Risking It All (Hardwear Sessions)

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By William Meinen

Very early in my climbing career, as I pulled myself atop of the Devil's Tower in Wyoming, I was forever changed. Everything seemed different. The clouds were bigger. My hands had more character. I opened the summit registry to sign my name in the book with the rest of those who made it to the top. On the first page Todd Skinner had written a small paragraph before he signed his name.

It read something like this: "As climbers we have been given a key and are searching for the door. We may not know were the door is, but we know that it opens inwards. The search for meaning is not worth dying for, but is worth risking dying. Somewhere within this balancing act the door begins to open."

Upon initially reading it, I didn't fully comprehend how genuine Todd's testimonial was, but I could sense a great weight behind it and I tucked it deep in my heart and it was forever etched onto the back of my mind.

After that first road-trip I was hooked on climbing and I continued climbing abroad, making it the meat and potatoes of my existence. As I did so, the seed that was planted on top of Devil's tower began to germinate and take root. It grew deep within, and was reflective of my more committing objectives. Throughout my quest for enlightenment many climbers I knew of perished in their own quests, including the infamous Todd Skinner. Whenever I heard of such tragedies, I was always taken back. Despite the pain I felt for the loss of a friend and fellow climber, I could only imagine the pain that their death created for immediate family. Climbing is such a selfish obsession. And yet I am still compelled to climb. I am still drawn to the mountains.

For the last year I have lived in the Canadian Rockies. These mountains have again and again been a place of revelation for me. I have come to thrive on the lessons learned. Ultimately while climbing there are only two choices, up or down. When I risk it all and make that move of uncertainty to gain upward progress it feels as if nothing else exists except for that moment.

If I succeed, I feel a rush of life blasting through my being. It's as though I am experiencing everything for the first time all over again.

If I don't succeed, the results can be dire. The mountains are not forgiving.

A couple months ago a partner and I were climbing what we thought to be a first ascent up a snow and ice filled couloir near Mt. Sparrowhawk. It was a great day; some scrappy dry tooling, some thin and chandeliered ice, and an exciting exit around a cornice at the top. That night we clanged our pints of beer together to celebrate the start of another ice season and a new route to boot. Several days later my partner posted a description of our climb on the GravSports-ice website to encourage others to try it. It turned out that the route had actually been climbed a while back. The first ascensionists were stoked to hear that we had a fun time on their route. The post was getting quite a bit of attention from fellow climbers who were chopping at the bit to start up their ice seasons. Several weeks later news had made it to me that on Nov 12th the cornice at the top of the route had collapsed and swept two climbers down the entire length of the route, approximately 200 meters. They spent the night at the base due to injuries sustained during the fall. They were heli-evac'd to the hospital the next morning. One of the climbers is expecting a full recovery.

Unfortunately, the other climber died from his injuries the next day at the hospital.

I have spent a lot of time lately thinking about the risks involved with climbing, and have come up with many questions, but have yet to find many answers. All that I do know is that when I was climbing the route several weeks prior on Oct 20th, I had an experience in the mountains that I will cherish forever. The crisp smells of winter, the feel my tools swinging into the ice, the comradery of an old pal, and the thrill of negotiating the dangerous cornice still make my heart swell with gratitude and appreciation for life. I wouldn't trade those memories for anything, and I eagerly await my next adventure in the mountains.