I’m still glowing from this weekend, with that big-grin heart-thumping feeling that makes me think I did something really, really big - monumental even. I remember feeling this way after questing up Half Dome five years ago - eating pizza that evening in Curry Village absolutely buzzing with joy and possibly, thinking, “Whoa, I never thought I’d be able to do that.” Now, I have to keep reminding myself that no, I still haven’t sent my project at Smith, and nope, I didn’t tick off some rad endurance feat this weekend. Rather, I got to see the world through the star struck eyes of @glitteredannie and @tarasou, all⭐️ @she_movesmountains clients-turned-friends. These two built their own anchors and learned the art of rope pancaking, grappled with exposure and took lead falls, taught each other how to tie a clove hitch and led their way up their first ever multi-pitch climbs. And then, at the end of all of it, I got to watch as they scrambled to the top of the Monkey, mouths open with newfound belief and and eyes wide with boldness. Joy and possibility and abundance danced on the summit Sunday afternoon, while “can’t” and “not for me” and “too scared” got lost in the sagebrush down below. ✨ Thanks ladies, for being so damn awesome, and for helping me remember again why I love climbing. ❤️🙏🏼
In a conversation with Katie Ives about my recent piece in @alpinistmag, she said something to the tune of, “Sometimes as writers we can push ourselves to the next level. Maybe this is like 5.13 writing for you.” And if that’s the case, I sent the hardest climb of my life!! Thanks to @grahamzimmerman for providing a perfect image of what it feels like. If you’re so inclined, check out my essay All Will Be Forgotten in the Off Belay section of Alpinist 61. As always, @forestwoodward totally nailed it behind the camera. 👊🏼✨
It’s feast and famine down here in southern Patagonia, the land of extremes. We climbers simmer in Chaltén, perusing the guidebook and incessantly checking the forecast: our mid-day naps, late nights, empanadas and cerveza somehow justified by the upcoming weather window. Preparation for battle, we say. The window looms and our plans take shape – to the mountains at last! This is what we came for! Clear skies and calm winds usher us up and up, two by two or three by three, in search of those pinprick moments of pure joy, of glimpses of ecstasy, of comradery and freedom and the feeling of being fully, intensely alive. We inevitably find more extremes, discomfort a staple in our quest for bliss. Hunger, fatigue, cold hands and wet feet and wind-blown faces. In a very human twist, many begin to long for the slow pace and comfort of town, for lazy afternoons bouldering and Fresco pints held in chalked up hands. Is contentedness impossible? No – contrast is the spice of life. Then, as wind and rain shroud the mountains we trickle back to town – sometimes with tails between legs, often with huge smiles across tired faces, always with a few lessons under our belts. We grab a kilo of Domo Blanco with our friends, swap tales of glory and suffering, check the meteogram, and – call it addiction, or questing for heaven, or something in between – we do it all over again. // 📷: @tedhesser
