(from June 3, 2011)
In the past two days, I have consumed all 520 pages of “The Help”, by Kathryn Stockett. It was delicious.
“Every morning until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask youself, ’em I gone believe that them fools say about me today?'”
-Constantine, “The Help”
by Kathryn Stockett
(from June 2, 2011)
The crappy weather and glacial conditions leave plenty of time for reflection and excellent time with newfound friends. We’re chilling like villains in the heart of the lower Kahiltna. I promised myself a long time ago that I would rally against the concept of being jaded, and found myself thinking about ego, humility and opportunity. A few reminders for myself:
All of us are smarter than one of us. All of us together are greater than one of us alone.
The last good look at Mt. Hunter for many days.
“The Size Thing” chapter of “The Ecology of Commerce” by Paul Hawken hit me really hard, and reminds me that “Small is Beautiful” is another important book to include on the reading list. It concludes with a powerful statement:
“An ethic is not an ethic, and a value not a value, with out some sacrifice for it, something given up, something not taken, something not gained. We do it (ethic, value) for a greater good, for something worth more than just money and power and position.” – Jerry Kohlberg
At the same time, we’ve had a lot of fun in the bad weather. Tonight the tent was full of good food, bad whiskey, friendly faces, and homemade fudge from my NOLS recipe. Good serious conversation, good silly conversation, and a staunch optimism that we would all eventually get home. We haven’t seen a plane in a few days, but most folks are just staying relaxed.
We kill time in heavy weather looking at mechanical advantage systems for rescue situations.
Our patrol (JP, me, and Chris), Kevin’s patrol (Kevin, Tony, Mark, Mik, and Andy), plus two badass Swedish skiers (Andreas and Magnus), and two strong Icelanders (Robert and Gummi) piled into the tent to swap stories and kill time. The Scandanavians inspire me to keep looking outward with my climbing as a vehicle not only for stripping away baggage, but embracing new parts of the world while being far from home.
Party night at the ranger basecamp. The Icelander boys are in the huge matching down suits.
Mark and Mik guide for Outward Bound, and encouraged me to continue considering serving as an outdoor education instructor. It’s definitely another idea under my skin, and getting to be a part of this internationally climbing community feels like a fresh wind compared to the stale challenges awaiting me in a cubicle. Important feelings to consider.
After official hours only...
A few of the 70+ people still waiting for weather good enough to fly home in.
(from May 31, 2011)
How does going to play around on Denali N.P. help me figure out what’s next in my life? It leaves me with a lot of time to think.As I think of myself as a Change Agent (my preferred title on LinkedIn)- someone willing to take on the hard work of making our civilized lifestyle more sustainable- being here might not seem like the most obvious thing to do, but I’m starting to realize that it just might be the best way about it.
“You’re not wasting your time here.” Luke said to me as we were packing up at the base of ‘Bacon ‘N Eggs”. It was like he knew what was lurking in my sub-concious. I had asked him how he had found himself providing Solar PV and mechanical engineering services as an independent contractor for the park service, as well as mountain guiding and hunting guiding when things were slow. He just fell into it- because he did what he was interested in, in the places he wanted to be in. Luke stuck to his guns, and chased his dream fearlessly. He recognizes that his chase is still on, but that the chase is part of the dream itself, so he’s living it out to where it might take him. Thanks for the lesson.
Two days since our climb and I’ve been listening to the snow fall on my tent for two hours while reading “The Ecology of Commerce” by Paul Hawken. He lays out a compelling plan for changes that would allow our capitalist economy to reflect our human reality much more accurately. Looking back at why I left my job, and looking forward to what I’d like my life to look like, I feel like I’m an important point in my career- with some important experience and ideas to share, but still lots of room to learn and grow.
Chris has a humble axiom he likes to share with climbers coming on the mountain: “Better climbers than you have died here, and worse climbers than you have summitted.” It begs humility, and possibility, and is an important reminder for business. All businesses want to be successful- some are, and some aren’t. Of those that succeed, some are good at what they do, some are lucky, and some simply don’t have competition. A few of the important things that I believe are imperative for successful businesses:
As I look forward to the next step of my professional development the ability to understande and overcome these challenges is a key part of what I have to offer. I look forward to finding an employer that is excited to embrace these challenges, and that leverage my talents to create a more sustainable world. Maybe this doesn’t exist. Maybe I will have to hang my own slate out there. Only time, and the universe, can tell.
