A Dirtbagger's Delight

Death is a black hole, something so dark and encompassing that it not only engulfs the one that has passed, but also swallows part of the community.   With recent passing of Kayah, a whole swirl of emotion has over come me.  First it was disbelief, I couldn’t believe the lady I had hugged 12 hours earlier was now dead.  As the news peculated and social media had gotten ahold of it, sadness washed over me.  The morning after I received the news, I was on facebook, and I had this experience where it felt like my head had disconnected from my body.  It was like I had taken too much cough medicine.  I was being sucked into the death hole.  I didn’t know what to do, because at this point, not many people knew what had happened and I did, my boyfriend was at the scene of the accident.  I had to talk to someone, anyone.

The conversation that I had over and over and over with people was at first healing and then it became annoying and damaging.  I had to explain what had happened, my theories about why it had happened, and then the inherit danger with climbing.  I normally added how much I disliked Hidden Valley in the first place and knew something bad was bound to happen there, but how I wished it wasn’t my friend who had to suffer from the bad energy of the place.  Breaking the news to people became a chore, one I did not want to do anymore.

The social support for Kayah and her surviving children is absolutely amazing.  Everyone in the climbing and environmental community have really gone far and above what I had previously experienced when a community member dies.  In two days, they raised over $40,000 for her kids.  There has been an outpouring of beautiful messages and photos of Kayah doing all the things she loves to do.   She was such an amazing lady- which makes dealing with her death a lot harder than say dealing with someone who has been an arrogant bastard most his life.  The community has really proven to come together, using social media as our platform for dealing with our grief.

So on one hand, social media has been a great vehicle for sharing stories about Kayah, but on the other hand, it really messes with my emotions.  As I scroll down my newsfeed, I see pictures of old friends that I miss, cute babies, funny memes and intermixed with all this, I see posts about Kayah.  My emotions go from light & smiling to heavy & crying all with a swipe with my two fingers (I have a MacBook).  The morning I first logged into facebook, an old friend of mine messaged me asking if I had knew Kayah.  I said I did, that she was a friend of mine.  Instead of allowing me space to greive, she immediately changed the subject to her car and my school, trying to catch up on time lost.  Bless her heart, I love my friend, but using my friends death as a catalyst to get ahold of me in order to catch up, wasn’t good timing.  So, its been weird.  Facebook & social media has been wonderful for posting memories about Kayah, but almost tormenting because with the holiday and end of the year coming around, everyone is posting these happy memories.

Another challenge to dealing with the death of Kayah is the fact she died on the 20th of December, just five days before Christmas.  I cannot attend her funeral or memorial service, I have to be in Ohio with my family.  The joy of seeing my family all together again turns dark when they say their sorry to hear about my friend.  Its hard for me to talk about how I feel about the accident and when its mixed into a light conversation, I just cannot express my true, confused feelings.  So as my friends and members of the climbing community join each other to grieve, I am 8 hours away in my room typing out my feelings instead.

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I, and many other climbers in the Southeast, are forced to go through climbing withdrawal every summer. People who have lived here for awhile have come to terms with this, but I have been climbing year round for many years before moving here, and find it very difficult to accept the reality of the situation.  Each summer, I feel like I go through a withdrawal which got me thinking about how similar a climbing addiction is to a drug addiction.

When I first became obsessed with climbing, it consumed my life.  All I wanted to do was climb.  I moved to the middle of nowhere (its actually the middle of a climbing mecca) and limited my contact with friends and family, essentially cutting myself off from everything else.  I never watched television, payed no attention to social media and definitely had a limited awareness of current events. Instead,  I consumed myself with reading guidebooks and looking for climbing partners and got a job at a gear shop.  Everything was great, until my friends started to “overdosed”.

“Overdosing” in the climbing world is the same as what happens in the drug world.  People die.  When I first started climbing, I never heard about people dying.  I knew it was dangerous, but we weren’t doing dangerous things like free-soloing or venturing too far out into the mountains.  Then after a few years, I started hearing about people I didn’t know who were dying. They were friends of friends, which I still felt the effect but not personally.  Then Summer 2011 and Winter 2012 happened, I lost five friends and I bailed out of the self-consuming climbing lifestyle.

We all climb because we love it.  We love the adrenaline rush, the exposure, the views, the hard work, big payoff, the feeling of accomplishment, the adventure…  When it turned ugly, I got scared and ran away.  I decided that climbing wasn’t worth dying for.  You know, people always say when someone dies “At least s/he died doing something s/he loved” and I think thats bull.  Its just something someone says to make it seem ok to die young.

I sometimes feel that many climbers that are “living the life” are actually running away from something.  Maybe its a mental illness, a social anxiety, the dominant culture, a boring 9-5 job, or the fact that they are getting old.  These are all the same reasons people do drugs.  If these people don’t realize that they are running straight into a dead end, then it either ends in death or being  a sixty year old, broke and with no friends (because they have all died), just like what happens to a druggie.

