11 minute read
IT ISN’T ALL DOWNHILL— CLIMBING AS A METAPHOR FOR AGING AND LIFE
by Peter Boag
Over the 131 years of the organization’s existence, official members of the Mazamas have ranged in age from as young as four to over 100. If we are fortunate, we get to grow older. But growing older brings changes in fortune to our bodies and attitudes, to our priorities and interests, to our friendships and relationships, and to our cache of experiences. Each of these affects our ability to climb and our desire to climb on.
I took the Mazama Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP) at age 59 when I was almost twice the average age of my fellow teammates. Having come to mountaineering later in life I quite enjoy talking with more experienced climbers about their relationship to the sport. Recently, I reached out to a few such climbers (personally or in writing) to learn a bit more about what has led them to slow down or to stop leading and even climbing altogether.
Seven people responded to my call: Lis Cooper, Ray Sheldon, Marty Scott, Keith Mischke, Lee Stevenson, Shirley Welch, and Heather Campbell. All of them are or have been Mazama climb leaders and some no longer climb at all. At the time of my interviews, the youngest was 54, the oldest 92; four were in their 70s and one was in his 80s. They have all been deeply involved in the Mazamas, with four having served as past presidents. They joined the Mazamas sometime between 1960 and 1999. The youngest was 23 at the time of joining and the oldest 39. While several became climb leaders rather quickly—within three years of joining—others took somewhat longer, up to ten years after becoming a member.
Among their responses to why they slowed down or stopped climbing and leading were naturally the physically related sorts of answers that I had anticipated and that had motivated me, as an older mountaineer, to research and write this piece. For example, some complained of losing agility with age, making it more difficult to get in and out of a tent or put on climbing boots in the snow, to simply stay comfortable in extreme weather, or perhaps to be able to outrun a storm. Others spoke of the increased time, energy, and pain that is now involved in both recovering from a difficult climb and trying to stay in shape in the first place. There were also those who have had more serious injuries. One now has rods in his back (a result of a non-mountaineering injury), which makes wearing a heavy pack particularly unpleasant. Another has had multiple joint replacements, the first when about 60. And about such replacements, another humorously related that a group of friends used to joke that the Mazamas needed to create an affinity group for climbers with artificial joints.
I found, however, that the reasons why people slowed down or stopped leading and mountaineering were much more varied and complex than I had originally imagined. More than half spoke in one way or another about the effects that climate change is having on our mountains that make climbing more problematic.
What always stuck with me was told to me by an old timer, Don Onthank: ‘The days spent climbing will not be deducted from the rest of your life.’ I sort of changed this to my own version: ‘All the days that you go climbing will be added to the rest of your life. - Ray Sheldon
Marty, for example, specifically discussed the increased frequency with which access roads have been washing out and remaining blocked, and how the disappearance of glaciers and snowfields has made it much more difficult to approach some of the ideal alpine rock routes.
As far as other “practical” considerations, Keith explained that when he moved from Portland to Sisters in 2004, logistics made it more difficult for him to keep up on his leadership badges, which needed to be done in Portland. A couple of my interviewees also specifically mentioned how the increasing annoyance of bureaucracy, fees, and climb permits have added additional burdens to planning a climb. About this, Ray quipped that he has long thought that the Mountaineers should change the title of their climbing “bible” to There is No More Freedom of the Hills.
Lee introduced me to another practical matter—what he and his outdoor friends call the “domestic tranquility index.” That is the need to invest more time in your relationship with your husband, wife, or partner (especially when they do not engage in climbing) in order to enjoy marital bliss. In fact, the most frequently mentioned reason people gave for altering or ending their climbing and leading had to do with personal relationships. Shirley, Heather, and Lee each mentioned how, over time, the communities that they had built of close climbing companions fragmented, with their friends moving away, developing new ambitions and activities in life, and perhaps having families. The loss of those they truly jelled with early in their careers had an impact on their dwindling desire to climb on. On another, though related level, Lee explained that one of the many factors that went into his decision to reassess his relationship with mountaineering was the tragic climbing accidents that claimed the lives of beloved Mazama mentors, friends, and climb leaders he looked up to.
For others, it was about another sort of loss—that of desire. Heather, having stopped climbing at an age much younger than others in this non-scientific survey, was especially contemplative about this issue. “It was not because I couldn’t physically continue,” she explained, “but because I lost the passion for it. But it was slowly over a three-to-four-year period where I thought, ‘I am not sure I want to do this.’ Then I started finding myself doing it because there was the expectation that I should do this since it is what I did for years.” That is when Heather knew it was time to stop. Similarly, Lis wrote that she stopped climbing and leading because, “I did not feel that I still had the dedication and attentiveness to be an effective leader or climb participant, [or to exude] the vibe that new climbers need/want in order to have their own excitement about climbing.”
