Rock-climbing explores texture as does kissing another's lips. Both stimulate, are life-affirming, pleasurable and voluntary human expressions. One looks for reassurance, the other might. Dispute this and I'd say you lack imagination.
OK, I'm done with the analogy and into facts. Rock-climbers continuously search for the reassurance provided by good holds. Holds vary in goodness. The best (and rarest) are securely attached flakes of rock which allow 300 deg. of grip, almost like rock rails. The next best are small horizontal steps which incorporate a right-angle, thus 90 deg. of grip. There are other shapes which offer less and less grip, best suited to simian experts.
For me the essence of rock-climbing resides in shallow scoops on rock devoid of cracks, ridges and other grabbable features. Their use demands faith. A scoop, as handhold, offers no mechanical engagement for the fingers only friction; when such a handhold becomes a foothold the uncertainty increases since boots reduce the climber's sensitivity. Friction works but only up to a point; a severely inclined scoop offers little friction. Yet others will have successfully climbed this route and made this judgment. Certainty melts into faith.
"Exposure" describes a growing unwillingness, due to increasing height, to perform manoeuvres which are unexceptional a few feet above the ground. "Perceptions of height" is more exact. In a rock chimney one may be unaware of the drop; out on a bare face it may be only too evident. Climbers flirt with exposure as in an off-and-on affair. A rocky romance you might say.
I gave up rock-climbing when I moved and lost immediate access to rocks. Also I’d got older. I was simultaneously relieved and miserable. Being a human being is neither easy nor logical.
Your thrill seeking former hobbies are a bit terrifying for me. However, I really enjoy the descriptions. As for the rock climbing, I can't help but wonder if coming down was as enjoyable as going up?
ReplyDeleteColette: Sport that involves risk (skiing, climbing, motorbike racing, etc) cannot of course be justified. Nor would I ever try. It requires the participant to explore the vague boundary between what is acceptable and what isn't and too many factors blur the clarity of this judgment.
ReplyDeleteI damaged myself at both climbing and skiing and was very lucky the climbing incident wasn't far worse. With Loss 2 I didn't mention rope management and the fact that one usually climbs as part of a pair; in fact on one occasion only the rope with me at the end saved the chap I was climbing with from the consequences of hitting the ground from 25 metres. These days he and I exchange proper letters (ie, the sort that travel in envelopes) and he refers wryly to what he owes me. But it could easily have been the other way round.
What's strange is I'm a physical coward. I know this. I took part in fake nighttime exercises in the RAF and found myself scared of being detected, even though I only risked being chalked with an X on my back. I was actually scared of climbing and only did so to a moderate level of difficulty. Why did I do it? Simply to be part of aomething that fascinated me and a group of people I admired.
Going down. One very rarely climbs down, usually only in emergency on very long routes. Most rock climbs have paths down. The alternative is to abseil down - a controlled way of sliding down the rope; this looks spectacular but is a bit of a doddle.
Just one more Loss to go. But there the problems were psychological.
So. When you did things you were afraid to do, you found out that you could do them. What did this do to your level of confidence or bravery? One would think that your courage was increased because you did what you thought you could not or feared to do.
ReplyDeleteBut of course the level of possible next steps keeps going up...
Marly: Thank you for a hugely complex question. I found quite quickly that my "bravery" was fixed at a low level and I wasn't tempted to break through it. I was very much influenced by the ratings for climbs (ie, easy, moderate, difficult, very difficult, severe, very severe, exceptionally severe - as they were in my days) and never, of my own volition, attempted anything beyond very difficult.
ReplyDeleteAnother factor was leading - being first on the rope. The guideline is that "the leader should never fall" because such a fall is much more likely to be catastrophic, as opposed to a fall by the second who merely becomes "unstuck" from the rock and simply dangles. I wasn't a natural leader.
But here's a strange exception. A woman reporter on the newpaper I worked with, and whom I was greatly attracted to, expressed an interest in climbing. I took her to the Lake District where I climbed confidently as leader, with her as second. I'm not sure what this says about me, perhaps you're in a better position to comment. It may be that this led to a major theme of all the novels I subsequently wrote (much later): all feature women as central characters, often in a slightly heroic light - in the modern meaning of that adjective. BTW: the hoped for affair never came off.
I was never a good climber but I liked the "idea" of climbing. Here's a definition of a good climber: in most climbs one is presented with a move that would be difficult to reverse. Good climbers take this in their stride, I was often extremely reluctant.
There's no logic to climmbing, even less so in my case. I was sad to give up climbing but on reflection perhaps it was losing the climbing "swagger" I regretted.