the tent and down the Lhotse Face to C2. The entire way down I cussed and beat myself up for not being as fit as Gareth and swore I’d never undertake any endeavor without being in the best shape I could be. It was a hard earned lesson.
Whittaker didn’t summit, but two weeks later, when the weather broke again we pooled together all our resources and those of other teams to give him one last bid for the summit with our strongest Sherpa. He made it and to this day, his effort was the proudest I’ve ever known and one that will inspire me forever.
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LEADERSHIP
by Rob Hess
As mountain athletes, leadership is something that is at the heart of all our endeavors and interactions with ourselves and others. We are lucky to live in an environment of exceptional people with exceptional character.
As we travel around the country/world on our various pursuits we must be mindful of the fact that we are coming from such a strong place. Understanding those of different mindsets and motivation is integral to our living in balance... without balance, we can not effectively lead ourselves or others.
I am constantly looking for balance in life. Learning to lead has been a lifelong quest and one I continue to learn about from myself and others. Finding that balance has been the hardest task, for the personal qualities of a good leader do not necessarily come easily for me.
Passion, humor, empathy, strength of character, general maturity, patience, wisdom, common sense, trustworthiness, reliability, creativity and sensitivity are the words I would use to describe my views and expectations of myself and others in the
context of self leadership.
The path of self awareness and the development of self leadership does take hard work and persistance. On this path we must experience those who we feel emulate the qualities we are looking for in sound leadership. As well, we must experience success and failure. The emotions that come from such experiences are profound and stay with us from then on in our life.
I think of two experiences in my life that helped shape my personal being. In 1987 I was with friends on our first Himalyan expedition to Gasherbrum II in Pakistan. As a group we were young, strong, reasonably skilled and very determined. We experienced many great hardships logistically as we were guys with a limited budget. We had hired a number of porters to ferry our equipment to base camp.
A powerful storm pinned us down in route to base camp. Having to pay porters for all the days sitting idle in the storm and dwindling funds, required that we release all the porters. There we sat, 3-4 days from our base camp with all our gear and no reasonable way to get it there. We started ferrying the loads ourselves.
Fortunately, we were able to hire a few porters to finish the job and finally made it to base camp. On the mountain I was powerful, unstoppable! or so it seemed. Before leaving for the expedition I had been having problems with a girlfriend, as much as I loved her and wanted to be with her, I knew somewhere inside me that it was over.
As the expedition progressed and my feelings of insecurity simmered and I became more self absorbed, my focus and determination crumbled. I lacked the strength of character, maturity and wisdom to look past my emotions. It all came to a head on our summit day. I had put forth huge amounts of physical energy as I was the strongest member physically. Mentally the emotional stress had taken its toll,
I gave up... I did not summit on a good day that allowed the others to summit. I had let myself down, I lacked balance!
The next experience was on Mt Everest in 1994. I had always remembered my experiences on Gasherbrum II. Although I was not necessarily successful on all the expeditions I had taken part of since then, I at least knew I had for the most part been true to myself and made decisions based on conditions I had no control over.
Mt. Everest was one of those expeditions we all hope for in our Mountaineering
careers. No expedition is with out hardship but when one goes without a major hitch and you are successful, you are psyched! I felt balance in my life and in my performance on the mountain. I looked out for my friends, I did things for all the right reasons and I felt comfortable with myself.
Of greater importance, I was with someone I saw as a great leader, Scott Fisher. Scott believed in himself and he believed in me. He brought the best out of me and as a result, we were a strong team! unstoppable!
Together we summited Mt. Everest with out the use of supplemental oxygen and in doing so I became the third and Scott the forth American to do so. The power of the mind is incredible!
I have been fortunate to live and work with some people I feel were great leaders. These people burned bright, but were taken from us early.
Scott Fisher and Doug Coombs are two people whose style and class as leaders and individuals will always live with me. We all have our inner deamons, but from my
point of view they both shared one major point that I have mentioned, balance!
They were noble warriors... fierce in battle, but they loved their family, loved their friends and treated all with respect. They believed in themselves and believed in others. They made you feel anything was possible!
I will never forget watching Doug taking clients into steep committing couloirs in La Grave. Arguably they never belonged there, but Doug empowered them and made them believe in themselves, Doug had them on that invisible rope, failure was not possible.
