Build Anchors

The image with this entry is of a #12 Black Diamond Stopper. This particular stopper, after blowing out two pieces above it, was the piece of gear that arrested my fall from the crux of Cat’s Tail at Mount Nemo. The crux is at the top of a 25 meter climb, so I came close that day. I was a gym rat and didn’t know a thing. 

This doesn’t belong to me. People talk about cultural appropriation, but stealing what’s important to others doesn’t just happen in terms of culture. There are a slew of things we can take from one another.

A local climber died this past week in Canmore. I didn’t know him and only know of his wife by reputation, but they have been a part of this community at least as long as I have. They were everyday people that contributed to our fabric, that owned a small business and influenced a huge swath of our population. He loved these perfect mountains, and in that we had an unknown kinship.

When I heard that a local climber had died it sent shivers through my body. It opened up old wounds. I didn’t know Richard, but living and climbing in the mountains builds some spirit between people, and when one suffers so do the rest. I haven’t climbed in ten years, but every inch of me still fires when one of us goes down. You don’t stop being a climber.

Some joke that climbing is an obsession. But those who don’t participate can never understand the relationships that the sport builds. The necessary trust in someone else to hold the other end of the rope, or to build an anchor, or place an ice screw.

I’m sorry Richard that this happened. I’m sorry to those that knew and loved you because I’m taking from their sorrow. My heart goes out to all of you.