Solitude and Commitment: On climbing, travel and life. A 2020 retro-post.
Climbing and the Runout
Runout: A lengthy or unknown distance between points of protection requiring committing moves and in some cases perceived as frightening or dangerous. May also be used as an adjective to describe a route or part of a route; or as a verb, for example to describe the act of running-out into unknown terrain.
In higher grades of traditional (trad) or aid climbing, sections of climbing are encountered where protection is not present or forthcoming. “I fancy I can get a piece in after that feature” I whisper to myself reassuringly; or simply “I fancy it”. This is my response to whatever imagined protection may lay ‘around the corner’. Or to whatever objective risk I estimate in my head… 2 metre fall or 5 metres? Clean? A pendulum-swing? I quiet my mind and run it out resolutely.
In trad it may be a sequence or a couple of runout moves. Moves to reach that next bomber piece on the tricky pitch of a climb. On aid it may be ten-, twenty-minutes of what feels like an eternity runout on the sharp-end. Negotiating sequences of body-weight only gear placements to reach potentially marginal protection only. Not just once or twice but over and over again for a one or several days of climbing.
Sharp-end: The end of the belay rope that is attached to the lead climber. “Being on the sharp end” refers to the act of lead climbing, which is considered more psychologically demanding than top-roping or following, since it may involve more route-finding, as well as the possibility of longer, more consequential falls.
The most challenging or difficult part of an activity.
Solitude and Commitment
Superficially these moments may seem scary, stressful, critical. But in all of these moments, only after I commit, my mind is quiet. Focused. Focused single-minded on the next movement in a sequence bringing me inevitably closer to a point of relative safety. These are moments of extreme clarity. These are also moments of control. Moments when I alone am absolutely, irrefutably in control of my destiny.
I yearn for these moments as a respite from the chaos, stresses and anxiety of normal life; and as affirmation of my personal agency.
Diving
There are other times too. Preparing for a cave dive where amongst other risks, a physical ceiling prevents direct surfacing to air. Or technical diving where a non-physical but insidious “decompression ceiling” prevents direct surfacing, without risk of severe or fatal bends.
Apprehension gradually increases as I visualise the planned dive and emergency procedures until the moment that my face goes below the surface of the water. From that point of psychological commitment my mind turns to pure clarity and focus. Focused one-by-one on the sequence of movements that will complete the goal returning me to safety.
Driving
Hell, even that last-chance overtake on the final straight-away before the mountain pass. An on-the-fly estimated risk with catastrophic consequences but you know the machine, the gear, the placements… A low enough likelihood of consequence that you “fancy” your chances and resolve to commit. Only one thing for it, drop a gear, open the throttle and make the pass. I’d love to be a rally driver.
My vocation as an engineer is heavily predicated on risk-management. Perhaps that is all this article is really about? Risk-management. The runout is just allegory. No. It is more – the psychological or actual commitment of one’s being to an end.
Travel is like Climbing
In a moment of trepidation in downtown Cairo I caught myself whispering “I fancy I can make it”. I was about to commit myself by entering the Embassy of the Republic of the Sudan. Embarking on a solo overland backpacking journey from Cairo to Khartoum.
There would be many moments on this adventure when I would reassure myself in the same way. Assessing the risk and knowingly stepping out from social, legal or governmental forms protection. A kind of travel runout.
It occurred to me that traveling really is a lot like climbing.
Often when people first develop an interest, they start of in a social setting, on predefined, objectively graded routes, with a guaranteed safety mechanism, partner, and ample insurance. The fixed routes and abundance of other participants are a motivation, a comfort and a point of interest. But perhaps there is a kernel of annoyance or a restriction.
This was me when I first joined the local climbing gym. I clawed my way up coloured-plastic grade 8 top-ropes with clenched teeth. The guided tour bus of climbing.
With time some people may yearn for the more intrepid experiences without giving up the convenient safety nets of the climbing gym. Perhaps they join their first local university club for a taste of outdoor sports climbing. A solid belay, no runouts – and fixed bolts reliably appear just right where you need them! The intrepid tour of climbing.