In the end, if we are to be good leaders, we must first take care of ourselves. To risk being cliche, “Sound mind. Sound body”... Try hard, love your friends and family, respect the environment...find balance!
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DISCIPLINE
By McKenzie Long
I stood in a little rock alcove, looking out at a number two cam wedged in a crack that traversed out of a big roof. The cheerful yellow metal was taunting me. I hate roofs. But I had to go out there, clean the cam and pull the roof. I'd tried and failed several times already.
The move involved hanging upside down from a hand jam over a lot of empty space, and throwing one arm up to a flaring, slippery, insecure hand jam, and somehow from there hauling myself all the way over the edge. I was terrified. I tried again and again until my partner thought he was going to have to re-rig the ropes to rescue me. Eventually I flopped up onto the mossy ledge, physically and mentally exhausted, and without the cam I was supposed to clean. I was so upset, the entire hike out I questioned my ability as a climber. I obviously did not have what it takes.
It wasn't until much later that I learned the value of discipline and how it would help me climb. Why would it even occur to me that every aspect of climbing would be easy? I used to think I could do things naturally, almost by magic. Every time I tried something new- a new sport or a new academic venture, I imagined myself brushing through it easily and accomplishing great things with almost no effort, which was hardly the reality.
I still had a little of this feeling when I began climbing five years ago. My natural athleticism made some of the beginning stuff seem easy, but that only got me so far. As I fell more in love with the sport I began to crave bigger walls, tougher pitches, more unique challenges. My natural athleticism couldn't take me to these places. I had to work. Not only that, I had to really focus on working hard.
To me, discipline is a determined commitment to keep at something, even when you don't want to, with the end goal being improvement. I decided to train for climbing with the hopes of getting stronger and ultimately better at it.
It's not easy to invest the time and energy that training in the gym requires. Not only is it a huge time commitment, it is a huge physical commitment. It can be really hard to motivate to train at the gym right before a weekend full of fun plans when you want to reserve your energy to go out and play. Sometimes I felt like I was in the gym more than I was actually climbing. Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes it was unbelievably humbling. A lot of times I just wanted to sleep in. But once I made the commitment that I was going to train hard and really focus on improvement, I started to feel the benefits that also came with the hard work. I noticed a dramatic difference in my strength, ability, and confidence. I made great strides in my fitness that could not have come from just climbing itself.
Once I started noticing these effects, it only made me more determined to stick with it and push myself harder. The training brought me from being a decently strong climber, to a much stronger climber- which allowed me to attempt harder routes and try different types of climbing- like ice climbing. My time climbing outdoors has become much more enjoyable and successful.
In a strange way, the training also helped me to locate an intensity within myself that I wasn't previously in tune with. There is something about the mental attitude of training where no matter what, you can't give up- I can hang on for two more minutes- I can push a little harder for the last 30 seconds- I can lift a little heavier... This attitude made things that I thought were really hard, seem easily within my reach. This attitude is mental discipline.
Without this- my mind wanders, gives in when I am uncomfortable, lets go more easily. When I force myself to focus on the immediate task at hand- tune everything else out and really try- I am a much more capable climber.
This is the place of strength within my mind where I retreat when I am tired and in pain. It shelters me from discomfort, and drives me to push forward when it is most necessary. It helps me cope when things get difficult and scary, deal with exhaustion and dehydration, focus on the forward progress and not the terrible consequences of failure. This isn't an easy place to reach. I have to make a concerted, disciplined effort to go there and force my mind to work that way. Some days are easier than others, but the more I work at it, the more of a habit it becomes.
It is so easy, and more common in typical daily life, to think “this hurts, I want to stop” and to try and give yourself the comforts your body is missing. That gets you nowhere climbing. Contrary to nature, you need to convince yourself to keep going even when it hurts and especially when it is hard. Sometimes thinking about the task ahead becomes too much- the route seems too long, or there is such a long way to go until the summit. These thoughts leave me feeling helpless and defeated. But if I discipline my thinking, push aside self pity, and focus on just the task at hand, and then the next, and then the next, I make the "daunting task" smaller, and manageable.
