Why does a gifted climber like Steve House
feel he has the right to tell others how to
climb a mountain ("Letters," Pages 8 and
10)? As long as you don't trash the environment
and you're honest about how you do
it, then all else is fair. There are no rules, no
dictator. Why doesn't Mr. House complain
about the Poles' new route on the east face
of the South Tower of Paine ("Climbing
Notes," Pages 89-90)? They fixed lines. Or
the Annapurna III team for jugging/
descending lines left from a previous expedition
("Deep Down and Dirty," Pages
56-63)? Or let's tell Ed Viesturs it's weak to
climb all the 8000-meter peaks by the standard
routes. And if you want to complain
about bolts, I think Yosemite has a few
more than Nuptse East. The bottom line is
that the Russians climbed one of the hardest
routes ever done, semi-alpine style in the
Himalaya, and they should be commended
for that. And if Mr. House or Mr. Twight
want to do it better, in more pure style, then
do it. It's still there.
—Mike Preiss, Bellevue, Washington
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Shaving the Bull's Horns
Since the Renaissance, western civilization
has viewed man as separate from his environment.
Valuing nature as something to be
used, a resource to be "managed," has taken
us to the brink of global collapse. Climbing
is a metaphor for life, and when climbers
talk about "preserving the resource" I
cringe. In our growth-based society, "preservation"
is nothing more than lip service
designed to placate our conscience in the
face of ever-increasing exploitation.
Bolts allegedly reduce impact. In reality,
they increase impact by making cliffs more
accessible. Localized "preservation" is offset
by increased foot traffic and crowding. Bolts
supposedly make climbing safer. In reality
they promote technological dependency
and mindlessness. Drilling for dollars by
bolting for convenience, guides trivialize
valuable instructional topics like selfreliance
and problem solving.
Critically evaluate your approach to life in
general and climbing in particular. Unless we
view everything as sacred and interconnected,
we will continue to destroy the planet
and ourselves. Bolts are climbers' ultimate
expression of dominance over nature.
Ironically, this dominator gestalt separates one from nature, from the very experience so earnestly sought.
Listen to and trust your feelings. Feel like you're selling out when you
clip a bolt? Don't clip it. Climb easier routes in better style. Dislike seeing
more bolts at your local crag? Pull them out. Stop clipping them in
moments of fear-induced weakness and then, later on over a few beers,
spraying about how you wish they weren't there....
I appeal to integrity and issue a call for action. Purify your style. Top
out. Walk off. Down climb. Solo. Reduce your hypocrisy instead of
using others' to justify your weakness. Only my fear of ostracism prevents
me from removing every fixed anchor I can. I have pulled some
out and may pull more, locally or elsewhere, if I want to. I cheer
inwardly each day I use no fixed anchors. On some days the chalkbag
and tight shoes stay at home. Know yourself, accept where you are and
start from there. The question is: In which direction to proceed?
Toward greater self-actualization or into increased trepidation and
dependence? Toward love or toward fear?
Hemingway once said that climbing and bullfighting are the only
true sports. Some fighters have been shaving down the bull's horns,
making it safer and more entertaining for the crowd. What will happen
to climbing if we continue to accept the shaving of its horns?
Take your power back. Think for yourself.
—Dave Heinbach, Seneca Rocks, West Virginia
Dear Jay
Darling, sweetie, imagine how surprised I was to get my latest copy of
Alpinist and see your name on the cover. My manservant Jeeves brought
it to me, wedged between my afternoon treat of chocolate bonbons and
my old favorite Dom. Good thing I had the chance to wash one glass
down, for there was my photo (Page 54), in your beautiful essay (“A
Night in the Open,” Pages 48–55). Oh my goodness, there I was, au
naturel, no makeup, utterly exhausted after that five-hour ice-climbing
epic to get to our little snow cave. I almost choked on my chocolates.
Heavens, has your stock portfolio crashed that bad (I know I am still
in shock about mine) that your memory has failed you so? I suppose in
the grand scheme of things it really does not matter how wrong the
facts were, but I must protest. Really, "top ramen"? "Ticket to Ride"?
Oh, how rude, darling, for my crepes were the talk of base camp, and
I don’t really like that song. I thought your taste in music was more
classical—or at the least, more vintage (I can recall you humming Foxy
Lady the entire time). The truth of that night out was ever-so-much
more interesting: the "voices in the night," the ice cave falling in on you
when an "unnamed team member" "stood up," the other team reporting
to me that all of you were dead, the epic return at 1:30 a.m., the next day’s descent, when Jim and I encountered the remains of a
climber that came out in the avalanches from Torre Egger.
La noblesse de coeur forces me to care about the truth, no matter how
insignficant the facts. And of course, I still simply adore you, as the
respect, affection and loyalty that come from the bonds formed on a
then-visionary alpine-light expedition remain constant.
Kisses, darling, and ta ta. I hope your knees are in better shape than
mine. (By the way, did you get rid of your Humvee or are you just
garaging it while the gas prices are high?)
—Eliza Moran, Reno, Nevada
Break a Leg
I was reading my new Alpinist last night, and on Page 89 I read about
the route put up on the east face of the South Tower of Paine by Chris
Belczynski and team. In the last line Chris said, "We salute the earlier
parties, both those who succeeded and the ones who only attempted
lines on this face!" As a member of the first team to attempt a line on
the east face back in 1984-85 (I’m the one who got nailed by a rock
during a bivy 1,700 feet above the glacier and had my leg broken on
the morning of our summit bid), I would like to send Chris and team
a personal note of congratulations on their magnificent new route.
Despite my accident, our climb in '85 was one of the best experiences
of my life (see the 1986 American Alpine Journal if you like a good
epic). I can only imagine the rush you three had summiting after climbing
that magnificent wall, and in such good style. And thanks for
adding your finish to our line, too! I believe we are entering a new
Golden Age of climbing, where the possibilities for adventure for new
big-wall climbers are endless. Your new route is a perfect example. So,
to Chris Belczynski, Bodziu Kowalski and Wojtek Wiwatowski—I
salute you!
—Craig Peer, Cameron Park, California
