Confessions of a struggling Alpinist
Ok, here’s the truth: I hate walking up hill. I also hate walking down hill. I really love climbing, but Alpine mountaineering often involves a lot of walking to get to the climbing. In many ways, I see this as a necessary evil. As long as the ratio of fun climbing outweighs the pain of the walking, it’s all good.
I’ve just returned from a trip to the Alps where we did a lot of walking up and down hills, but the ratio of climbing to walking fell short for me. We had to turn back on two separate occasions, so it felt like we did all the hard work for hardly any of the fun bits.
At the end of the trip I found myself questioning whether Alpine climbing is really for me. I spent so many hours in the pain locker, sweating uphill and slogging down hill, hating what we were doing. We did do some great climbing, but it felt like the reward wasn’t quite worth the pain of getting there and back.
As with any ‘failure’ it’s natural to analyse what happened, and question why. In our case, we had a perfect weather forecast that failed to predict the thunderstorm at 4.30am and subsequent wind, rain, and cloud that saw us reach the top of the glacial approach in zero visibility with no hope of finding our intended route. We could have tried to sit it out, but with no shelter and no way of knowing if this was a fast-passing storm or a full-on weather front, we decided not to commit ourselves to the technical climbing. By the time we had re-traced our steps and got back to the hut, the sun was shining, and the clouds had parted to reveal our intended route in beautiful, frustrating relief. We were relieved to learn that the other parties at the hut had all amended their plans faced with the changing weather, so while we were disappointed, it felt like we had made the right call.
The last route we tried also ended in us turning around barely half-way through the ‘real climbing’, as we’d got stuck behind several other climbing parties and were behind schedule. We could have settled for moving slower, but having spent 30 minutes waiting at one section getting colder and colder, the alarm bells started ringing. We still had a long way to go to the summit, and we would have to reverse all the technical climbing on the return. Having spent too long on a route before and got caught out overnight, we were in no hurry to repeat that experience. So by mid-morning we made the difficult decision to turn back, and were rewarded with a safe and smooth return across the glacier before the sun had turned the snow bridges to slush. As we sat in the hut at dinnertime, we noted the parties in front of us still hadn’t made it back, which confirmed we’d made the right decision.
On reflection, I realised that I was questioning whether I was cut out for Alpine climbing because I found the approaches and descents so hard, and the lack of a couple of summits had deprived me of the reward I was seeking as compensation.
“The only zen you find on the tops of mountains is the zen you bring up there”
– Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
I need to remember to enjoy the process, because the outcome is fleeting (and not guaranteed). We spend so much more time trying to reach the summit than actually on it; sometimes you have to remind yourself to look up, admire the view, watch the dawn rise, catch your breath, and enjoy all the moments – not just the one on the summit.
As I sit here reflecting on our efforts, I remind myself that we did manage to climb several routes successfully. While we may have had some bad luck, we made good decisions – and came back safely, all friends and better prepared to try again next time.
