From Himalayan Roads: Chapter Sixteen - New Territory, Old Territory

Hello Himachal!

I know it so well. It’s been a part of my life for longer than I can remember. My mother told me stories of when I was a child and the neighbors called the house to warn her that I was in danger. She ignored them as best as she could; both her and my father knew that however I got myself high into the one hundred year-old elm branches in the front yard, I could get myself down. They also knew that it was good for me. They knew that I must climb, because it was who I was.

Trees transitioned to boulders and boulders to crags and crags to giant monoliths that would take days to reach the top of. Climbing was everything to me. It gave me a sense of identity in my teenage years and then gave me great friends who I would continue to explore the wilderness with for life. Climbing healed me from the sadness of my parents’ divorce and from the disconnect I felt returning to the States from abroad, to a home I didn’t know anymore. I’d go out into the crisp mountains, chalk up my hands, slip into my tight climbing shoes and once I was on the rock I knew that it was solid and that it would always be there. Climbing saved me during those times.

It gave me the physical strength and mental fortitude that I needed to brave those long, unprotected sections of rock where dangerous falls were unavoidable if I made a mistake. It kept me healthy and adroit. I shied out of nights at bars so that I could feel fresh and ready for the challenges of new routes in the mornings. I skipped stressful classes in college to dance up boulders and in doing so I reenergized my mind and could stick through that institutional monotony when it bored me greatly.

Climbing added meaning to my life in the form of metaphor. You go into it eager and inspired but it is trying, impossible at times and you must be patient in order to work out the cruxes. If you do not have the strength yet, it does not matter. You can work on your weaknesses and over time you will accomplish what you once thought impossible. You can venture into the unknown and be safe if you know how to step well, how to stop and rest and collect your wits. And you know that at times you have to put all of yourself into a goal and when you do, one of two results will come: You will reach the goal and then you will know that unique euphoria of finding yourself better than you ever imagined you could be. You have to adjust yourself to this new mind, and then ask yourself that addictive question of “What else can I achieve?”

Or you will fail. Then you will know that failure brings a terrible pain and surges of doubt and self-loathing; it makes you question your worth and threatens to make you pusillanimous; it beats you to a pulp. But failure does not kill you. And it is there that the metaphor has much to teach, because you get back up, tie your rope into your harness, and put yourself at risk yet again, not to conquer the climb, but to confront yourself, those persistent fears and insecurities. If you give up, the doubts will linger and you have to live with them and that too changes who you are.

 

My "slightly" younger days as a climber.

For eighteen years I climbed. And then after one cloudy day at a Thimphu crag with an icon of Guru Rinpoche elaborately painted on the east face, I stopped. At the time I did not realize that it would be more than a year before I would climb again. I thought that I would find climbable rock in eastern Bhutan. But I didn’t. And I lost some part of me that was more important than I realized.

I took up ball sports because my body and mind did not take well to the lassitude that came without physical activity. In basketball, I towered over my colleagues for rebounds but still missed shots more often than not. We played soccer too and my friends put me in as goalie, hoping the sheer size of me had a better chance of blocking the ball than if a Bhutanese was in the same position. We learned that their theory wasn’t correct. I wasn’t good at soccer either. Volleyball was another failure. But the exertion held me over, kept me sane.

Luckily, the beauty of Bhutan, its people and heritage and traditions, was a good distraction and though I missed climbing I knew that what I experienced in Bhutan was worth the sacrifice. Then came this ride. The places I traveled again did not have climbing. There were rocks around, but I was focused on trekking in the high mountains and riding through cities and being in these countries that I was unfamiliar with.

Fate brought me to the Manali area of Himachal Pradesh and forced me to stay awhile. The roads through the mountain passes to Ladakh would be closed for a month and all I could do is stay in Manali and wait. Luckily—finally—there was a wealth of climbing to explore and the time to do it.

Sethan, Himachal Pradesh

I trembled. Not out of fear, but because my muscles were unaccustomed to the effort. I knew what to do, how to climb, but the force was new again and I was weak. It was time to wake up and relearn, to grow back into a body that I had built up for years and then abandoned.

It was frustrating, yes, but fulfilling. Become strong again. Become yourself again. I had to admit defeat on routes that I would have had no problem with two years ago. It was humbling. The process showed me that climbing still has much to teach me. In this case, I had a visceral sense that a body is an impermanent thing. I will not be able to continue to improve forever. I must acquaint myself with weakness and do it with grace. But as is always the case with climbing, I do not have to relent. I do not have to simply accept weakness. There are still tricks to learn, “old man tricks,” and I can now use technique over brute force. And I can still dedicate myself to challenges beyond me. The challenges may be easier than they were before, but there is still much to learn from them.

In the month of May, I accompanied a coterie of excited climbers through the alpine terrain around Sethan and we found new boulders that bore world-class climbing. It was like an all-too-easy treasure hunt, where amazing new routes were waiting to be climbed. Each beautiful form inspired us to brush off the holds and to go to work solving the puzzle of how to move our bodies from the bottom of the boulder to the top.

It’s a silly game, bouldering. In success, we only find ourselves ten, fifteen, maybe twenty feet from where we began. But the accomplishment has little to do with standing on top of the boulder. What we really accomplish is what I have been learning to do for my entire life: we learn that all kinds of challenges have solutions, and that as agents of our minds and bodies we can manifest solutions to a wealth of problems. Yes, climbing a small rock is a simple problem, and that is why there is so much pleasure in it. In an adult world where problems become serious and overwhelming, bouldering gives us a chance to have a child’s mind: to realize that challenge and play are synonymous. And in solving these small problems, we are better prepared for the larger ones.

My life is easy these days. I have no great problems that I need to solve. And so I relish the time to simply play. By returning to climbing, it was like getting reacquainted with an old friend. When I made it to the top of our new boulders and looked out at the verdant Himalayan forests and peaks beyond, I felt like myself again.

What I really do with a crashpad.