What We Search For
By Steve House
In 2006 Vince Anderson and I were permitted to climb Kunyang Chish East, the highest unclimbed summit in the world at over twenty-five thousand feet. The day we started up, thick cotton-candy clouds swirled and danced against the rock wall above our heads. The first part of such a climb is a long surreal moment as you untether from the known world. The clouds focused my thoughts on a future retreat that may, or may not, someday come. I scanned the way ahead for protection, the way a fugitive scans for hideouts or a raider marks cover from fire.
To lead is to see, and see with clarity. And nothing clouds clarity like fear.
As I scurried across the ice, pell-mell towards the promise of safety, I asked myself: What does it mean to lead? Is it to imagine the mountain as it exists in the future? Any future? Perhaps a future of storm-clouds as yet ungathered and avalanches as yet untriggered? Or a more gentle future of blue-black skies split only by the yellowing teeth of the mountains?
Is to lead merely to be prepared?
I reached a rib of ice formed by a bulwark of rock. These rock islands split the streams of avalanches, small and large, which polished the ice we climbed. I chopped at the ice, peeling back the first layer, to know it.
It dawned on me that the one of us who was the least afraid, at any given moment, became the leader. Simply put, a leader is the person that can just be. Simply to be is a crucial element. Is it the first element? To be among the swirling clouds and the deafening silence. To be among the strafing wind and the artillery-whir of the rockfall. Yes, the first element of leading is being. Just being.
Vince climbed ahead now. Scanning up. Swinging an axe. Scanning down. Stepping up. In the moment, simply being. Leading. Quiet. Aware.
Leading.
Swirling mist lifted from the valley floor, then hid him; I gasped at the shock of feeling suddenly alone. When you climb an icy mountain wall you stop thinking about fear. You think about the next step. Where to aim your next swing. The next right action.
By allowing myself to follow, to draft in Vince’s leadership, I was brought back into the present moment. Vince’s leadership created a world where I could be present and aware of the climbing.
Climbing is where you discover that the doing, the action, is where you find something stronger than the fear. Action subdues fear because action is agency, and agency is power.
A gust of wind blew the cloud higher and there he was again, climbing steadily away, slowly, carefully, consistently. I saw the stages of fear for the first time that day.
The core of fear is power. Fear is powerlessness.
I had power over my fear now; I held it in a clenched fist, fingers wrapped tight around the tool of my agency: the ice axe. Fear is a violent and unpredictable Tasmanian devil immobilized, neutralized. Not killed, not conquered.
I carried on, following in Vince’s steps. And watching him lead, it dawned on me: there’s another stage to subduing fear, partnership. A true partner is someone who can take over the leadership and be the sentry guard of the future. I looked up, and followed him. And as I did the stages of fear crystalized in my head: To lead, or to follow, allows me to be. Which allows me to know, not feel, but have awareness of my fear and what I am afraid of. Which allows me to recognize my agency. Which allows me to climb, to take action. Which allows me to know that I have power over my fear. That I am strong. That I am enough. That confidence allows me to be vulnerable, and therefore open, to partnership.
With the fear subdued, the pain and the beauty of the next days’ climbing could be met: Bloodied toes, a frozen ear, dry-heaving, immobilized, and turning back mere meters below the virgin peak. Followed by a night-long fight as avalanche after avalanche pried our tent towards the abyss. A brief moment of calm at dawn and the hurried yet never-rushed acceptance of retreat.
At the bottom of the wall we found cover under a small rocky roof and I collapsed in the wet snow, laying half on my pack, half on Vince. The wet end of one rope still in my hand. I released my grip and noticed that fear was gone. Dissolved. Things had appeared to us as they are. Infinite.
Exploring the poetic soul of the mountains.
Voice of the Mountains explores the mental and emotional adventures found in discovering who we are and what we’re capable of. Here we engage in self-reflection and humility, and embrace the beauty and struggle of the alpine experience equally.
