From Beyond The Summit

This week's blog is not about the physicality or psychology of climbing mountains.  It's not about technique, endurance, or what sets us apart from the next climber.  It is about something very inspirational and otherworldly that we can experience up there if we're receptive - or more importantly, synchronistically destined for it.  It is, in this case, quite literally about the spirituality of the mountains - that magic which resides naturally and patiently there and waits for us to stop, listen, close our eyes or look around, and receive. 

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you.
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or woman
But who is that on the other side of you?

- T. S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

On Monday, May 16, 2011 while scrambling Nihahi Ridge in the Elbow region with my partner Brandon, we discovered a tribute stone placed vertically off the beaten path.  We almost missed it entirely, and I crouched carefully to take a photograph of it.  I drew my hand gently across the gold lettering, impressed at how well it had stood up under the elements.  I spent the next few hours ice-axing through greasy snow wondering what had happened to this young man.  Had he died fourteen years ago at the tender age of twenty-one while scrambling the ridge?  The mountains are crowded with whispery testimonies of summit successes found, disappointments taken back home, personal problems solved through contemplation, but also of lives lost; their loved ones left behind to work through grief and resolution.  These voices linger in the wind, carrying the story of their passing.
   

When I returned to Calgary, I could not shake the desire to find out more about Gavin.  I felt greatly saddened, but certain that there was something significant in this discovery.  I'm an adept researcher, but I could not find anything outside of his obituary (stating he was taken suddenly) and a Legacy.com guestbook in his honor.  I signed the guestbook, offered my condolences, then privately hoped someone would contact me.

And for the second time, someone did.

Gavin's best friend indicated that he had not been back to Nihahi Ridge since placing the memorial following his dear friend's passing.  He was thankful that the tribute was still holding up, and believed that his buddy (a talented guitarist) would be in a professional band today had he survived the fire which claimed his life in 1997.

I looked away from the monitor, and folded my hands together in my lap.  Now I understood.  All the pieces suddenly moved towards one another.  With the current Alberta wildfire situation, and serious state of those in the Northern Alberta Slave Lake area who have lost much, and continue to assess the damage, a voice reached out to me on Monday.  In the words of  legendary mountaineer Reinhold Messner, who believes strongly in the spirits of the mountain ("The Third Man") and has often been criticized for it: "leads you out of the impossible." 

Hear me.  I am Gavin.  Please pay attention.

                     - Photo of a young Gavin Cheffins, as posted on Legacy.com

Fire.  It is a natural occurrence on a seasonal basis around the globe, but it is also unnatural.  It keeps us warm, but leaves us cold and frightened when out of control.  In its wake we experience devastation, loss, disbelief, but it is followed by renewal and regrowth.  In previously scorched forests, we hike past the skeletal remains of ancient trees - the rich and darkened soil beneath our feet peppered with boldly colored flowers and newborn trees stretching their lime-green limbs towards the sunlight.  Sometimes you can even sense the ghosts of wildlife galloping through or around you as if they were still alive.     

It takes time to get over the ravages of fire.  It takes caring.  It takes involvement.  And wherever possible, it takes prevention.  We should be supportive of others on a daily basis regardless of whether or not they are in crisis, but for the victims of the Alberta wildfires, please take some time out of your day to assist.  The Red Cross has a relief effort on their behalf: http://www.redcross.ca/article.asp?id=39285&tid=001    

To Gavin Raymond Cheffins, thank you so very much for reaching out from beyond the summit to remind me of one of the top reasons I continue to climb mountains ... for the spirituality of it.  I hope that your message designed through my words will lead someone out of the impossible through fire awareness and  prevention.  God bless and keep you! 

Note:  All images and details related to Gavin Cheffins provided in this blog are public knowledge/access, with the exception of the facts that Gavin died in a fire (not on Nihahi Ridge), and that he was a very talented guitarist.  Thank you to his best friend, whose identity (plus a few details) I wish to keep private out of respect.     

Mountains and Misery

The two are not automatically synonymous, but those who look at mountains strictly from the ground up in skepticism are understandably fair in their opinions that what we do up there, what we subject ourselves to, what we risk, is nothing short of insane, self-serving, or ridiculous.  I will offer a personal perspective, and it will say less about what I do, and more about what propels me - what drives, haunts, or inspires me.  I will never become super-human by climbing mountains.  But I have indeed become inter-human.  I've learned a great deal about myself, in addition to those around me.  I know that my psychological disposition and tenacity is built for above treeline.  It is the arena where I feel very much at home.  I am in love with the outdoors.  I've taken my vows to be faithful to my relationship with it, but like any relationship, I can be rejected at any time.  The only part I have control over is my fifty percent of what I bring to that relationship.

"By all means go bold and brazen into the wild, but be both humble and wise, for Mother Nature will scour through to your soul to see what you are comprised of.  You are here by permission of creation, and it is a relationship of respect." - Laurel Ambrose

As are many of last year's Island Peak and Pumori climbers, I am following the 2011 Peak Freaks summit attempt of Everest at this time.  Why?  Because I know two of the climbers - one is adventure company owner and expedition leader Tim Rippel and he embodies what a seasoned mountaineer is: lean, tough, resilient, energetic, committed, safety-oriented, focused and observant, to name a few of those traits.  His face is wind-and-sun-weathered and his system is pretty much attuned to eating starchy Nepalese fare. After twenty years in this business, he is a career mountaineer.  A "lifer."   I call it the "Rippel Effect" - throw a stone in a glacial lake and watch the ripples move outwards. Tim is always on the move - for the sake of weather windows, his clients' safety and successes - and of course, to keep warm.  And he is that.  He truly cares.  Not all high altitude climbers keep climbing.  Some acquire the Seven Summits, or get close to it, then hit the speaking or leadership and life coaching circuits.  Climbing mountains is an easy-to-utilize theme on life.