There is another memorable roof, this time much smaller, and while sport climbing. When I got to the critical move of reaching over, committing to my feet, and hauling myself upward, I kept thinking of how much I didn't want to fall. What did I do? Fell, over and over. After resting and reflecting for a bit, I got back on the route, this time determined to get it. This time when I reached my hand up I focused on how easy the move actually was, and how strong I felt, and how confident I was that I could make this move smoothly. I pulled right through, actually surprising myself at how not-scary the move was. It was the mental discipline-letting go of my fears, focusing on the objective, and trusting in my abilities- that pulled through.
Overall, I find this disciplined attitude not only helps me in my pursuit of climbing, but it crosses over into all aspects of my life. I find I am a more focused, more determined person than I used to be. I am better at buckling down and giving my all to something. And now my dreams are even bigger, my goals are more grand, and more importantly, I have the confidence and the mental skills to put myself out there and give it my best shot.
And if my best shot isn't good enough? I will step back, train hard,
come again, and get it.
This is the power of discipline.
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TEAMWORK
By Trish McGuire
When I first began climbing, I would climb with anyone I could find - people I met at the gym, a coffee shop, even online. I didn’t care who it was, as long as someone was there to belay me. I was simply looking for someone to make climbing possible, not a partner; someone to help me get through that day’s climb, not someone to help me become a better climber overall.
I wasn’t a team player. I was in it for me and me alone.
The positive thing about climbing with whomever - whenever – is the knowledge I gained from observing and listening to each and every one of them, plus the friendships I made along the way.
As I continued climbing, however, I realized I was doing myself a disservice. I became aware that there is more to climbing than one’s own ability to get up a rock face. It’s finding someone you enjoy being with, someone you trust and someone that makes you a better climber – a partner.
I started climbing and training with McKenzie Long about a year ago. As we continued to climb together, I realized how fortunate I was to find someone with similar goals and aspirations. We climb about the same grade, which makes climbing together fun. Like anything, we both have our strengths and weaknesses, but on the rock we compliment each other and climb well together. Over the year, we have become more intuitive and can read each other’s energy. This allows us to tell when the other needs a simple reminder to breath, not over grip, relax, or maybe just smile and have fun.
This past fall we spent 3 weeks climbing together. We were having a great road trip, but as the end drew near we felt the need to push our abilities and step out of our comfort zone. We decided on a climb for the following day, although I was skeptical, I agreed to go. McKenzie was confident in our ability, and I trusted her.
That evening, we laid out our plan of who would climb each pitch. Climbing, however, isn’t always straightforward, and we got off route. We worked together to figure out where we were and did our best to get back on track. As I worked my way through the crux, I was nervous and tense. I had come to a section of steep rock climbing. I placed multiple pieces of gear due to the uncertainty of what lay ahead and the anticipation that I might fall. While in the difficult section, I struggled to keep positive thoughts running through my head, but negative questions took over, such as: I don’t have a lot of experience placing my gear, what if it doesn’t hold? This seems hard, but what if this isn’t the crux, would I be able to complete the pitch? There were a group of guys below us, was I holding them up?
In the midst of all these thoughts and struggles, I heard McKenzie’s calm voice below me. She knew exactly what was going through my head and knew what I needed to hear at that moment. Her simple reminders that I’m strong, not to over grip and stay focused on my feet helped me to relax and keep moving. These cues along with a confident encouraging voice from below was just what I needed to continue. This is a time when I was thankful to be climbing with someone that I knew, not just a random person that would hold the other end of the rope.
Before we knew it, we were on the summit celebrating our success. I had gone into the climb hesitant and with the intent of McKenzie leading the crux. She is a stronger and more confident trad climber, but due to our lack of route finding, I ended up with the pitch. In the end, it didn’t matter who climbed the crux; what we remember is that we worked together as a team effectively and efficiently. Throughout the day, we had quick changeovers between pitches, we gave great belays that were positive and encouraging, and we moved quickly up the route not holding up the party behind us.
I set out on this trip with McKenzie to fulfill my own personal desire to rock climb, but we returned as two individuals who reached success as a team. We had climbed and accomplished routes that we could not have done with out each other. Climbing with McKenzie is vastly different than climbing with someone I rounded up from the coffee shop or the gym whom I didn’t know anything more about than their name and that they climb. When we climb together, we work together; we know each other’s strengths and weaknesses; when to push the other and when to back off.
