Craft Beer and off to Alaska

August 28, 2012March 29, 2016 / 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

August 22, 2012April 20, 2016 / Andrew Szalay / 2 Comments

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

August 10, 2012March 29, 2016 / 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?

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

August 8, 2012March 29, 2016 / 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.

Gone Climbing

July 30, 2012March 29, 2016 / Andrew Szalay / 1 Comment

I feel a little weird saying this, but the question “Who died?” is a common one late at night in my home. After Wunderkind goes to bed, Edelweiss and I like to read in the evenings. I usually have a climbing book or magazine. Then it comes.

I’ve started lying that no one in my current chapter or article died. Mostly it’s true. But there are a lot of stories of being stranded with HAPE, HACE, worsening frostbite, falling, avalanche, rock fall and snow bridges or cornices collapsing into voids, or alpinists learning of friends that go missing on a climb. I’m not morbid. I’ve never read these stories to contemplate death. I’m interested in the climb and the life of the climber. So my wife’s question, has bordered between becoming tiresome and comical.

Before I started writing this blog I read past the headlines of deaths of climbers, including the famous ones. Dying on a climb was something I avoided both in practice and in… I guess you’d call it concept or theory. I kept thoughts of dying climbing in the distance. But much of the news about climbing, except in the sources I typically refer to (see Mountain Links) are only talking of accidents and death; I just wanted news of attempts on jagged peaks.

Reading of climbing deaths in histories of Alaska or the Himalayas is somewhat detached. I notice deaths as if it were the death of Lou Gehrig — an important man in baseball from before my time, but I never had a reason to mourn.

In the process of obtaining best “inside track” for news on current climbing news through the American Alpine Club, climbing magazines in print and online and connections through social media, I’ve developed some relationships — a term I used in the broadest possible sense. Some I’ve conversed with once or twice, others I just follow like they are celebrities.

Along the way, my interest in them has developed a familiarity. When news came of Bjørn-Eivind Årtun’s death with his partner Stein-Ivar Gravdal on attempting a route in Norway, I did not react the way I have before. I couldn’t dismiss it. I felt I knew him. He climbed with Colin Haley on Mount Foraker. He was strong and progressive.

Then there was Michael Ybarra. I didn’t follow him, but I knew about him from his writing in the Wall Street Journal. Then Yan Dongdong — a pioneer of Chinese alpinism — and just recently, Roger Payne. Roger left his wife, Julie Ann Clyma.

I wanted to hear more from them. I wanted to hear about their next ascent or plans to tackle something in Sichuan. I wanted them one day to say, I’m too old for this, go on into old age and die comfortably in their easy chair with family or their life partner nearby.

These climbers are heroes and people that inspire us and some of us live vicariously through. Hearing of their demise in their pursuit for their next objective — their quest for happiness, arguably — makes their conclusion harder to take. They’re end is not like that of hearing about your favorite actor or baseball player; actors don’t die from the risks of their performance and ball players don’t pass away from the conditions in the outfield.

My climbing heroes die doing what I want to do. It doesn’t make me appreciate climbing less — at least I don’t think so. At the moment, it adds a more complex, personal element about my acquaintance’s humanity and my own.

So to Bjørn-Eivind, Michael, Dongdong and Roger… Thanks for sharing your stories.

No Rush for News from the Revelations

July 26, 2012March 29, 2016 / Andrew Szalay / Leave a comment

I like to keep this anecdote in mind whenever I think about how most news about alpine climbing accomplishments and attempts arrive weeks or even months afterwards: When the Erie Canal was built in New York State the rate news moved across the state accelerated the pace of life. Reports of a crop failure or family events like death or childbirth often proceeded the usual message delivers, like the newspaper or family members.

Supposedly, this was the first Information Superhighway. It was even said to have created anxiety about how to process the new information at its new pace. I heard this story a couple of times from representatives of the Erie Canal National Heritage Area when I was working as a Congressional aide helping to support the region. It made me think about several things, including how news from areas without a lot of information and media infrastructure travels, especially from the remote mountain ranges.

Of course, things aren’t what they were a couple of decades ago. Hayden Kennedy wrote in Alpinist 39 what his legendary father, Michael, said to him once after a climb during the hike out: “Dad told me stories of the old days, when going on expeditions was like launching into space — no SAT phones, no video dispatches, no blogs — just the mountains and your partners.”

Today, this is rare. Even if your team left the electronics at home, another team on the same glacier or mountain may still be tweeting about your activities, let alone their own.

So I get a kick out of getting news — “freshly” reported — of climbing accomplishments from a few weeks or months ago. It means the activity evaded the information stream or the network had gaps. The thought of that is somewhat liberating! News is news to the recipient, not because it was delivered through the immediacy of 24-hour news.

A language barrier was one factor delaying reporting in this case; in April, Anze Cokl led a Slovenian expedition to the Revelation Mountains in Alaska and climbed 11 new routes, which including first ascents.

The less traveled ranges, as in the Revs or perhaps Sikkim, can still be good for this. The Revelation Mountains are part of the Alaska Range — which, contrary to common belief, are much greater and longer than what resides in Denali National Park and Preserve. It’s southwest of Denali and Northwest or Anchorage for reference. Still, many expeditions or alpine teams launch from Talkeetna, and the additional cost to get there dissuades many climbers, except the truly resourceful and committed, from exploring there.

The Revs were pioneered by David Roberts in the 1960s and more recently by Clint Helander. The little information that is available is limited to a mere few pages in David Roberts’ narrative On the Ridge Between Life and Death and a few more pages in the American Alpine Journal, most of which are by Roberts and Helander. Anze Cokl paid a visit to consult Helander before his team’s expedition in April.

The news and rumors of the Slovenian ascents may have also been delayed because of their dominant language and that they were filming a documentary of their exploration, which was not immediately produced. Even those they met in Alaska apparantly treated what they heard about their ascents with little fanfare; they went to the mountains and climbed. That may have been news enough.

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

Sources: 1) PlanetMountain.com; 2) Anze Cokl’s website; and 3) Clint Helander.