Some will still not be satisfied and begin to explore trad (traditional) climbing. One must locate and assess the route, select and rack up the required gear and place it correctly at specific intervals to ensure safety throughout the climb. You still have your partner or team for support. This is like organising your own overseas journey. Ensuring the transportation, accommodation and insurances are all in place to provide a safe and enjoyable trip.
For some sickos this is still not enough.
Ultimately I have enjoyed to travel the way I have enjoyed to climb. Chasing those zen moments. Solo. Committed. Runout on the sharp end.
This is how I found myself disembarking a bus into the far north-western tracts of Egyptian desert. Some 50km from the Libyan border, an Oasis dotted by mud-buildings, palms and the most ancient and remarkable mineral springs.
This is how I found myself one of only two foreigners on a passenger ship in the middle of a 525000 hectare lake, itself in the middle of the largest hot desert in the world. Nothing but burning sand for some 4000km to the West and beyond the hundreds of kilometers of desert to the East only the sea to be found.
I was entering a country with no diplomatic relations to my own. A country where I could not derive any consular assistance and would struggle to secure resources or evacuation in a state of emergency. A country which in the same year had suffered heinous state perpetrated genocides, continued civil war, and undergone a popular revolution overthrowing their dictator of 30-years. I was crossing the border from Egypt into the Republic of the Sudan, over Lake Nasser.
This is how I found myself woken at 3AM to be led by strangers into steerage amongst dozens of dark faces with limited or no English comprehension. I would be holding an insulin syringe in one hand, sugar in the other, confronted by a man slumped on the floor in diabetic coma. (A pensive nervous wreck, I joined the Muslims for their dawn prayers!)
This is how I found myself alone – within this vast, arid country – the only deranged sicko stepping off a bus halfway along an 800km highway in the middle of the burning desert, 300km from the nearest town. I had two options: hitch-hike out or sleep exposed in the sand with only the snakes and scorpions for company.
This is how I experienced the most tremendous and rewarding travel experiences of my life; and how I met so many of the kindest and most generous people on this planet.
Life and the Runout
After six months without working, an aid solo attempt at climbing Lord Gumtree in winter, and 4 months of challenging solo travel, I realise I am still reaching for that even greater piece of protection in an even bigger runout. I have used up a lot of my gear to get this far!
I have returned to my country still alone without a home. Without a job. Luckily I have secured some “aid placements” through family and friends to help me reach this next critical goal.
After every runout in life, even if I fall, I fancy I can reach the next piece just around the corner. Just like climbing.
In life as for climbing, don’t be overcome by the subjective fear of the fall. Assess the objective risks and consequences, prepare, and run it out!
If in doubt; run it out!
Very questionable advice
Addendum
In the time between writing and posting this article, my country has overcome the most devastating and extensive wildfires ever recorded.
The world has succumbed to a crippling pandemic – a situation which is still in flux.
At the beginning of the year I was fortunate to find a place to live (which would turn-out to be a COVID epicenter in my city) and a new employer with immediate travel requirements to Europe.
As Norwegian restaurants, and other businesses shutdown around me my last few ‘business’ meals were microwaved TV-dinners (a luxury compared to dehydrated hiking packets!).
I returned home on one of the last regular international flights. Many others were delayed and cancelled. I passed immigration 20-minutes prior to the implementation of unprecedented mandatory quarantine measures.
Now over twelve-months have passed without climbing or diving. A most unwelcome surface-interval.
A surface interval (SI) is the time that a diver remains out of the water between two dives. During this time, the nitrogen absorbed during the first dive continues to off-gas, or to be released from a diver’s body.
I am resolved to seek adventure in 2021, regardless of circumstances.
Addendum 2
In the time since first editing this article, I’ve remained on the fence about publishing it. The pandemic has continued relativity unabated. As vaccines are administered in the first-world, global inequity has of-course allowed the evolution of newer more virulent strains. These strains are diminishing the effectiveness of our response, possibly rendering it futile.
I suppose lock-downs, confinement, and home-working have taken their toll on my motivation. I did manage one notable adventure at the conclusion of 2021; but as it would turn out this was more than I’d bargained for. The pandemic has also taken it’s toll on my physical condition.
I am resolved to seek adventure in 2022, regardless how small.
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