Boredom in the New Year

What did Her Royal Majesty call it, “a bumpy year”?

I can empathize with that characterization in many ways, and yet, despite the bumps, it has also been an almost epic year of personal transformation. Last April as I crested the fifty mark in my life, I publically declared the next ten years of my life to be my “Decade of Adventure”. Little did I know how much that would come to pass.

Since June of last year, my son and I have completed twenty-eight outdoor climbs together, many of them with our now dear friend Tim Taylor. The year culminated with our first ice climb on Crescent Falls a week ago. The last six months have provided the foundation for the evolution of my own identity, which now includes that of a mountain climber. Who would have thunk it?

Having embraced this aspect of my evolved identity, I have found it necessary to alter my behaviour to align with this new facet. In short, I needed to get in shape, because climbing mountains, even hiking to the base of the mountain you want to climb is damn hard. To that end, in August of last year, I began a new training regiment based on the philosophy outlined in the book Training for a New Alpinism. Without getting into the details, I essentially spend a fair amount of time each week hiking the river banks of Edmonton, just east of where we live. While I am out there hiking the single track trails, I take the opportunity to listen to audiobooks - killing two birds with one stone. Most recently I have been listening to Atomic Habits by James Clear.

Near the end of his book, James outlines the need to endure boredom as an element common to those individuals who eventually come to master a skill. This notion struck me, as I am not naturally predisposed towards suffering boredom (I have passed those genes onto my kid too). I bore easily, and when I get bored, I typically disengage. Surprisingly, I have managed to stick with my training program for five months now (more or less) as the long-term goal of being fit enough to climb in the Bugaboos in July has been a powerful motivator. Our culture has largely served up a lie via social media that those individuals whom we admire and follow have simply gotten to where they are by natural abilities and good luck. If we pause for a moment and think about it (exercise some common sense) we quickly can surmise that this just isn’t possible. Anyone who becomes a master has put in countless hours of training and suffered boredom for hundreds if not thousands of hours. There simply isn’t a substitute for putting in the time (at least outside of the Matrix).

Having hiked the trails behind my house now for five months, I must admit that they are becoming a bit too familiar. The bends and rises are starting to lull me into complacency. I am at the point, perhaps even beyond the point where I normally check out in boredom. And yet, my newly adopted identity of mountain climber requires me to align my behaviour, despite my boredom, to that of an active individual who spends time trudging up and down hills. I know that I will never become an amazing mountain climber, nor do I even have the ambition to become one. But I do want to be competent, and I want to develop into someone who can pursue this life of adventure well into my 70’s, hell, why not my 80’s? I have experienced the powerful force of transformation that spending time on the mountain facilitates. I know there is much more to experience in that regard, and I know that I want to share it with as many others as are willing to give it a go. 

And so I am learning that part of my decade of adventure will also require me to embrace a decade of boredom, where I put in the time, fighting through the drudgery so that my body and mind can measure up to the tasks looming ahead on this journey into adventure.

Too Busy to Write?

Forgive me father for I have sinned, it’s been three months since I last wrote on my blog. I know, a dumb analogy, and probably unwarranted at that. But it does feel like I have abandoned this outlet of my existence for the last quarter of 2019. To be honest, I am not exactly sure what has changed?

I dubbed this coming decade in April to be the decade of adventure. Perhaps this is in part what has happened to my writing, but I don’t actually think that I can blame it all on the mountains. It is true that I have spent a fair amount of time in Nordegg and Banff this summer, along with Vancouver Island and even Arizona. It is true that the Boy and I have earnestly embraced the whole mountain climbing thing, and have logged over thirty climbs in this summer, including three multi-pitch climbs. It is true that I actually bought a used tent trailer and have slept in it more than twice this past summer! It is true that my family have become very acquainted with the delightful Taylor family who have joyfully occupied many a weekend. But is all of this the reason why I have neglected this creative outlet for the past three months?

Pigeon Spire also in the Bugaboos

I have often struggled with a sense of inadequacy. I have, at times, overcompensated for this with bluster, brashness, sometimes rudeness, impertinence, bravado and false humility. I often try too hard. I run to fast. I jump too fast. I expose myself and those around me to unnecessary risk. Despite all of this, I very often find myself struggling with what to write. and I think writing for me is not just a creative outlet, but also a way of processing, of working through angst and disappointment.

I am speculating now, but I am wondering out-loud, or at least on the screen (I am a verbal processor and since you are not here you are left reading my thoughts) whether this newly acquired physical outlet is not just improving my fitness level, but also my mental state. I have been training now, for over eight weeks for a trip that is planned to climb in the Bugaboos next July. I have only skipped two days of training in over eight weeks; which is so not like me! Is my new found focus and goal of preparing for this endeavour providing me a mental outlet wherein I am subconsciously processing things that I previously felt a need to work through on this channel?

I told Tim (www.girthhitchguiding.ca shameless plug) recently that I find climbing much like riding a bike up a steep hill, with one big difference; it is a bike I can’t get off of. I have never been very mentally tough. I am easily dissuaded from doing things I don’t want to do. Guilt is very rarely a motivator for my actions. In the past, when I have been riding up a hill I don’t want to ride up, I typically quit, and turn the bike around and ride back down - there is always another way around. The difference with climbing, especially multi-pitch climbing is that you can’t actually quit 600 feet off the ground. So whether I want to continue the climb, whether or not I want to push myself beyond what I think I can accomplish on the rock, I find myself without much choice in the matter. Often on the rock, I find myself angry in the middle of a pitch. Angry at my inadequacy, angry at my fear, angry at my hesitancy. And yet, when the pitch is completed, I can look back with a sense of accomplishment for what I just finished, despite myself.

