Month: August 2012

Below the Peaks through a Child’s Eyes

/ Andrew Szalay / Leave a comment

Natalie and I recently celebrated Wunderkind’s first birthday. She’s walking — almost running now — getting more expressive, and has an awareness about the natural things around us that has reignited something in me too.

Her mother and I love to be outdoors and we’ve seen other kids just a little older than our Wunderkind (pronounced with a German “v” sound, by the way) react quite negatively to being placed on the grass. It seems the affection for nature is either innate or it isn’t. (Grass, by the way, is a great surrogate babysitter for our little girl. Natalie and I have managed several important business discussions in the grassy parks by the Potomac.)

I recently started carrying her in a child carrier backpack, which resembles the old fashioned external framepacks — like the one my Uncle Tom, the original Suburban Mountaineer, swore by. She loves the vantage point of being high up, nearly as high as if she were riding my shoulders. When we went blueberry picking last month, she was able to reach the branches from the carrier and pick (then squish) her own. The juice has pleasantly marked the carrier.

I’ve been trying to take her around in her child carrier backpack more often, like on our evening walks to get she and I ready for when the three of us will hit the trail for some brief day hikes on our upcoming vacation from Peaklessburg (less a vacation from work than the city).

On a recent Sunday morning I “packed” her up and we went for a short nature walk in a local woods (maybe only six or seven acres) in between the homes in our neighborhood. She brought her favorite stuffed friend and I used my compass mirror to check on her. She babbled periodically as babies do, but more so when we got to the woods, as if identifying every “exotic” plant that doesn’t exist in her room or condo. I picked up a stick to point to things but that was hardly necessary; she reached for leaves and noticed the birds on her own. The expressions on her face were… not sure how to characterize them… But they were better than expected.

Our Wunderkind was clearly benefiting from all of this and so was I. I am normally focused on big mountains and big ideas associated them. I make things complex, or at least I seek complications and mysteries to unravel. It’s stimulating, but it has its limits. Sometimes I forget to smell the flowers on the approach or appreciate the birds, so to speak. I’ve found that taking my daughter outdoors helps me separate from the hectic qualities of everything in life.

As she looks at a leaf, branch or insect for the first time, I feel like I am too. Or rather, her wonder in such little things ignites the feeling that these little things are not so little. The most interesting result is that I feel alive and alert to our world at a level that seems almost spiritual.

It sounds cliche, but I get what people mean by the idea of looking at the world “through the wonder of a child’s eyes” in a new way. While it’s not the high mountains, this experience compliments them.

Thanks for dropping by again. If you enjoyed this post, please consider following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook or Twitter. Climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Craft Beer and off to Alaska

/ Andrew Szalay / Leave a comment

Craft beer and the 49th State are two things close to my heart. They both have an intoxicating influence. Their powers came into play once again, this time for a friend…

If you’re a member of the American Alpine Club, you can’t miss the communications on their Facebook page, Twitter, emails and blog from AAC staffer and ice climber Luke Bauer. He’s got a style that is engaging and amusing; you’re compelled to read his posts. He’s also leaving for Alaska and the chance to work for one of the well-known breweries in Juneau. How do you beat that?

The AAC staff and Luke in particular have been very helpful to me in becoming an active member, engage with the climbing community and, in some indirect ways, establishing The Suburban Mountaineer over the last couple of years. While the AAC will most likely fill his position, he himself is irreplaceable.

Good luck in Alaska, Luke!

Freedom Climbers by Bernadette McDonald

/ Andrew Szalay / 2 Comments
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Alpine start. (All rights reserved)

My mother was born in America but her first language was Polish. She still speaks with a hint of an accent if you know to listen for it. I took for granted any appreciation for my Polish heritage for most of my life. When I was young, I was teased for being a “Polack,” which, I was crudely informed through jokes, were stupid people. So I conveniently hid that part of me for a while and emphasized my Hungarian, English and German heritage from my father’s side whenever national background mattered.

Now that I am older and thankfully more mature, I’m fond of my collective heritage. I’ve always enjoyed my Polish traditions at Christmas Eve and at Easter — two of the holiest days of the year for Catholic Poles. Still, I never thought that I would have any real reason to have pride in being Polish. Poland, to the best of my knowledge at one time, was merely another country ransacked by the Soviets and the only amazing people from there were Pope John Paul II and Lech Walesa. Later I learned of alpinists Wanda Rutkiewicz and Jerzy Kukuczka, though I only thought of them as alpinists, not as Polish alpinists… until recently.

My perception of Poland changed in the context of mountaineering. I read Freedom Climbers by Bernadette McDonald (2011) at long last. Between responsibilities with family, work, and helping my wife launch her start up (which opened on Monday), my reading habits have relied on taking small sips rather than large gulps, as author Stephen King would put it. Albeit for me, very small sips.

