We’re out having our own wintry adventures this week. We likely won’t have to confront mortality while doing so, unlike in many of Alastair’s grand quests. This is a lovely rumination about when to say when. —Ed.
I recently climbed the Three Peaks (the highest peaks of England, Wales, and Scotland) with Phil Packer and Kate Silverton. The event proved far more difficult than we had anticipated and at one time we had to discuss whether to give up or continue. It was a fascinating discussion and one relevant to many people who have taken on challenging expeditions. Before I examine the fine line between foolishness and bravery I will recap the three options that we were discussing.
This attitude of gung-ho recklessness is all very well unless you die.
• Phil had achieved a hell of a lot already. There was no need to do more to prove anything. We should just go for a pleasant walk and enjoy it.
• We should attempt to climb the peak but with a prearranged turnaround time. It was foolhardy to do another night-time descent. As it would not be possible for Phil to reach the top before the turnaround time this approach was based on the belief that having a go was the important part, not reaching the summit.
• Climb the mountain and not come back down until we knocked the bastard off. To hell with everything else. We had come to climb the mountain, and that meant the summit.
Photo: Asoggetti
Apsley Cherry-Garrard considered that “on the whole it is better to be a little over-bold than over-cautious.” Mark Twain felt that it would be “better to look back on his life and regret the things he had done rather than those he had not done.” Many great expeditions and accomplishments have succeeded because of a refusal to give in or compromise. How many of us who make our living from speaking about adventures refer with a chuckle to nail-biting situations that narrowly avoided disaster. A wing, a prayer, and what General Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett called “a pigheaded refusal to look facts in the face” are regular occurrences in many of the narratives of great adventurous accomplishments.
This attitude of gung-ho recklessness is all very well unless you die. Ernest Shackleton was no coward. He turned around just 97 miles from the South Pole reckoning that his wife would prefer a “live donkey to a dead lion.” I imagine that Kathleen Scott would have preferred the same. Goran Kropp cycled all the way from his home in Sweden to Mount Everest then began climbing the peak. Tantalizingly close to the summit he made the decision to turn back and descend. That was an extraordinarily brave decision from a man of courage.
My conclusion, I suppose, is that there is no conclusion. Those of us who love this life will continue to want to pit our skills, our nerve, and our mental and physical endurance against harsh environments. We do so despite – because – of the implacable, unbeatable strength of the natural world. A storm on a high mountain can be a match for even the hardest man; a cliff or a crevasse or an expanse of ocean is unquestionably a less than 100 percent safe place to be. But an even greater risk than these is to not take them at all, to allow life to pass us by in safe, forgettable shades of grey.
Ultimately there is a fine line between recklessness and bravery. Where precisely that line lies is difficult to say and does not really matter. We know that there is a line. The challenge is to dance as close to it as you can, but without overstepping it one time too often.
This post originally appeared on Alastair Humphreys’ website, Living Adventurously.
I remember climbing the front face of a peak in the Rocky Mountains. It started with six climbers and before noon it was down to me and another brave soul. We knew that a thunderstorm frequently occurs in the afternoons and as we had a goal to be down and out before dark. I distinctly remember having the conversation about turn around time as we kick another foothold into the mountain. we gave ourselves another 45 minutes to reach the peak, rest for a moment to enjoy the glory before having to descend we made it but also felt the increased pressure we put on ourselves. We made it back safely. Four hours I returned to the mountain to seach for two others who had not return back to camp.
This is an important discussion and one that I have quite often. My only thought is that, in an outdoor culture steeped for generations in the concept of conquest, perhaps redefining success is a worthwhile venture. Is this 4×2 stretch of snow and ice with a great view what you came for, really? Or was it for good times with friends? Or the bragging later? Or the feeling of pulling your feet out of ski boots after hours and hours in them? It’s probably different for everyone. But I think we need to continue these discussions and recognize their genesis — conquest.
it depends on how you define success as Matt points out in the comment. i read the book No Shortcuts to the Top: Climbing the World’s 14 Highest Peaks by Ed Viesturs years ago and was struck by his repeated idea that “Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory.”
I’m a fan of AJ and Humphreys, but the article falls far short of its aim. The comment, “Where precisely that line lies is difficult to say and does not really matter,” is a cop-out and incorrect. The comments from Morgan, Matt, and James get us much closer to a useful understanding. How can we properly assess our motivations and values so that we can do more effective risk calculus? And do so while coordinating/negotiating with others? Can we judge others’ perspectives? I’ll bet most of you have a lot to say on the matter.
My experience with this topic is mainly concentrated in surfing. Many times I’ve paddled into waves that were, pun intended, way over my head. Other times I stayed on the beach. I went with my gut and although some close calls, am here typing. I also had many trips where the most dangerous actions I took were the travel to get there, the river mouths I swam across, the drives at night when I knew better, etc. This was all pre-family so other than maybe making a girlfriend or my parents sad if I perished, I kind of took risks because I thought I had big balls. Looking back some were just because I was a [email protected]#$. Now with kids and a family, it’s beach breaks and pushing my kids into waves. I think a true adventurer takes calculated risks and knows their limits. What kills me is seeing these people balancing on rooftop ledges or hanging off a building or tower to get instagram likes or whatever. So stupid to risk a precious life for such an empty pursuit. I guess in the grand scheme all pursuits are somewhat empty, but at least in climbing, trekking, surfing, and similar you learn something.
“There’s a fine line between clever and stupid” – David St. Hubbins.
northeast of the phoenix valley is an iconic mountain range called four peaks. on one of the peaks is an old mine of significant value amethyst. hiking with me were my two sons, 8 and 15 years of age. we reached at least 2/3 of the way to the destination, only to notice we were short on water. we were all keen on reaching the bounty. i stopped the hike for a discussion. in spite of the desire and not wanting to go thru the bummer of disappointment i convinced the two that we better turn back. reaching that mine was like the pull of gravity, but to this day i’m glad the decision was made, as it taught an even more valuable lesson, that success is not always reaching the goal, but decisions that avoid possible bad results have value too…….
I endured a tragic case study on this subject many years ago while ski touring during a period of high avalanche danger.
While skinning towards our (insignificant) destination, the signs of a dangerously instable snowpack were making themselves apparant, as were signs that our route would be exposed, and was not advisable on that day. I spoke up, and stated my concerns, and offered that a slightly altered route would at least provide a safe route to our destination.
My concens were swept away with a mix of arrogance and complacancy, and as we were in serious mountain terrain, we remaind a group and proceeded together. Less than 4 minutes later the last skier in our group triggered a large hard slab avalanche, was carried more than 1000 feet and was killed.
I had to endure digging out my dead friend, then extricating my self from a very exposed position all while wishing my partners had listed to my concerns.
Live and learn I guess, but its a damn hard lesson.
TLDR; No random ski touring objective is worth your life or that of a loved one.
@gringo – thank you for sharing amigo. Damn.