“Climbing was a magnificent activity, I firmly believed, not in spite of the inherent perils, but precisely because of them.”- Into Thin Air, Jon Krakauer
I had always felt mountaineering to be a fool’s errand. To me, before any knowledge whatsoever of the activity, I had always had the feeling that it was a rich man’s hobby. It was sheer insanity, I felt, that no logic or thought process could justify; to put yourself through the wringer, it was like an amateur fencing with death, a professional. There are, I felt, some natural things best left untouched, and unexplored. Mountains fell into this category, and so did oceans.
My feeling about the deep sea remains fairly the same. I have no ambition or curiosity to discover what exists deep down the oceans, I have seen enough creature features to satiate my imagination. But I have, without even knowing consciously I was doing it, have been drawn towards mountain climbing; for someone who has openly said to his friends that the activity made no sense, but in recent times I have found myself consuming more and more literature and media about the subject, and wondering whether I would be able to do it as well. I understand that consuming media is the lowest step on the ladder and by no means a substitute of actually going out there and actually doing it, but it is a big step for someone who till very recently had a very rigid mindset about what he considered to be mountain malarkey.
I recently finished Jon Krakauer’s “Into Thin Air”, having previously watched the film adaption of the book, named, aptly, “Everest”. I, like many I assume, felt astounded, sick to my stomach on occasions, and even angry, while watching the documentary “Free Solo”, while the beautiful animation of “The Summit of the Gods” once again highlighted the brutal nature of the mountains.
The thrill of climbing, I think, comes from the feeling of experiencing one’s own mortality. To fight nature, to fight against the climate, against the depleting oxygen, to fight against one’s own body screaming to turn back, I must imagine, must not be a pleasant experience. But it is not about having a pleasant experience, it is about the surmounting of odds and beliefs, it is about conquering what refuses to bow down.
I also think that the perilous nature of mountain climbing attracts many simply because it tends to keep one focused on the moment. It is wise and sage advice, to focus on the moment, but not many of us are able to do that, for a variety of reasons. When you are climbing mountains, however, it becomes a question of survival; one bad step and it is good night, sayonara world. When you are climbing mountains, it is not about the debt you have, or the incomplete degree, or the failed relationship. It is about making sure that you have your wits about you while you surmount the seemingly insurmountable, while you fight against the odds and the environment. Survival instincts dictate that it becomes more so about making sure you get back safely, no matter how you look or ultimately how you do it. While reading “Into Thin Air”, what struck me was the careful and concise way of approaching the climb, of focusing on the designed systems to ensure a safe to and fro, and how, even with the presence of such systems, there is no guarantee whatsoever. What it becomes is about focusing on the present and about focusing on the process. “Into Thin Air” is 315 pages long, and Krakauer only dedicates a grand total of 2 paragraphs to describe what he did and how he felt on reaching the peak of Mount Everest. It is about process, and it is as much about getting back down safely as much as it is about reaching the top properly.
I have never been one for the outdoors, and as I mentioned before, any mention of mountain climbing used to make me scoff. I no longer think of it as a fool’s errand, certainly, and I wonder sometimes, if, (and there is very little chance of this happening), someone asked me to accompany them on an Everest expedition, or any mountain climbing endeavour, would I be able to say no?
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