*Cilogear Backpacks is one of my favorite examples in innovation. They offer a premium product, are price competitive, and locally made, while offering innovative designs with a minimum of wasted time and materials.
The next series of dated blog posts are transcribed directly from my journal, as I wrote them over the course of the past 14 days. Enjoy them here and now as I created them for this blog but was unable to post them. I’m still working on photos, but wanted to start sharing some content– hopefully I can get photos up tonight but the process is a little delayed due to the dampness of my camera (more explanation shortly).
Ready to rock.
Kahiltna Basecamp, Denali National Park, Alaska. I’m here to staff the National Park Service camp here for the next 14 days. Essentially, I’m a glorified front desk ranger, with my primary duties revolving around cleaning up trash and poop violations, grunting equipment to and from the helicopter pad, and facilitating questions from incoming climbers. That said, I’ll be working in the most beautiful office in the world, learning some fun lessons, and enjoying some hilarious characters (I hope). After the hustle of bouncing from place to place for the past few weeks, I’m looking forward to the chance to just chill out.
Sometimes, getting up in the middle of the night to pee is awesome.
I love this. I love being here, being with these people, doing this thing, living this experience. The energy hit when I asked Brandon about sitting in on his glacier travel/cravasse rescue lecture. Even though my past experience has left me with a solid understanding of these systems, seeing the opportunity, the thought hit me “yes, I’d love to learn more, see things another way.” Brandon is a former YOSAR ranger, and one of the most knowledgeable people regarding rope systems on the Denali staff- it was a rare opportunity for advanced knowledge.
Necessary training, just under the eye of "The Great One" (Denali in the background)
It recharges me because I love to be humble, I love learning new things, or discovering things that I thought I knew, and finding that I didn’t know them at all. I love when other people ask me to help (like facing my fears of taking a whipper into a cravasse), or cooking hot dinner for 10 when the day was done.
Jumping in cracks is fun, when you expect it...
There are always more ways to help. Serving with the Denali park staff is a good opportunity to practice. The staff know more about technical rigging, medicine, incident management, group dynamics, and leadership, but they need me because I know a little bit and am happy to help. I came up here because it seems like Alaska is able to inspire me to be the best version of myself that I have found so far. Finding ways to help is just another facet of experience that re-inforces that.
Brandon is taking a patrol up the West Buttress route (the same patrol I did two years ago) and I’ve sincerely enjoyed getting to know them over the past few days here. It’s an obvious example of the mountain community that I love. Being at basecamp is an opportunity to further embrace this community, and a chance not to be missed.
There’s a smell in the air here that I have t smelled anywhere else- maybe melting permafrost or a landscape racing to breathe in every minute of endless summer sun. It snaps my attention to the present, to this place, to the fact that the very best thing I’ve done, the very best moment yet is this one right now.
Several good friends have recently asked- “What’s the biggest difference since you quit you job two months ago?”
“Big dreams.” I reply quickly. For a while there at my desk I could no longer imagine a better life than racing between passion and profession, scrambling, scrimping, just getting enough of each to resemble a commitment, but never reaping the rewards of real dedication. Releasing it all, the options loom large and the big dreams for my life flood back in. It’s all on the table again, rather than the slim possibilities afforded by a desk job I fell into and existed on because someone else offered it to me.
Alaska is a big land, with ample space for dreaming- I hope to have a clearer picture of what exactly I’ve been dreaming when I get off the glacier in 15 days. The blog will be quiet for a while as it’s not possible to update from the glacier. More photos and adventure when I fly out around June 10.
Thanks for following.
The big 3 at bedtime (11:30pm)- Mt Foraker, Hunter, and Denali. May they prompt appropriate dreams tonight.
“So how has this experience changed your personal relationships?”
My friend Luna was getting the update on my trip, except our conversation was markedly different from most of the other similar conversations I’ve had in the past few days being back in Portland. Luna asks the most wonderful questions, and listens with an intensity that removes your ability to bullshit an answer.
