Lay Off Me I'm Starving!
The worst people in the world are the ones with no sense of
humor. They are the ones who talk over
you when you are in the midst of telling a funny story in order to provide
their own anecdote. They are the ones
who interrupt you at work to tell you a joke that only they will laugh at. They are horrible time-sucking-me-monsters
who are so self-involved they fail to see or empathize with the struggles and
beauty of others’ lives. They suffer
from a drastic condition known as ‘insecurity’ and the only way to stop them is
to smack them across the nose with a rolled up newspaper every time they try to
speak to you. For in their world, the
population is 1; and if you do not smack them back into the harsh realities of
the actual world-which in all of its grace and meandering justice fails to
provide even a modicum of self-restraint in the teaching of lessons through
violence-they continue to spread this disease to others like a cancerous STD
ridden pack of hyenas.
Stepping off the plane I was just glad to see that all my
belongings were intact. One misplaced
bag, one lazy porter, or one disdainful baggage claim attendant and the entire
trip would have been ruined. I was
filled with ambivalence. I was filled
with hunger. I saw my good friend Steven
and I knew everything would be okay from there; even though neither of us had
smart phones and we had just flown 3,000 miles away from any recognizable
landmarks. I sat dumbfounded and
starving in the passenger seat of our rental car as we spilled out enthusiasm,
nervous excitement, and bemused looks of antipathy at a map we struggled to
comprehend.
It made me think back to all the work I had done in
preparation for the trip and how I was trying to maintain a calm resolution NOT
to place unwanted pressure upon the outcomes of said trip. It was hard not to promulgate my fears about
accomplishing goals. I had already
overcome a few immense mental hurdles and was feeling the warm embrace of
confidence; but also a sort of nonchalance that immediately evaporated the
minute I started to fail on even the smallest of goals I felt would/should have
been easily achieved.
I dangled at the end of the rope engulfed by the
Darkside(fitting name for a crag that helped me to become so in touch with that
side of myself) having failed yet again to onsight the warm up. Enraged I was lowered to the ground and began
fuming and throwing a silent tantrum. It
was then that climbing is put into an ethereal perspective. Thoughts you would never have while on a
sending-spree aid climb their way into your mind and set up a bivy; urinating
and defecating in bottles just below the summit of your enlightenment. It is at that point that a humble
readjustment needs to be made at fantasies expense. A re-tooling of the ego, a desiccation of the
watered down hopes and dreams of your imaginations ambition; tightening up your
belt and figuring out why you are engaged in ‘this’ activity with ‘these’
people in the first place.
Despite my recent achievements (on routes I had ruthlessly
wired) it was a brutal ‘come to jesus moment’ when a local ostensibly patted me
on the head and pointed me to where the gumbies play. It was a good call and one in which my hubris
stewed for days. But I eventually
succumbed and decided that big numbers, breakthroughs, and cathartic,
everlasting feats of strength were not written in this trips manifesto.
I sat at the covered area at Miguels night after night
swallowing my pride with heavy doses of Wayne-supplied bourbon and whiskey and
enjoyed the scene. The pizza became more
and more plush with delicious tasting toppings, the weather became more and
more emblazoned by the scarcity of clouds and the appearance of the sun, and
each approach to a crag was enlivened by color and invigorated with a loss of
crippling expectation. I fell in love
with a new idea, a different goal of just climbing and trying to learn something
about this place and rock and style.
Letting go of an ego I had developed and replacing it with a reason to
enjoy my surroundings and time. The
great achievement of the trip was satisfying yet completely unfulfilling, and
really what I learned was that one week in the red (unless you are a mutant or
have a better mentality than I) is just not enough for little ‘ole me.
Despite all the failed goals of onsighting every 12+ I got
on and sending 13’s galore the true achievement was being able to lose myself
in the time I spent with my friends.
Because, while I sporadically lost control to anger and frustration over
not fulfilling this completely ego-driven identity I had created; the reality
was that amazing shit was happening all around me all the time. Laughing my ass off at the sight of Kevin’s
meal in Lexington. Destroying our rental
car after following heinously bad advice (and being able to laugh about it,
eventually). Pseudo-dance parties in
Jesses’ Sprinter; quiet mornings in Miguel’s spent reading and eating delicious
but simple breakfast wraps, meeting Anna Stohr and Killian Fischuber, watching
a local PNW’er onsight every hard route in the Red, meeting a plethora of
locals who acted as if we had been friends for years, and waking up every day
knowing that I was at the Red ‘motherfucking’ River Gorge and that potential is
always there waiting for you to drop your heavy bags of ‘anger’, ‘ego’, and
‘expectation’ and float effortlessly up its golden glowing channel of light.
Ultimately, it was an amazing trip. I had so much fun that
when I returned I started suffering from that post-trip-malaise that seems so
prevalent in anyone who is plucked from an environment that makes their soul
sing and plopped back into a watercolor greyscale themed scenario involving
computers and phones.
I am so pumped up to go back next year and spend at least two
weeks there. I’ve spent the last three weeks pining after the enormous
overhanging paddle-fests, the beautiful Fall colors, and the escape into a
world and community that knows my name. I’ve been chasing that feeling
since my return by going to little si every single weekend for the last three
weekends. The climbing season seems to have taken pity on me by extending
itself thus far, but I am almost crippled with the fear that last weekend may
have been the last time out. First the rain moved in, then we swapped the
rain for the cold, and now it looks as if both might be ganging up to drive me
away from my beautiful overhanging behemoth of grey rhino rock.
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