There is a feeling I only get in the Spring, when I open the windows for the first time. Two layers of sounds come into the room. The first is of people around me: cars driving by, trains, people chatting on porches. The second is hidden in the background, and it is the one I’ve been waiting for. Wind, leaves rustling, the song of waking birds. These sounds put me back in nature. Not the miniature natures of front yards or city parks, the kind that is miles from concrete.
I imagine a spring weekend far away. Low, before-noon light, the feeling of sweat and cobwebs in your face. The fog of morning has been shaken off of your brain by a rousing approach, and you are finally there, looking up at the corner. It looks a lot different than it did in the pictures. It always does. The journey you will take is never predictable, but you can pick out the easy or hard sections. Down low looks casual with enough gear, but that middle section, does it pinch off completely or could you fiddle in a wire? Does the top take a #2 or #5?
Your partner and you are quiet. Little needs to be said. You find a good sitting-rock and give a satisfied smile and sigh. The pack opens and the clinking of gear begins. Shuffle shuffle, ziiiiiip. Click, click. Click, click. Click, click. Click, click. The weight on your hips grows as your heart rate starts to climb. The hard sections are looking harder and the angle steeper. Then, you look at your partner and the flaked rope and exchange perfect smiles. This is why we’re here, this is what we came for. The nervousness disappears, you know what you have to do.
Ground is always covered faster than you thought it would. Step, lean, jug. Click, click, you’re safe. Jam, high-step, crimp. Click, click, you’re safe. Next thing you know, you’re standing under the crux and it doesn’t look so bad. It goes, your weight on your fingertips. Gear is found, and you’re clipping chains.
Your body feels different now. The cuts and bruises are obvious, but it’s the inside that matters. A piece of history has been reclaimed. A pure adventure was had, and you navigated successfully. You were scared, tired, unsure, but overcame. For a brief moment, you shake hands with cavemen, colonial explorers, or Chouinard and Messner.
These days always end with a trek back to a road, where you unlock the door to your other life with a key you have better kept safe. You drive to a restaurant and perhaps sleep on the ground for another night or two, and then the vacation is over.
But it’s different when you get back. You fought for your weekend and earned your feelings of joy. They were not from alcohol-fueled debauchery where you pay with your wallet and liver for your good times. You wrestled them from nature. From massive towers of rock, pushing you to fall, pushing you to die. The positions you found yourself in were not normal, but who wants normal? Where in the history books do they highlight the normal? What do you learn from normal? How will you grow?
I long for these days when my windows are open. Their calming effect is distracting. The peacefulness they bring keep me sane behind my desk, where wrestling with emails is satisfying, but fleetingly so. When I’m old, my external self may be built on meetings and salaries, and I will be grateful for stability and payable experience. But, my internal self is malleable from these exploratory weekends, where I learn strength unknown on a work day. My muscles and mettle will stand level with my information-choked brain, and I will be happy.
On this rainy day, it was nice to be briefly transported to the mountains in memories of adventures past and thoughts of more to come.
Hey you commented on my blog! Yay!
I was being transported in my mind, and felt an urge to write it down. Glad it did the same for you.
I loved this, so completely true. I’ve been so bored spending weekends drinking, and kind of wondering why. I go out with great people who I like a ton, but your post explained it perfectly. Thanks, Lee
Yeah nothing really compares to a weekend of pushing your boundaries. I hope you get to get out more! Glad you liked it.
Really good thoughts bro, and eloquently put. Can’t wait til I get outside (really outside) again!
Thanks! Sudden inspiration can do wonders. Yeah I’m going to be taking a break as well so we can get back into it in the fall (bachelor party trip to the New?) together!
The line about shaking hands with cavemen et al is one of my favorites, in a piece that had a great many turns of phrase where I just stopped cold and reread the paragraph, thinking, wow, now I know what this feels like, but also damn, that’s some nice writing!
Also love your starting a paragraph with “But it’s different when you get back”. You really brought me even closer to understanding the rush and sense of triumph you feel before, during and after a climb. When I was younger, yes, there were more activities that brought out that “smell of spring” passion–but, trust me, that picking up your head, smelling the breeze & feeling your heart race…that never dies.
Your having that kind of pure joy in your life makes me as happy as…you’ll feel when your own kids find their passions the way you’ve found yours.
Glad it made sense and sounded good! I agree, I don’t think the rush from these kinds of things ever goes away, even if it is just from reading a good book!
Your passion for climbing is contagious Lee! I remember my first trip out to the New River Gorge with you. The forecast for rain was getting worse the closer it got to the weekend and Steph couldn’t make it, but that wasn’t going to stop you. My friend Brian drove up from Charlotte and became your partner in crime. Although it did rain most of that weekend, the sun came out the last day and we headed for Orange Oswald. You were chomping at the bit to climb something. The “easiest” dry route to lead was ‘She Got the Bosch… ‘ (5.10a) At the time, I had been climbing about a year and was just getting up 5.9s outside. You came down from leading, and said, “Ok! your turn!” I think I laughed. “Well, the bottom is like a 5.8. That’s your warm up!” I did make it up the route, most of the crag dried up, and we were able to climb enough to make the drive out there worth it.
Now, when I’m out and my first route is at or above my level, a smile comes across my face as I think back to that day and your passion for climbing, and without hesitation I say, “climbing!” as I place my hands on the rock and start my “warm up.”
🙂 What a great trip, especially despite the conditions! Glad I can share my passion–I’m glad you’ve discovered it and love as much as the rest of us do.
Well written. I think you really captured the essence of the experience! It’s always so hard to convey just what climbing means on a personal level. That feeling of earning your weekend, of wrestling with the Earth and conquering it. It is an experience so few come to know in this day and age. Thanks for writing!
I appreciate it, Michael! So true–most people coast by in life and don’t do anything that pushes their boundaries. They’re missing out! Thanks for reading.
I just checked out your Dirtbagging blog–you’ve got a couple great posts on there! The one on Crag Etiquette caught my eye–did you see the post on a weekend I had at the New a while ago? Pretty funny experience, especially including the response I got to the post itself. Check it out, you might be amused!
This is wonderful..) made me wanna climb some beautiful mountain.
Glad you liked it. I’m sure there are plenty of mountains to climb in Russia! Go do it!