McDonald’s book has won several awards, including the 2011 Banff Mountain Book Festival Competition and the 2012 American Alpine Club Literary Award, among others. At the outset of reading it, I didn’t think there was anything that special in the first few chapters. I already knew much about Wanda Rutkiewicz, Jerzy Kukuczka and Artur Hajzer as well as a little about Krzystof Wielicki. They were all great Polish alpinists, and Hajzer is still attempting winter ascents of the 8,000 meter peaks that haven’t been summitted those days. But by the middle, and certainly by the final two chapters, I realized that McDonald didn’t tell me why I needed to learn about them all together as a group, she showed me. I had to go on her journey — chapter by chapter — to get fully get it.

Freedom Climbers is the story of some — but not all — of the significant alpinists that made Poland the Himalayan powerhouse of the 1980s and 90s. She demonstrates through examples, told through short biographies, and explaining the historical context of the economic and social forces shaping their environment, to show why what they accomplished was so important in the climbing realm and even of greater significance in the idea of human freedom.

I’m tempted to repeat McDonald’s punchline and restate some of her conclusions about why they were so prolific in the Himalayas, but they lose their force of truth without the examples and stories that precede them. Instead, here is a sampling of what made them so impressive: They were poorer than any other nationality of climbers, ca$e in greater numbers and yet spent the most time in the Himalayas. Their gear was inferior and often homemade and yet they created new routes in the most awful conditions, including winter. Despite lack of government permissions and other support, they were innovative in gaining mobility and visited the mountains other than their beloved High Tatras.

The book also brought to light a climber that previously escaped my attention, or at least qualities that I didn’t know he had: Voytek Kurtyka. For me the story begins with a mountain seriously ambitious alpinists consider beautiful: Gasherbrum IV. It’s a 7,000-meter peak, but may have qualities that are tougher than any of the 8,000ers, including K2. Kurtyka was part of the two-man team that first ascended the high, vertical Shining Wall.

While I could recount his other notable climbing accomplishments, like his ascent of Nameless Tower in the Karakorum, what fascinates me most about him is the combination of his accomplishments and his philosophy toward the mountains and climbing. In many ways, he’s helped me — through the writing of Bernadette McDonald, of course — understand climbing at the level David Roberts has delved into the questions of why do we choose to suffer so to climb, through cold, avalanche risk, damaged or ruined relationships for the experience of a climb.

Kurtyka developed a philosophy that borrowed from and closely resembles the Buddhist Middle Path and the Samarai Path of the Sword. He wrote about it and called it the Path of the Mountain. He drew his energy from nature, but only the mountains would satisfy his desire for connection; only in the mountain environment would he face fear, anxiety, exhaustion, hunger and thirst and peer into another level of his soul and finding a special peaceful place.

This approach brought Kurtyka to face high challenges that were private. Climbing the 8,000ers in a day when his former climbing partner Kukuczka was racing Reinhold Messner to top out on all 14 was the antithesis of Kurtyka’s climbing style and spiritual goals. He climbed for 30 years and constantly pushed the limits, not unlike Steve House today. What may have kept him alive and successful, McDonald argues, was that unlike Kukuczka, he never allowed his ability to detect and weigh risk be pushed aside; she cites numerous “strategic and hasty” retreats that seemed irrational at the time but proved to be “mystical” and insightful.

I’m grateful McDonald told this story. It’s a wonderful narrative, full of mini-biographies and gives a better understanding of the struggles under the Soviets and what greatness actually entails.

Thanks for dropping by again. If you enjoyed this post, I’m sure you’ll enjoy following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook and/or Twitter, because if you’re like me, you believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

Patagonia North: Baffin Island

/ Andrew Szalay / Leave a comment

There have been stories of two impressive new routes on Baffin Island in Nunavut Province. In late July Bill Borger Jr. and John Furneaux of Canada have free climbed a new route on the southwest face of Mount Thor (5,495 feet) that they named  “The Great Escape” and rated 5.10+. And back in May, Marek “Regan” Raganowicz and Marcin “Yeti” Tomaszewski of Poland, put up a new route on Polar Sun Spire, which they named “Superbalance” and rated VII/A4/M7+.

Both were epics for different reasons and like all good climbs they have the element of responding positively when faced with adversity. Borger and Furneaux dropped relatively early in the climb a bag with all pitons meant for their descent, which sunk their hearts momentarily; they knew they were committed to reaching the top and getting down another way. They were about half way up the world’s highest vertical drop: 4,101 ft. / 1,250 m. at 105 degrees.

Raganowicz and Tomaszewski on Polar Sun Spire struggled against all conditions to put up the route. It took 24 days to establish the 37 pitches necessary for a reasonably direct route to the summit. Alpinist.com reports that they were proud — and rightfully so — that they did so without any “excessive aiding and drilling,” as Reganowicz told them. Cold was their ally and their hurdle to the top. The cold held the chossy portions of the wall together but the bitterness at night made resting conditions difficult. Occasional days of rest mixed with gear hauling made progress possible, and gear had to be fixed daily: “We cut five ropes, one of which cut 4 times in the course of 2 days. All because of falling stones,” Reganowicz told Alpinist.com.