The question provided me an opportunity to articulate a few important points that I’ve been thinking about often in the past 6 weeks, but that I hadn’t articulated succinctly- but the answer lies in a single word, community. A few examples:
Most recent mornings, I’ve woken up and taken stock of the day only to do a double take while wondering if it’s actually possible my life could be so good.
I’ve been in Portland since late Wednesday night, and I’m here to switch out my gear and fly to Alaska on Tuesday morning. I decided to leave the valley when I did to ensure I had enough time to give a little more time to The Commons, see friends that I have missed dearly, and ensure I have ample time to consider exactly what to take for 2 months in the Alaska range. To some, the preparations may seem daunting, but I’m grateful to say that the only overwhelming part of the past few days has been receiving the amount of good energy from so many wonderful people. I can’t accept credit for having so many wonderful people in my life in one place- but I can consider it proof that “the universe is unfolding as it should.” I’ll let the photos detail some of my recent activities.
Sunny local climbing at Broughton Bluff.
So exciting to see drywall in The Commons.
It was an exceptionally fun Sunday morning bike ride.
Real friends will let you sort your gear in their living room.
Being here feels solid and familiar. Like home? Perhaps, but that seems too strong of a question for this stage of my explorations. I’m thrilled to feel the energy, support, and strength that come from just checking in with so many of the people that I care about, and at the same time am unbelievably excited about the upcoming prospect of 9 weeks in one of the most inspiring places I’ve ever been. Booyah. This is the most sincere thank-you to everyone who has made this place feel so grounding the past few days, Portland feels like the perfect launch pad for the next stage of adventure.
There is a certain romance to all cities dominated by their bridges.
Had a great conversation today with a new friend while driving up to Portland. It reminded me of two private journal entries from the last year that I wanted to post more succinctly and publicly.
I refuse to believe that the value of my life can be measured in dollars.
I consider true success to have been achieved when one looks back on what they have done without regret, and when one can look forward at their life with the honest assessment that what they are about to do is the best thing they have ever done.
I’ll probably rephrase this in the morning but wanted to share before I forgot.
I was talking to my brother last week about my decision not to climb the Salathe route, and he told me a story with an important moral- don’t take yourself too seriously. As usual, it was just what I needed to hear.
The past 3 days alone in the Yosemite high country were pretty much sublime. I didn’t ski anything gnarly (actually, I never even took my skins off), climb anything tall (or technical), and honestly didn’t really know quite where I was for most of Thursday afternoon (not quite the plan, but it worked out). Some of these decisions were enforced- solo backcountry skiing involves managing a wide variety of serious and complicated objective hazards and may be one of the more dangerous things I’ve done since leaving Portland. At the same time, it may have been one of the most relaxed and simplest parts of my trip thus far.
Wednesday afternoon I quickly packed 3 days of food and headed up Snow Creek, incidentally the same trail Aaron and I had hiked last Sunday, but not without the purpose that it was the fastest way out of the valley. I hit the snowline just before dark and set up camp on one of the last piece of dry ground I had seen on my previous hike. Obviously, I was expecting my feet to give me some trouble, and while I did have some trouble on Thursday, I didn’t take things too seriously. I traveled when I could, I took breaks and iced my foot when I needed to. I only had two goals for my time in the backcountry- 1) figure out how ready I am for Denali, and 2) see as much as I comfortably could. Simple. I had a tentative goal of skiing all the way to Tuolomne Meadows, but opted to take a longer route north of Tioga Pass road and see more of the high country. It was good practice in releasing the goal oriented mentality that has been driving my trip lately. Despite the longer route and some foot trouble Thursday, I still made it to a great camp just below Fairview Dome.
I spent most of Friday cruising west on Tioga Pass road, and then cut south at the Porcupine Creek Trailhead. I was pleased that except for a few hours on Thursday afternoon, my ability to navigate in the winter backcountry based only on topo map, compass, and visible landforms worked extremely well (approximately half of the 36 miles I covered were off-trail/road). I’ll let the photos tell the rest of the story, but needless to say, I feel renewed in the most important ways, and ready to make the best of my remaining time in the valley. In the end, I didn’t take myself too seriously, and am back in the valley feeling wonderfully pleased with the result.
And, I’ve decided to go to Alaska early, to get in 3 extra weeks of alpine climbing based on the Kahiltna Glacier!