I realize now more than ever before, when two people work together as a team unselfishly, both are going to make much larger gains, regardless of who’s climbing the crux, who gets the On-site or achieves the first Red Point. For me, when I’m climbing and working together with someone as a team, it truly doesn’t matter who climbs the crux or goes for the first On-site. Whoever feels the energy and the motivation for the climb goes for it; the other one is psyched to hold the rope and give them the best belay possible.
"There is no such thing as a self-made man. You will reach your goals only with the help of others." -Unknown
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FOCUS
By Brenton Reagan
Climbing has taught me how to stay focused in the moment. Climbing goals and Expeditions have taught me how to stay focused over the long term.
What does it take to stay focused in the moment when you are hanging on really tight, pumped and scared?
Staying relaxed and breathing deep and almost going into a state of mediation can create for me the focus I need to finish the pitch. Fear of falling pumps adrenalin into veins, hear rate increases, and you start to lose your focus and concentration.
Here's a trick to calm down. Place your tongue on the roof of your mouth and breathe in and out through your nose. Controlling your breathing calms your mind and slows the heart. I'm able to relax and push aside the fear. Sometimes, when I'm at my best, I'm able to clear my mind.
I sounds counter intuitive doesn't it? But it's been my experience that focus on the rock is best achieved with a clear mind.
The parts come together: sharp edge under my fingers; painful pump in my arms; smear my right foot is on; my breathing; clear mind. When this happens, I'm at my best on the rock.
Expeditions and long trips normally require months of years of prep time and dedication in order to get to the summit. I use a constantly evolving 3 year plan of climbing goals to focus my expedition efforts.
Expeditions require constant diligence, and much sacrifice. Saving money and resources takes work and discipline. Small trips and vacations are cancelled to save resources for the expedition. Planning required much study. Training is not fun.
Once on expedition, focus must be maintained. Fueling with enough calories, getting enough sleep and rest, caring for your feet, keeping a pack at ready for the next weather window are keys to summit success.
Daily discipline is focus over the long term. An undying motivation to achieve your goals is key.
Joshua Tree. The route was a run out face climb with such limited protection that a fall would almost certainly end up with an injury.
All things in the world were focused down to 4 fingers on the rock. I can remember was seeing the spots of chalk on my finger nails as I crimped down on what was supposed to be a hold.
Toes smeared for all they could. Wind howled. Belayer encouraged from below.
I had no idea where the next bolt was or even if I was headed the right way. I climbed up, then down, then back up trying to decide which way I need to go. I knew the whole time that some of the moves would be nearly impossible to reverse.
I don’t even know how long it took me to climb the pitch, I was so focused on each move, each hold, and my breathing was deep and relaxed. Soon I was clipping the anchors. I had climbed but 180 feet. It felt like a 1000 miles.
Expedition: My goal to become an Exum Mountain Guide.
I grew up climbing in the Tetons with other Exum guides but never knew what I wanted to do for a livelihood. It wasn’t until I spend a day with Alex Lowe that I knew what I wanted in life. A day climbing in Death Canyon with Alex changed my life forever. Afterward I knew I wanted to be a mountain guide. Not just any mountain guide, but an Exum Mountain Guide.
I spent the next 7 years of my life focused on that expedition. First were four years in the Marine Corps and every opportunity I had I went climbing or traveling to big mountain ranges to improve my mountaineering skills.
But Exum is an invitation only organization. I had to find a way to get invited.
So I started at the bottom. After the service I returned to the Tetons and cleaned the gear for Exum. I worked as a porter, took guide courses and did whatever it took to get noticed. I stayed focused on my goal and one day while I was in Colorado I got the call I knew would come some day if I was diligent. Al Read, owner and president of Exum Mountain Guides was on the other line. He offered me a chance to come and spend the summer guiding for Exum.
A summit achieved.
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VIGILANCE
By Stephen Koch
Vigilance is alert watchfulness. And as a climber it is paramount to be vigilant, not only for my own safety, but for the safety of my partner. Through the act of belaying, or protecting a partner with the rope, is when I am most watchful. My partner calls out, "watch me" and my total focus returns (if not already there) to safeguarding their every move by constantly giving and sometimes taking in (when they climb down) rope. My mind wanders often while belaying. Belaying can be the most exciting thing ever and a moment or two later, the most tedious activity known to man, sometimes the activity of belaying can go on for hours on a challenging lead. Belaying is usually more exciting when I can observe my partner. This direct observation makes it easier for me to be encouraging and I regularly say with all my heart and hope and belief, "I've got you" or "I'm with you" or "You've got this!" or “You’re doing great!”