It appears the suffering here was marginalized because the teams embraced it or at least their patience overcame it.

I’ve been thinking of the climbing in Baffin Island — or at least their stories — as the new Patagonia. I’m as enamored by Patagonia as every other romantic rock and ice climber, but I love destinations that people, upon hearing the name of the destination, say “Where?”

Baffin Island is as remote as Patagonia had once been before El Chalten basecamp was pitched and the buses rolled through carrying all sorts of visitors. I’ve heard that some residents are compensated to live their to ensure Canada’s claim to the land. Most of the residents are First Nations — Iniuit. There, it is easier to travel in winter than summer and the snow machines are the preferred automobile between settlements.

Then, around a seemingly barren arctic landscape, rising high, are vertical walls of opportunity. Mix a little adversity of conditions for the chance at greatness and or enlightenment.

It’s my Patagonia. What’s yours?

Thanks for dropping by again. If you enjoyed this post, I’m sure you’ll enjoy following the Suburban Mountaineer on Facebook and/or Twitter, because if you’re like me, you believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

The Olympics and How Sport Climbing Won’t Change the World

/ Andrew Szalay / 6 Comments

Summer Olympics: noun, an international competition and public spectacle of nations in various sports that usually have little or no interest to serious alpinists.

Sport Climbing: noun, a sub par version of rock climbing that disregards the unwritten idea that climbing is not a spectator sport and is often the subject of scoffing and jokes from serious alpinists; See via ferrata.

The idea of adding climbing events to the Olympics comes up periodically, particularly during the games. I have one question — that lead way to several more: Would it benefit climbing?

To add climbing, it would have to be sport climbing, because that’s the only way to make it competitive; same “course,” same bolted wall or boulder problems. Plus, sport climbers are already accustomed to having impartial (and partial) judges. It’s also already suited to the international style of Olympic events.

This however, limits the interest and, by extension, the support from other climbers that don’t embrace sport climbing. It’s ultimately up to the International Olympic Committee and they run the big show like a business; I would guess that they’re wondering (perhaps doubting) whether the market audience is sufficient enough to make it worthwhile.

Getting the rest of us to be interested in sport climbing is a bit of a stretch. While we embrace similar skills and heritage, the two fundamental differences between sport climbing with other types of climbing — mainly trad and various styles of mountaineering — is our emphasis on the place of spectators and the form of competition.

Climbing for me, at least, has been historically a private affair. I’d go to the Adirondacks or Chugach and talk about it with other climbers or with people I considered intimate friends — people that would understand. Climbing isn’t typically something we evangelize.

And despite that sport climbing injects rules where freedom of stylistic expression is highly valued in other forms of climbing, it’s appeal is sometimes broader than we might give it credit for. Take this example: A couple of weeks ago, a friend and reader I correspond with said despite not being a sport climber, it sure was nice to go out and clip some bolts. I scoffed initially, but I knew what she meant. Despite my commitment to alpine and trad climbing, I do… er… recognize that sport climbing has it’s place.

I generally haven’t liked the idea of sport climbing. Climbing by placing and removing pro whenever possible is not only good ethics for the environment, I think it’s essential to climbing in the wilderness. And sport climbing isn’t wilderness. It’s the equivalent of following a paved path for some compared to open tundra. That’s an exaggeration, but one some feel is a good analogy.

Adding sport climbing in the Olympics would clearly benefit sport climbing, but I don’t think it needs the Olympics to be successful. Climbing also prides itself in being sub-cultural, or at least appearing to be separate from whatever is popular in the mainstream. An Olympic event might counter that.

But it’s possible that having sport climbing as an Olympic event would benefit other forms of climbing. The stage of the Olympics is enormous with a broader audience than the normal international sport climbing stage — particularly in North America and likely elsewhere too. Take David Lama of Switzerland for example. He is now an alpinist for his work in Patagonia but most of his career has been spent in sport climbing competitions — indoors.

Since we appreciate mountaineering and mountain climbing (to the highest point) in particular, attracting talent through sport climbing’s various stages — recruitment conduits, perhaps — we might see what the future of climbing is from stadium seating. While the future can’t be determined precisely, the evolution of greater and greater challenges lies in bigger, harder and colder routes. Maybe this is a way to get there.

And thank you for dropping by yet again. If you got something out of this post, you might want to consider following me on Facebook or Twitter because I believe climbing matters, even though we work nine to five.

One last note… My use of the word “serious” in the definitions earlier was probably superfluous; true alpinists are driven and serious by the nature of the pursuit.