Death scares me and being alone also scares me.

My apologies for such a dark post, but climbing isn’t all the glamourous lifestyle of living out of a van with no responsibilities.  It can be, but its important to not lose touch with the bigger picture.  I’m just saying that the climbing lifestyle isn’t sustainable, especially if you ever plan on having a family or a career.  But don’t get me wrong, people can climb throughout their entire lives but its really hard to be a homeless climber bum for a long period of time before you (or everyone that knows you) get tired of it.

The passion for climbing that pumps through my veins is shared by other people who feel the same way. Its very interesting to see the different types of people that all stem from one common interest.

Lets start off with the guides who have turned this passion into their job. They are normally clean cut guys/gals who do everything by the book. Most of them are wicked strong but when ya go climbing with them, it always seems like they want to instruct you or spend way to long making some five-point anchor systems.  We owe  them our existence though.  Many guides empower people with the skills and knowledge to accomplish climbing goals. They are many’s inspiration and motivation.  Their attention to detail pays off when taking out gumbies but not so much to the fast-and-light alpinist.

The gumbie…. Easy to find because they are the ones spraying the loudest about climbing. It’s kinda cute in a way but more often than not, they are annoying. I love gumbies with shiny gear racking up triples on outer limits. But, every time there’s a line for all the classic 5.8 climbs, my southern comes out and says “bless their hearts” at least they’re getting outside.

There are the young twenty something year olds who just want to have a good time. These people are the stereotypical dirtbags who just don’t want to grow up. We get service or retail jobs in the most awesome places ever and live vicariously. We are the fight club members of climbing, living life by the skin of our teeth and climbing our hearts away. We are awesome until we realize we are all fifty with a broken body, no retirement fund and no family or close friends outside the climbing community.

Most of us dirtbags hope to become a climber-with-a-career. These people crush 5.13, but hold a steady job and have a somewhat meaningful life. Most of these people live in SLC or Boulder, Seattle. Some are lawyers,  nurses, physical therapist and engineers. Many climbers are very intelligent people who are well respected in their communities.  So look dirtbags, it is possible to join society while maintaining a climbing lifestyle.

Now this leads me to the weekend warrior. These guys are awesome, because they are kinda like the climber-with-a-career but are more like a professional who climbs. Some crush it, but most end up injured. Sorry guys, but climbing 5.12 comes at a price… And it’s either going to be your time or your body.

I love the most those who dream big. Those who go on expeditions half way across the world. These are crazy mother fuckers. I seek them out and then I fall in love with them.  Their sense of adventure into the unknown can be contagious.  They imagine, plan, execute and endure until they come back.

And I almost forgot the climber’s girlfriend. It’s the best when the girlfriend is on top rope scared shitless and the boyfriend is yelling at her. Or how about when the girlfriend comes along and supervises the climbing… I love it when she smokes cigarettes at the base of the climb and when she has to undercut my integrity any chance she gets…. Am I sounding bitter?

Now down here in the southeast, I occasionally run into the redneck adventure rapeller. It seems as though they learn their skills in the army? The best was at Rock Town where the “rappeller” had a rope thrown over a tree limb above a large boulder, he was tied in and his wife was hand over hand on the other end.  He yells, “Now honey, pull me up!” as he was attempting to ascend a black face in order to rappel off the top of it.

Every year when people start digging in their cover crops and planting their seedlings, I end up packing my bags and cleaning out my room.  It never fails, every year I do this and have been doing it for over five years consecutively.  There has been only one place that I truly felt at home and wanted to stay, and that was Bishop, California.

My car looks like this several times a year when I move all my belongings to another location.

Living out of my car was ideal on the East Side.  There is so much open land that you can park for a couple of weeks at a time.  One of my favorite spots, I called “Girl’s Camp”, where I stayed over the summer.  It was located on the way to the Buttermilks (first road on the right if your driving down Buttermilk Rd.) and was one of the only places that still had trees (after someone else burned down all the other trees with their campfire at the other popular bivy location) and running water, a little Oasis. It was lovely, except for a few nights when drunk locals would meet out there for a bonfire.  But, my home is mobile and on those nights, I’d just throw my stuff in my car and relocate to the tablelands.  My existence in my car would have been a lot harder off if it weren’t for Paul and his house, call the Zoo.

The Zoo is a lovely place that Paul has opened up to the climbing community.  Come hang out, take a shower, cook a meal, or watch a movie.  Paul is very accepting of all breeds of life (cats and dogs alike).  The only price you had to pay is to participate in “Family Night” by either cooking, cleaning or just being there.  To those who dont know, Family Night is dinner night.  Someone volunteers to cook a massive meal that all is invited to.  Its a good way for climbers to socialize and talk about climbing…

I cannot tell if my urge to be a nomad is a curse or a blessing. On one hand, I am so lucky to not have any strings attached, but is it really luck?  I’ve planned my life to be like this, there’s no luck about it. I work during the winter months in areas that have good climbing and then move on in the summer.  I don’t have any pets, I cannot maintain a long term relationships (and if I did, it’d probably be with a guy who’d also like to hit the road in the summertime), I don’t buy houses or sign any leases/contracts.  I dream, I plan, and then I execute.  Simple.