So perhaps rock climbing is my new therapy? I am not sure. I know that I am a healthier human being today, than I was three months ago. I know that I have done things in these past three months that I never thought I would do before. I know that I am dreaming about things today, that I wasn’t dreaming about three months ago. What started off as a project for me to stay connected to my kid has morphed into something more. Don’t get me wrong, I am still delighted to be hanging with my fifteen year-old son, and I am still happy to be his surrogate frontal lobe, at least in the short term. His physical prowess compared to mine pisses me off to no end. I resent like hell that I am fifty and my body is fifty and my body is the product of a decade or two of neglect. I wonder all the time whether my body will ever recover to the point where I can climb half of the things that he can climb right now? But with all of that said, I am doing something that appears to be better for me in ways beyond the merely the physical.

The photo attached to this post is of a massive piece of rock in the Bugaboos called the Bugaboo Spire. I am hopeful that in July of 2020 I will get a chance to ascend that thing. And yes, for the record, the mere thought of it scares the shit out of me. Every time I think about summiting that thing, I get the shakes. But honestly, the fact that I am even committed to going up there, committed to three nights in a hut on a mountain is shocking to everybody, and most of all to me. My friend Tim talks a lot about transformational adventure. I actually wrote a blog post on his new website about the topic. All that I know, I am still trying to get my head wrapped around it all, is that something is changing in me. Something is changing in my body, my mind, my spirit, wherein I am beginning to associate these outings with more than just a climb. Before I turned fifty, I joked, “better at fifty than forty”. Now I believe that I will be better at sixty-five than fifty. Maybe because it no longer seems like a pipe dream, but a path laid out before me, where I know my feet will take me, regardless and despite my own misgivings.

Continuing the Decade of Adventure

This past week in Arizona has been a hot one! Despite the heat, we have visited the Grand Canyon, Sedona, and made a trip out to Queen Canyon east of Superior to a do a little climbing. While we were there, a guy happened along who wanted to interview us. It is a fun little video, and shows a little of where we were hanging. We definitely need to head back here in the fall or spring and climb some of the other routes.

Shout out to Tim and Girthhitchguiding who has propelled us along the way.

We find a place called ATLANTIS right here in Arizona ! We have passed by it a hundred times and never knew it was there . We also learn the history of the area and its fascinating . The road was so dangerous to build they had [Prisoners do it and it took two years .

Sharing Sacred Space

For most of my adult life, I would consider myself a man with faith. The object of that faith however has not been constant, consistent, apparent, valued, or at times even defined. I have, like most people, I suspect, shifted on the “faith continuum” anywhere and everywhere between atheism and belief. Today, I think I would categorize myself in the camp of solid agnostic. A man filled with constant doubt, and uncertainty. Truthfully that space is one which I find it difficult to live in, but for the foreseeable future, I think that it is where I will remain; getting comfortable with mess, and doubt.

With all of that said, I have always found the mountains to be a sacred space. Whether I shared that sacred space with my late cousin Josh, or then after with my warrior wife, and now with my kid, mountains have always been, for me, a sacred space. Maybe it is the influence of the many First Nations people that I have known and been influenced by? It could also be a product of what Richard Rohr and many others call panentheism where you find the Divine in all things. I honestly don’t know what it is, but what I do know is that mountains evoke something in me, that very few other things do.

This weekend I spent 2 ½ days in the mountains with my amazing son, and an amazing friend. I have only known Tim for a couple of months, but every now and then, someone comes along in your life and you discover that your are kindred souls, something just clicks. Tim is one of those people. A side benefit is that he is an amazing alpine guide, and he sacrificed time away from his family to hang with Andrew and me and guide us up two multii-pitch climbs. His enthusiasm in imparting his vast body of alpine knowledge and experience is inspiring. But more than that, he and I share the same love for mountains, and this weekend we got to share time in that sacred space. In many ways I am envious of the fact that he lives in the mountains all the time. Andrew would love it if we packed up and moved out of Edmonton and to the mountains where he could pursue climbing and snowboarding full time. That move is not likely in the cards. But weekends like this past one, help fill the tank so to speak, and enable me to reconnect in ways that very few venues allow me to.

On Saturday we climbed Mother’s Day Butress on Cascade Mountain, a 400 metre ascent which was awe inspiring, but not all that difficult in terms of climbing. Don’t get me wrong, we were still attached to ropes and harnesses, but the level of difficulty (5.4 - 5.6 for climbing geeks) wasn’t up there. Our Sunday climb, our going to “church” climb was altogether different. Sunday offered up a 250 meter climb up the face of Tunnel Mountain on a route called Gooseberry. It was a cakewalk for our accomplished guide, but thankfully he gets his kicks out of teaching newbies like Andrew and I how to become proficient climbers as much or maybe even more than being personally challenged in terms of his own climbing career.

The climb today was probably one of the most difficult things I have ever done in my life. I fell on a mountain and learned to trust not just my guide but my equipment. I navigated pitches where at first glance I had no idea how to ascend, and then through grit and determination, found a way. I watched my kid struggle and achieve the same milestones today (minus the falling) which was a profound gift in itself. Tim provoked and encouraged us, leading us up a challenging (at least for us) adventure, where we discovered that there is more in the well, just sitting there in reserve, at our disposal, if we just put ourselves in places where there is a legitimate need to draw from it. Add to that great conversations, meals shared, wine and great beer consumed and it was a profound few days, that I will never forget.

I write this post, exhausted, bruised, cut, swollen, muscles protesting, and more importantly, full of heart, a soul refreshed, I pride not only in my own accomplishment, but in my growing and amazing young man of a son. And I reflect on the growing friendship that is built on similar passions and a perspective that enables a sharing of something sacred, ill defined, messy, mysterious, and yet at the same time vastly profound.