The other climber is a personable chap named Roger Wright who I met briefly while at Pumori basecamp.  He had a chronic cough, and similar symptoms to my illness at the time.  He is still on Everest, his subsequent bout of coughing now under control, but has now turned back due to adjustment difficulties with his oxygen mask.  

Two additional members of Tim's expedition had to retreat due to illness, which is why I'm writing this blog.  To recognize them.  Celebrate them. Acknowledge them, and their efforts.  Successes and failures are the resulting bylines the mainstream public hears about.  High stakes game; high stakes wins and losses.  What transpires beforehand is the entire individual story of what drove us there, started us, kept us going or turned us back, privately challenged us, and ultimately ... enhanced us.  A mountain person's greatest attributes are resilience and outlook.  At times, things play out much like a lively and playful glissade down a frozen gulley.  Or they can unfold into a slow-motion, Zen-like episode of punching through misery with only the single tool left of sheer mental determination when your body is spent.  Never underestimate the inexplicable magic of will-power.

I was born an adventurer, but got sidetracked along the way.  I was told by a parent I couldn't do this, and couldn't do that.  God rest her soul, they were her fears, not mine.  I learned to distinguish ownership of this.  I have also been stopped short in my boot tracks by the broken bones and recovery of being buried headfirst in a landslide accident.  And I am terrified of heights (vertigo).  You do not fully conquer your fear of heights, you simply teach your butterflies to fly in formation.  My strategy is management, punctuated by routine leaps (not literally please!) outside of my  comfort zone when management has been established.  Perhaps my later start into mountaineering was purposely designed so that I could bring  extensive caregiving experience and sentiment to the social structure of it.  Summit success is important to me, but the welfare of others supercedes grandeur. 

Last year, I flew thousands of miles to climb my first Himalayan peak - a 20,000' shorter cousin of Everest.  I made it all the way to Pumori and Island Peak basecamps, but fell ill with a bacterial infection picked up three quarters of the way up the valley that took 30 days to beat and two hospitalizations when I returned to Canada.  High altitude, prolonged exertion, exhaustion, and low defenses are a formidable combination.  I pressed on through sun, rain and snow, my nose dripping into mitts, the face mask, and endless rolls of expensive Asian toilet paper; my throat raw and sandblasted - with the disgusting taste of infection that made me dryheave.  I stood up right after I dropped to my knees, and kindly refused the offer from a tremendous Sherpa leader to carry my backpack.  Perhaps that was unnecessary, but it trumpeted my independence.  I was aware that I had become the last woman now standing on both teams. Each night I dropped into my sleeping bag with burning eyes and the nagging fear that I might not make it to the top.  What no one saw restrained behind the glacier goggles by day flowed out in quiet, measured frustration at night - taking the trail dust with it.  These private, personal wars are fought on two battle fields: practically along with others so that sensible, safe decisions can be made - and, alone - where the push and pull of transparency and choice play Devil and Angel with one another.  In the end, you accept that the final decision has taken everything into consideration.  It is here where the most growth and inspiration occurs. 

On the day before summit push, my fever spiked.  We carried on the usual day-to-day activities like eating (the Sherpas graciously brought my food and tea to my tent!), dressing, photographing each other doing more of the same, and practicing movement in the hills surrounding basecamp.  Two team members from New York and one from Serbia had never worn crampons or used an ice axe.  I think my lower jaw dropped.  "Pardon?" I asked.  I was really concerned.  That day we spent several hours practicing ice axe self-arrests and movement on crampons.  I felt like supreme s**t, but it was improved considerably by the happiness I felt at seeing these team mates gain their momentum, stride and confidence.  They were having a good time gaining their skill sets.  Island Peak is not considered a technical mountain, but if you're not in harmony with your gear, it can be further life threatening.  A basic rule of the mountains is that conflict follows complacency. 

At 1:00 a.m. the bleary-eyed troop of climbers made their way to the reason for coming here.  To climb.  I resigned myself to the fact that I had little strength left to safely scale a 1,000' vertical snow wall.  I would not climb.  Not this time.  I stayed behind to contemplate more on my reasons for being here.  When the sun rose higher into a clouded sky, I walked the winding trail through boulders speckled with quartz and black tourmaline crystals; the as* of my scrambling pants sagging from the extra-plus weight that had melted off my already petite body.  A herd of Tibetan snow cocks chirped and scurried alongside the trail.  Life and folly in a place of monotone colors.  What a concept.  As I sat out an entire afternoon alone and perched on the crest of a panoramic view of the Himalayas, listening to and watching the constant avalanches and rockfalls, I made peace with things.  It is a scene in my life that will never be duplicated.  I later discovered that my ascender - the tool we use to lift ourselves up the fixed ropes, repeatedly malfunctioned.  Hmmmm.

After a 16-hour round trip, the New Yorkers and the Serbian arrived back tired, but absolutely pumped about making the summit.  There were hugs, some tears (mostly my own), and a debrief in the mess tent.  I could not have been more thrilled.  And I shared in that victory.  If any of that time spent the day before showing them how to use gear contributed to their success, then I fulfilled my role in the social structure of mountaineering.

To Mark (Mango) Mangles, Mark Schaible, and Roger Wright - who were unable to summit Everest "this time" I salute you, and your efforts.  If it has not already occurred for you, accept your growth.  Welcome your inspiration.