(I still can’t figure out how to get the photos to order properly… I’ll fix this while waiting out rain tomorrow)
And, perhaps more importantly, don’t bullshit the people who have entrusted their life to your hands. It sounds harsh, but the title is a phrase we use in the gym a lot. Usually it is said in relation to the integrity of the training done, or when it becomes tempting to believe that you cannot accomplish a task that is well within your capabilities. Sometimes, I think of it in relation to things that I want to do, yet deep in my heart I realize are not yet possible.
I arrived in Yosemite valley on Sunday night, just in time for a spectacular sunset and my first glimpses of this amazing granite playground.
Optimistic on arrival.
I felt fortunate to reconnect with my friend Barry whom I met in Moab, UT a few weeks ago, and we quickly made plans to climb the Kor-Beck route on Middle Cathedral on Thursday. The route went well, and I felt confident on my first few leads in the valley (yes, this is the same Layton Kor that put up the route on Castleton Tower from a few weeks ago). Despite our success on the route, my foot still commanded enough attention that I wasn’t able to complete the 6 pitches without painkillers.
Not a bad view off the belay.
Barry, on the way down.
Friday I linked up with another Australian named Kim for a round of harder single pitch climbing. I was actually more pleased with falling off the crux of “Stone Groove” well above my last nut, and taking 3 whippers before giving the lead up to Kim. Traditionally I’ve had trouble falling on my gear- I have trouble trusting it, but recently I’ve felt much more confident in my placements. That said, I was a bit rattled at the hard start to the day, and Kim was psyched to lead several more hard pitches, so I enjoyed following and working on my crack technique. Still, by the fifth pitch, my left foot was so painful I was unable to jam it into the right facing crack (which typically demands left foot jams), and I suspect Kim was a little bewildered at the trouble I had climbing 3 grades below my limit. I wasn’t interested in more painkillers, and Kim wasn’t interested in watching me suffer. He and I discussed the situation, and took a rest while I soaked my feet in the Merced River. Late in the day Kim and I found one more irresistable 5.11a at Cookie Cliff, which Kim lead brilliantly, and didn’t require more than scant use of my left foot.
Getting after it by any means necessary, thanks for the rope Kim.
This morning Barry, Aaron (a new friend from Bishop, CA), and I went out to a practice crag just next to the campground. My foot was still swollen from the previous exploits, and my hands were cut and bruised from two days of jamming without tape (the best way to build callouses). We top roped a flaring handcrack, and on my second insecure lap, I accidentally dropped in a solid left foot jam. The pain was excruciating and the end of climbing today was obvious.
My friends at least, know how to have fun.
And so, when Steve-O arrived full of psyche and energy, I knew I could not bullshit myself- or him. I cannot offer any level of reasonable partnership to my friend in going up the Salathe route on El Cap. Were my foot in good health, I would, but as it stands it’s a liability to me, and to Steve-O. It’s been 2 months and 3 days since my surgery, and when he first invited me on the route, I had hoped it would be healed by now. It’s not and despite the tremendous commitment and energy I have put into being here right now, that forces me to reconsider my agenda. It would be irresponsible to myself and my friend to try to “make it happen.” Thanks to my brother for some excellent advice in thinking this through, and to Steve-O for being an incredibly understanding partner. Suddenly, doing the Salathe route becomes a much higher priority for another time in my life.
Staring down the fact that I'm not as put together as I'd like.
Some part of me regrets not making this call earlier, regrets not being more honest with myself and my friend, not being more careful about my recovery and about having arranged my trip to this point to be able to be here, now for this event that will not be happening. I’m still squaring with this change in plans, but it feels good to be honest with myself, and to allow Steve-O the option of greater success. I’m resting today, and may climb the next few as I’m able. Stay tuned for more plans.
3389-1 is the file name of the first photo I took after returning to Talkeetna, Alaska after climbing Denali in 2009.
3389-1. After 17 days on Denali, everything was stripped away.