Belaying is a love hate thing for me. On the one hand I love being in a position to encourage and coax my partner up. On the other I have intense feelings of impatience, and become critical and think, no KNOW, how much faster things would go if I were on the sharp end, only to climb up and realize first hand the challenge my partner faced on lead. This mind dance could be credited with my success as a mountaineer, but can also be credited with my continued suffering. Would I benefit from less vigilance in the mountains? The bottom line with belaying is that you better be vigilant because your partner’s life literally depends on it. If they fall and you have too much rope out due to lack of vigilance, they may hit a ledge or the ground. There are numerous examples of this occurring throughout the climbing world and I would venture to say this is one of the leading causes of injuries in climbing.
Before a climb I vigilantly select the gear, taking the bare minimum to increase the chances of success. This might be contrary to some people’s thinking…why not take more, that way you will have it if you need it. Well the more you take, “just in case,” the more you carry. The more you carry the heavier you are. The heavier you are the slower you go. The slower you go the shorter distance you cover in a given amount of time. Classic example…if you take bivouac gear, you will use it. If you don’t take it, you won’t use it and probably won’t need it. You will climb faster as a result of being lighter and also being more committed. Are you willing to go there? The risks may be greater, but so are the rewards. It is also important to check the weather. An example of being vigilant and getting stung by going light on a long and difficult route at altitude, with Jimmy Chin, Kami Sherpa, Lapka Dorge Sherpa, I was climbing the North Face of Everest. We took only one two man tent, two sleeping pads, two stoves to melt snow and cook food, two days of food, a 100' 7mm rope, a few nuts and titanium pitons, a few slings and carabiners and that was pretty much it...oh yea, and my snowboard. Had we brought more food we would have been in a better position to continue to 8,000 meters, with the summit attainable from there, two thousand feet above our current position on the massive face. BUT, we also would have been slower as a result of carrying more food. And we may all be dead if we had continued up. After retreating from about half way up the face we saw a fracture in the snow where an avalanche had ripped out, right above our high point.
Vigilance goes hand in hand with intensity for me and everything I love. While climbing I do EVERYTHING that I am capable of to move faster and be more efficient...giving a courtesy hold on rappel, making a V-Thread while belaying my partner, eating, drinking, pissing, shedding layers, donning layers, organizing gear, stacking the ropes, giving a consistent and snug belay, giving encouragement to the second as well as the leader, shutting the fuck up when that “helpful” voice that loves to justify the criticisms with “it’s for your own good”, and other drivel; keeping my criticisms to myself, trying not to beat myself up for having the criticisms dance around my head, keeping the psych high and the true belief in our ultimate success paramount, until it becomes so, all play into the separatelessness of life, thought and climbing.
Am I soloing? Do I need to be completely secure? Can I survive a fall here? How important is speed here? What time is it? Do we have a headlamp? Extra batteries? What phase is the moon today? Is it clear enough for us to be granted moonlight? What is the temp? Is ice likely to fall naturally from above? Am I climbing below others who may not be as vigilant about knocking down ice? Even if they are, the ice still falls, always falls, no matter the completeness of the vigilance. That is one sketchy aspect of being in the natural, uncontrollable world of frozen water. Will I find safety from the threatening projectiles beyond shrugging my shoulders, trying to fit my entire body under my helmet?
Vigilant listening: Survival in the mountains often depends on listening. With avalanches, my earliest signs are usually auditory. Jet airplanes sound like avalanches, so I pay attention every time I hear something. And fortunately it is usually just a plane. I listen to the sound of the ice axe as it makes contact with the ice to determine my next move: whether to remove it and swing again for a more secure stick, or commit to ascend. It’s a decision in the moment to “go” or “no go”, and in that moment I trust the sound more than the feel of the axe. So while I am vigilant about conditions around me that I can see and touch, I also pay utmost attention to what I hear.
Even when vigilant to the last detail, shit still hits the fan. And once that happens, you take in all the data around you to get yourself through