Don’t get too hung up on the 16 peaks. I constantly hear that it is hard for BCEP grads to get on climbs. So, consider lesser-known peaks, they are wonderful, too! – Marty Scott
Ray related an especially poetic story about how getting older affected his decision to stop leading and stop climbing altogether. He led his first climb, the challenging Three Fingered Jack, on July 14, 1963, when he was 30 years old. His last lead, which was also his very last climb, came when he was 85. That was on September 5, 2018, when he led the rather non-technical Plummer Peak in the Tatoosh Range. Before Plummer, which became his most favored climb as his body slowed down, Ray explained that there certainly were other issues in the background, but he had not really thought about retiring from mountaineering. That changed, however, during the Plummer climb. “It wasn’t like a light switch came on,” Ray avowed, “but every step it was like ‘well that is a hard rock to get over.’ And then on the summit it was like, ‘oh my balance is a bit wobbly.’ It was a whole bunch of little things but when I got to the top it was so beautiful there and I felt so good to be there looking out at the gorgeous view. I just knew it was my last climb.”
When I asked Ray if he had any second thoughts on the way down, he said “No and I have had no regrets at all.” That is a response not unlike what others had provided me and it sort of took me aback; I thought climbing might become such an ingrained part of one’s identity that a sense of sadness would inevitably be involved in letting go. In fact, both Lis and Heather expressed that their decisions to stop climbing did carry some emotional weight. “Every year for ten years of ice-climbing—I was really into that,” Heather told me, “And so the first winter when I did not go ice climbing, I did have severe FOMO [fear of missing out] and when friends posted about ice climbing it was like a dagger and so I thought, should I go on this trip? When I thought about it, I thought, no I really don’t want to. It is hard to go through those transitions—the time, the expectations, leading if you aren’t feeling it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”
Follow your passion. With global warming changing the nature of our mountains, I recommend that newer climbers enjoy what they can and remember that their experiences will still be a wonderful. – Lis Cooper
Find people you can learn from in climbing. That is important! – Keith Mischke
Both Lis and Heather also related, however, that they had other interests with which they increasingly preferred to spend their time. The former took up marathon running and then ran one in every state. The latter got into power lifting and this spring is on her way to her fourth national competition. And so it was with just about every other climber I spoke to who stopped climbing or just slowed down—there have been other interests that either filled the void or that they just naturally started to pursue as climbing became less important, and thus letting go of the latter was not that difficult. Keith continued hiking and backpacking, and at 82 made it part-way up the Middle Sister. Lee took up sea kayaking and road biking, and continues hiking with local groups. He also started Project Ponderosa in Sunriver, which engages young students with Ponderosa restoration there.
And so, it was not really so much about a sense of loss for these climbers who have stopped climbing or really slowed down. They look back on their past rock and mountaineering experiences with pride and joy. And the mountains here are both a constant reminder of this as well as solace for them. “Every time I view Mt. Hood,” Lis wrote, “I remember my times on the mountain. I love being able to see her from Portland and remember, ‘I was there.’” Similarly, from his home in Sisters, Keith can see seven mountains. “I think, well, I have been to the top of each of those and I don’t need to do it again.”
Shirley, whom I interviewed last, helped me to see how one’s changing relationship to climbing, whatever their age, is about more than just something physical. She spoke about how the vicissitudes in life for a climber—at least in the better of circumstances—are not merely about the body, but about interests, attitudes, relationships, and experiences. It often happens slowly over time, and so Shirley was not surprised when I explained that others to whom I had spoken were well prepared to hang up the ice axe or put away the rock-climbing shoes for the last time with little remorse. In that moment, it dawned on me that climbing is very much like aging generally in one’s life, with a beginning, middle, and an end.
And in the end, I learned that growing older in the mountains is far from being all downhill. But this is something that I have really known for some time and that I share in this story from personal experience. One lovely afternoon during my BCEP adventure—it was snow weekend at Mt. Hood and the weather was gorgeous—my team sat on a ridge above the Salmon River parking lot at Timberline. While enjoying our lunches after a busy morning of skill learning and practice, we gazed above at Mt. Hood and southward to Mt. Jefferson and the Sisters and dreamed of climbing them all one day. We also laughed a lot in our casual and fun conversations. At one point, and as a much older person than any of the others assembled there, I joked about one of the benefits of being an aged mountaineer. I pointed out (as if I knew) that in climbing—whether on glaciers or on rock—one is occasionally placed in a potentially dangerous situation where one’s life might flash before one’s eyes. I then explained that in my case it takes so long for my life to flash before my eyes that in the intervening interval I have plenty of time wherein I can adjust to a safer stance or grab onto a more secure hold whereas, on the other hand, “you young things, swoop, off you go.”