My friend Pat took one look at this photo, and inadvertently described something that I had not been previously able to identify. He identified the reason that some of us climb, run, cycle, ski, or otherwise push our bodies to the brink of failure and minds to the brink of breakdown. Why we are, ‘here for the hard‘. It doesn’t matter if I’m not climbing the hardest or scariest lines in the world- I do the things that challenge me because they strip away the baggage that prevents me from feeling at peace. I know when I have done something meaningful because the baggage is gone- and consequently, I know when I have cheated myself, when I have failed to do something meaningful, because afterwards the baggage remains. As this blog, and this journey is about letting go of the baggage, this is why I look forward to the physical challenges that lie ahead.
Although the past few weeks have been both fun and challenging- by in large they have failed to strip away some of the baggage I’ve been holding on to. Standing on Castleton Tower last Friday reminded me of this process, and released a touch of the feeling I’m trying to stick. It’s time to look for more.
Shortly after arriving in Bishop, California a few weeks ago I received a text message from a friend in Portland looking for a climbing partner. The Salathe Wall on El Capitan in Yosemite National Park has been called ‘the greatest rock climbing route in the world.” It is orders of magnitude more serious than anything I have ever attempted. My partner is aware of my limited abilities with respect to an objective like this and accepts my limitations. It’s an opportunity not to be missed. We’re planning to take the 3,100 vertical foot route between May 10-14. I’m headed to Yosemite Valley tomorrow morning to start getting used to the flaring granite cracks that have shaped the sport of rock climbing for the last 50 years.
Courtesy of supertopo.
Truth be told I’m scared. This might be more than I can chew. This might be beyond what I am looking for. I may not be ready to let go of the baggage that the Salathe will strip away from me. I made a commitment to my partner and friend to support him, and in leaving my comfortable life in Portland, I made a commitment to myself to challenge the notion of what baggage I was willing to let go of. I don’t feel prepared. The climbing I’ve been doing the past few weeks hasn’t been particularly applicable to the climbing I am about to do other than acclimating my body to climbing as the primary activity of my life, rather than say sitting at a desk. I’ve been concerned about my preparation for this, and concerned about the consequences of failure. At this point, I’ve committed to my partner, and committed to myself, even if there are still lingering doubts in my head. At the moment, I’m planning to be solo for the 8 hour drive north tomorrow, which should give me some good time to reflect on what and why I’m going to do this climb. I’ll get back to you all once I hopefully have a little more clarity on the issue.
Often, we climbers get fairly caught up in what grade we are climbing. It’s a number that we use to describe our level of skill (“oh what grade do you onsite?”), judge the difficulty of other’s accomplishments, or use to simply describe a route (it was grade IV, 5.10c, 15 pitches). Today I was able to on-site more pitches of 5.10d and 5.11a in a single session of climbing than ever before in my climbing experience. I had an awesome and fun day of pushing myself with a great partner, and yes, certain baggage was stripped away. I left the crag feeling stronger and more confident in my climbing than I have in a long time. Yet yesterday I did something that was just as meaningful to me. We were climbing in a new single pitch area, and I climbed a route originally put up by John Bachar, which he rated 5.8. The current guidebook says 5.10a. There were no bolts on the route and no anchors at the top, the climb was 100% traditional, and provided a “full value” adventure. When John joined me at the belay, we both agreed it was one of the hardest pitches of 5.10 either of us had ever climbed.
The point is, the grade doesn’t matter, the experience does. I feel as proud of that lead as I do of the many technically “harder” leads I have completed thus far, even though it was a single 100′ pitch on a crag 10 minutes from the road. My experiences on this climbing experience thus far (included my roadtrip, past climbing seasons, and many gym sessions) have all served a single purpose- to strip away that baggage, and to practice doing so on a regular basis. I need this lesson now more than ever. I respect the value in what I have done to date, and I expect that will sustain me as my own horizons broaden. I sincerely appreciate the readership of this blog as it supports my mission.
Letting go of the baggage, and getting airborne at Red Rocks, NV. Photo by Jordan Siemens Photography LLC
“Often, the most important thing we can do, is simply ‘recognize that we are all in love with our own suffering’ (Andrew Given)… …We should take care to utilize our own mental suffering to strip away our unnecessary thoughts as well.”
A Picture of My Life – 12.15.2010
To suffer is to allow the unimportant baggage to be stripped away. I expect I will suffer in the coming experience, and it will be invaluable. Thanks for the lesson Mr. Given.
stickthefeeling 