People who don’t live like me don’t seem to understand, or at least very few do. I am not sure exactly what “they” think of me, probably that I am crazy or lonely. Sometimes I do feel like I an outsider, looking in and not quite fitting.  But, when I feel like this, I know that this isn’t the place for me. Although, sometimes the people are so nice, its hard to tell that I don’t fit here.  Most of my generation lives nomadic though, or at least we have all been transplanted.  It can be hard keeping in contact with good friends, but anytime I am in their area, we will do our best to meet up again.  Talking on the phone is hard when you have time zones to cross, so facebook and email is a good substitute.  Its not the same, but its something.  When I see my friends again, it always feels as though no time had passed.

I manage to connect with a few people everywhere I go, and now I have friends all over the country.  I think the toughest part about moving to a new spot, is weeding out the false friends.  I can normally tell right off the bat if someone is compatible with me or not… but the degree of compatibility is unknown and often I am wrong at first meeting.  Most of my very best friends, I was standoffish at first and some of my very false friends were at first best friends.  But that’s life. Everyone experiences this, its just I experience it more often.

The most difficult parts about living a life like this is #1 filtering through people to find my true friends. #2 Saying goodbye and #3 trying to explain to new people where I am from. As most things that go with my lifestyle, its worth it.  There are certain people I reach out to in order to keep myself grounded (my father), but other than that, I take life by the horns and say bring it.

The Zoo Crew 2011

Looking back on my “climbing career” (what I like to call it…), I have figured out the only thing that was holding me back was an invisible ceiling that I set myself.  When I first moved to the Sierra, I broke into leading 5.10 trad.  By the end of the summer, my man and I called ourselves “well-oiled-five-ten-climbing-machines”.  When it came to five eleven, we just looked the other way to the next splitter five ten crack.

Its just a few months after our self-declaration of being well oiled machines… I had fallen in love with a different climbing partner.  This climbing partner was a 5.12 climber and was warming up on 5.11s.  I couldnt let my pride get in my way (tongue in cheeck),  so naturally, I would attempt to lead these climbs also.  I jumped a whole number grade in one month. I went from onsighting 10c to getting 11c after a few goes.  I had always had it within my ability to climb at this grade, I’d just never had tried because of my conscious telling me not to.

Now, here I am in the southeast.  I dont feel like I am any stronger or a better climber than what I was when I lived in the East Side, but I am warming up on 11cs and almost sending 5.12s (if I could only focus long enough to give some climbs a second try).  If I were to stay here in the southeast and be a sportsclimber, I would try to get a 5.13.  But, other types of climbing and areas of the U.S. are pulling me away.

Dreaming big is my point.  You have to aim high. You only get to live once and to not accomplish all that you want and are capable of doing is a shame. But, you must climb the mountain inorder to get to the top.  Yes, I had to be a well-oiled 5.10 climbing machine before I became the 5.11 allstar.  And inorder for me to onsight 5.12, I will have to keep climbing 5.11s and trying 5.12s.

My newest dream is to climb the Evolution Traverse in a day.  I have spent several seasons in the Sierra working on my movement over rock and route finding skills.  I have done many tandem solos and some solos.  I dont like to carry weight, so I do everything fast and light.  Attempting the Evolutions in a day suits my style.  I am trying to figure out my “path” to the Evolutions and is it exhilerating to imagine all the different ways to get ready for a climb.  Even if I dont accomplish my goal, the process of dreaming, planning and making it happen, makes it worth it.  I havent slept in weeks because I am so wound up.  I still have two months to go until departure, so I hope I’ll setlle down soon.

Dreaming is what I live for. It keeps me psyched and happy.  There is only a breif period of depression that I get when I am all done with the dream, but its only temporary because its only a matter of days or weeks before I am inspired again to do something totally awesome!!!!

In my abnormal psychology class, we had to write a 10min essay on what our identity was and what it meant to us.  Knowing  your identity is something important in order to remain sane.  When we lose our sense of self, we loss a lot.

I am a climber, always seeking new adventures and challenges to face.  I am always reaching for the top and dreaming of the next route to climb or place to travel.

I am a thrill-seeker, adrenaline junkie.  I choose my adrenaline rushes carefully, though.

I am a dreamer, always making new plans and reaming of new places to travel to.

I am a lover. Yearning to care for my friends, family, and a significant other (whenever they do make an appearance in my life).

I am a passion fiend.  Either by default or purpose.

I strive to push the limits of myself, my friends and my culture.